Nugget 3 — Weaving Transcendent Tapestries
“ Detachment is not that you should own nothing. But that nothing should own you”
-Ali ibn abi Talib
Disclaimer: Before reading this post, please take a moment to read the Preamble post tagged here to get a sense of the “Nugget” structure: Preamble
Born into a world fueled by an insatiable hunger, the child’s journey is ignited by a courageous decision to carve out a pragmatically “better” life; a decision that exacts the toll of sacrificing lineage and the very core of communal roots. A decision the child had no stake in; it is a mandate thrust upon them, demanding not just survival but the necessity to thrive with the opportunity that was denied to their ancestors. The requirement to achieve at all costs, and maximize all parameters of success to ensure the sacrifice, pain, and emotional toll were not for nothing.
For this child, self-worth embodies this requirement as a visceral connection they must embrace as a doctrine imposed by fate, as a definition of their sole purpose of existence…. This doctrine is an unspoken contract between the trailblazer and their progeny. The pain shall never be in vain, and that is an understood concept, but when the generational trauma threatens to corrode the very foundations laid for flourishing, the struggle intensifies as the path to prosperity seems to slip away….. the once certain significance of the sacrifice now hanging in the balance; this battle doesn’t appear to be one worth fighting and further diminishes the sacrifice that was seemingly written into the child’s destiny as the echoes of a courageous decision collide with the harsh realities of an unpredictable journey…..
Each of us occupies a distinct timeline, woven into the intricate tapestry of our lineage’s journey. Some find their purpose within the familiar confines of established communal structures, inheriting the baton from preceding generations and navigating a landscape shaped by a culture that intricately molds decision-making and values. Others of us uniquely find ourselves at the precipice of a new frontier, either as pioneers or as a product of such trailblazing efforts. When confronted with the latter experience, the communal infrastructure that so profoundly defines the meaning and existence of individuals physically embedded in their community through generational existence does not carry the same weight for those who simply don’t have that bond. This is the internal struggle experienced by first-generation implants, grappling with the challenge of reconciling their unique path with the absence of the deeply ingrained communal ties that defined the experiences of their predecessors….
Alright, before we plunge too deep into what sounds like a literary therapy session, let me pause to provide some behind-the-scenes context — This topic, generational trauma from the POV of a first-generation American, has been a constant companion in my attempts to put pen to paper for quite some time. It is one I talk about extensively with my family and friends and one I constantly find myself turning back to. This post, specifically, has seen more rewrites than I care to admit, and I intentionally left the opening as-is to showcase the struggle I’ve had with this piece.
The first two paragraphs, well, they’re artifacts from different times — written with different voices, vibes, and thoughts, tuned to distinctly different emotional notes. Despite my first-hand grasp on the concept of “generational trauma”, and the whole existential rollercoaster of being a first-generation American, this entire post has been an uphill battle. Odd, right? This should be the kind of topic I have no issues with letting the floodgates loose on loose-leaf; however, I’ve found myself with an agonizing and frustrating case of writer’s block. It’s become a colossal obstacle, effectively pausing all of my writing flow due to the monumental emotionality this topic holds for me and so many others I care deeply about.
When it comes to these “nuggets,” my usual approach involves exploring human concepts via empirical collection, breaking them down into what I perceive as logical conclusions, and layering them with anecdotes and examples. In this case, every time I attempted to articulate my thoughts, I ended up composing narratives rooted in emotion, similar to the paragraphs above. This is a departure from my standard explanatory style and also what I felt comfortable sharing with my audience, likely because it is more representative of a journal entry than a blog post….
This topic digs deep, making it challenging to approach with my usual methodical logic, treating it like a math problem with either a clear solution or at the very least an outlined process toward certainty. In this case, there doesn’t appear to be a clear path to either. Inheriting these traumas is just my reality, my life. There are ways to mitigate these feelings and progress forward from them, and I will talk about these, but it’s hard not to feel lonely and helpless. There are plenty of ways to cope with it, learn from it, and adapt it to my present and future so that I can grow into who I want to be and cultivate it into the community I want for myself… but the moment that “c” word is mentioned, a deep sense of dread creeps in as a stark reminder of the perpetual void I carry due to my position.
Many will say that it’s a strength — this ability to cultivate and forge new beginnings, that I shouldn’t sound like a spoiled child, and that there are endless opportunities my forebears didn’t have. And I’ve done my best to logically embrace that reality, maximizing my situation on paper; but no amount of logic can fill the profound and never-ending identity crisis that lurks within. So before I start emotionally diffusing again, I want to center this piece on methods I have used to interpret and contextualize my life and my position as a first-generation American, or as my parents whimsically put it, an A.B.C.D. (“American-Born-Confused-Desi”). I’ll explore how this influences my understanding of generational trauma, and why my journey will be a continuous fact-finding quest for understanding, with the firm understanding that these methods will not completely absolve the emotions attached to being an individual in my shoes.
Through countless conversations with friends, family, strangers, and colleagues, I’ve come to realize that I am not alone on this mission. None of us are. We are all seeking the same thing — that elusive “c” word I mentioned earlier. Each of us holds a different hand, and yes, it may feel unfair that some have an easier path, but regardless of how long and hard it takes to find, it exists for all of us because we all need it to exist. It’s our interpretation of who we are in relation to others and our willingness to adapt and mold ourselves by maximizing our neuroplasticity and connection-building abilities that will accelerate our induction into that holy “c” word. The journey demands resilience, effort, failure, and introspection to arrive, and is not for the faint of heart. Loneliness is a constant companion, but the journey is worth the destination; our societal goal should be to support each other on this tiresome journey extending as many welcoming hands as possible along the way.
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Definition (2) of “Character” in the Merriam-Webster Dictionary states: “a feature used to separate distinguishable things into categories”. Characterization becomes a go-to when we grapple with abstract questions and find ourselves short on answers. The action of characterization is labeling* - a habit and skill we develop at a young age to navigate the gray areas of our mental maps. This labeling instinct is ingrained in us as a cognitive mechanism to better identify, classify, and draw inferences from emotional or abstract concepts we encounter. Multiple varying inputs feed into this mechanism: language, culture, upbringing, politics, media, and more. Our environment, especially in our formative years, dramatically impacts our labeling mechanisms, inevitably introducing bias into our lives. This bias, left unchecked, intensifies leading us to turn away from cognitive diversity and dissonance, hindering our ability to effectively label concepts and ideas. In this process, we risk ostracizing ourselves from the intricate tapestry of our complex emotions and even the reality that surrounds us — this is the breeding ground for echo chambers.
Labeling goes beyond emotions; it extends to classifying our relationships, priorities, ideologies, beliefs, and ultimately our self-worth. The labels we assign to our worth eventually converge into the grand collective of our labels — our communities. At the core of this labeling process lies that beautiful “c” word as our classification methods eventually guide us to find others who share similar labels. Often, we adopt and mimic the labeling practices of our peers simply to integrate into their collectives, even when our beliefs differ. This is where the real masochism and self-sabotage come into play — when we actively seek to deny our intuitive labeling mechanisms just to “fit in”. This does not negate the argument that we should challenge our labeling mechanisms by embracing ones that differ from ours; in fact, that should be encouraged at all costs as it is the only way we can build more cohesive and inclusive communities. The critical distinction lies in the intent behind adopting a new labeling mechanism: is it driven by herd mentality and a survival instinct to suppress our beliefs and be protected by the crowd — a conformity rooted in fear? Or is it driven by a need to evolve and challenge our beliefs to mature and grow our label library?
Layering my position as a first-generation American into the mix, my labeling mechanisms are defined by two completely different worlds — one anchored in ideology, the other in history. I’ll admit, that this oversimplification hardly does justice to the rich complexities of either side, but my aim isn’t to deliver a history lesson. Instead, I want to unravel what these distinct facets of my existence mean to me and how they shape my identity.
Growing up in an immigrant household meant absorbing labels that aligned with a reality vastly different from the one my family actively navigated. For my parents, it was a learning curve to adopt the new labeling systems that allowed them to “fit in” this new ideologically driven country, and, by extension, I learned through them what was right or wrong. As I matured and honed my labeling skills, I found myself at a crossroads — caught between over-indexing these mechanisms to assimilate into the American way of life or holding onto the labels of my ancestors.
Over time, I realized a profound desire to conform outweighed my inclination to preserve my roots. I altered my speech, attire, aesthetic, diet, media consumption, and so much more just to secure a spot at the proverbial (and literal) lunch table. I became adept at accepting the mispronunciations of my name as a way of life and didn’t bat an eye at an opportunity to shed aspects of my Indian identity (including the ability to fluently speak my mother tongue to perfect my American accent) to make room for more American labeling. I was a child lost in the vast American forest with the right passport, a different skin color, a questionable name, a comical accent, and a very confusing palate. The labels from my home could not have been more disparate from those I faced from the world daily.
By the time I ventured out on my own, I felt stuck in limbo, unsure of which labels to embrace and which ones to discard. As I delved deeper into introspection and self-discovery, I realized over time that I missed my ancestral labels. I had transformed so much of myself to adapt to what I felt was necessary for community; however, I realized I wasn’t joining my community, but a community. I expeditiously made a concerted effort to reconfigure my labeling mechanisms to view the world from a more nuanced lens shaped by my unique circumstances.
As invigorating as this process was to reconnect with my authentic self, it came at a cost. I lost many acquaintances and support along the way. It’s tempting to bid good riddance to those who exit our lives, but the scars, painful and present, linger. The sensation of abandonment triggers a biological feeling of loss that stings regardless of whether it’s for better or worse. Despite our claims to deny it amidst pain, the fear of loneliness pervades. However, detachment (not abandonment) from our past selves to invest in our future selves is a necessary path to dismantle generational trauma, reconstructing more nuanced, thoughtful, and cognitively diverse labeling mechanisms to better interpret the world. This transformation is critical to reclaiming our lives and, in the process, regaining citizenship in our communities — building cohesive collectives that strive and aim to challenge, adapt, and overcome regardless of what cards we were dealt.
So, who am I? Some standard labels might include: son of Indian immigrants, grandson of a rocket scientist, New York City resident, Ivy League graduate… but there’s a richness of nuance these basic labels can’t quite capture — such as car enthusiast, shower singer, tawa** master, tech nerd, ’70s rock enthusiast, interior designer, world explorer, blog writer, teacher, listener, adapter, and much more left to discover.
Each one of us boasts unique characteristics that define our identity, and by embracing our individualism, as opposed to masking it, we stand to truly elevate ourselves; this elevation is critical to the development of cognitively diverse, loving communities fueled by our mutual respect for our differences. This starts with our ability to recognize our labeling mechanisms and a constant commitment to challenging them, allowing us to better understand ourselves, our people, and our world. This piece on generational trauma, and my journey with it, is far from over. It is vastly complex, nuanced, and as mentioned earlier doesn’t have a firm path to a solution. This post highlights just one of many ways I have learned to deal with this trauma and attempt to let the scars heal so that they transform into tattoos I wear proudly.
I’m grateful to every one of you whom I have had the pleasure to engage with in this lifetime, as each one of you has impacted my ability to mature my labeling mechanism. A handful of you have gone above and beyond in this endeavor: challenging my beliefs, accepting my quirks, and evolving my being — you are a part of MY community. My goal with this life is to serve as a resource for anyone looking to challenge their labels and build more, just as many of you have been for me so that we can all find our own holy “c” words.
~The Journey Continues~
*This functional process is one I initially learned from Lisa Feldman Barret’s incredible book — How Emotions are Made, Andrew Huberman’s podcasts, and some extremely thought-provoking discussions with very close friends through the early hours of the night (you know who you are and I live for those moments — so thank you)
**For my non-Indian friends, a tawa is a frying pan used to make many legendary South Indian dishes, specifically dosas. Here is a link to learn more and get your stomach rumbling.
Opinions expressed are solely my own and do not express the views or opinions of my employer
