by Jordan Nodarse
San Diego
I entered high school something of a survivor. Bullied throughout middle school for my weight, things reached their worst in the eighth grade, when I was my heaviest. I remember chanting with my mother for the happiness of this bully, someone, she assured me, who must be suffering deeply himself. I didn’t fully understand this, but I see now that our prayer saved me from becoming him.
However, I became, in a sense, his opposite—someone who sought empowerment not in put-downs, but in people-pleasing.
I became in high school whatever others wanted to see. An exhausting task under so many eyes—endless adjustments to make. Though I got in shape through football and wrestling, though I appeared in high spirits surrounded by friends, I felt walled in, surrounded by problems.
It wasn’t until after graduation, when I was suddenly alone—all my peers scattered across the country—that I realized the weight I’d been carrying. I’d chanted throughout high school to stay in shape, to perform as an athlete and team player, to be kind to the people around me. But for the first time, I began to ask why.
Asking this of every motive, I got back, in every case, one answer: to please my peers.
Entering college, I began to base myself on a different kind of daimoku, the kind that asked fundamental questions, like Who do I want to be? and Who do I want to be with? and to have faith in the answers and actions they gave rise to.
I was working at the time, and happened to share the evening shift with a former classmate. After closing, we hung out, and I met his friends, among them other former classmates, people I’d known only in passing. Dom I remembered. At first, he didn’t speak much, but as we got to talking, I found that when he did, he spoke from the heart. Over time, our conversations deepened, and I found myself one evening talking openly, as I never had to any friend, about the bullying and the loneliness.
“You?” he said. “Lonely?”
“Yeah,” I said, “me.”
It felt good to talk like this, felt good to be open. I realized that I could talk of these things with friends—that friendship begins with such talks.
The following month, I went with several of my SGI friends to the SoCal-Pacific Territory Leaders Conference at the Florida Nature and Culture Center and watched the film Traveler for Peace, which documents Sensei’s first overseas trip in 1960 through the eyes of the pioneers who were present.
Sensei recounts the spirit of his own mentor, second Soka Gakkai President Josei Toda, to encourage the members at any cost—even at the cost of his life. On his first trip overseas, Sensei pushed himself to the limit and beyond, driven by the same indestructible compassion—the same vow to free all people from misery—a vow for kosen-rufu.
As soon as I got back, I got hit with all manner of obstacles: car troubles, work troubles, schoolwork and more. Feeling overwhelmed, I turned to Dom and said something like, “Man, I’ve gotta win.”
“You know,” he said, “I feel so fortunate to wake up each day with the opportunity to do just that.”
I looked at him, taking that in. Actually, he was going through trials of his own. The man hadn’t yet received the Gohonzon, but was chanting daily, keeping a steady rhythm of practice for self and others. He’d grown, I could see that. And I could see I was in the presence of someone who held himself, even in hardship, to the high standard he sought and rediscovered each day. A special person. I had on my hands a close friend.
I’d be leaving the following week, from June to mid-July, for a family trip. My region men’s leader visited me. “Before I don’t see you for a month,” he said, “why don’t we make something happen—throw an intro-to-Buddhism meeting?”
We had a week to put it together. I reached out to friends and others did the same. Eleven of my own friends came, among them my girlfriend, two former wrestling teammates, a friend from my philosophy class and Dom, of course, and his friends. To everyone I spoke to, I was straight up: “Look, we’ve been friends a long time. You know I’m Buddhist. I’m not trying to convert you. I would simply not be doing you justice as a friend if I didn’t at least invite you to check out a fresh perspective.”
Dom received the Gohonzon in May and, in July, came with me and several longtime friends to the Student Division Conference at the FNCC. There, Dom and I made a shared determination to advance kosen-rufu with Sensei in San Diego, to widen our circle of true friendship.
In September, my district took the occasion of our discussion meeting to celebrate the “Buddha birthdays” of two young men who’d joined the practice one year earlier. This was joined by four of my friends, who wanted to celebrate together. What’s more, just this month, Dom’s friend received the Gohonzon, inspired by the changes he’d seen in Dom.
Wherever I go, I discover opportunities to create value, to hold myself and my friends to the standard of our better selves—our Buddhahood. In my fraternity, for instance, I’ve had occasion to speak out for justice and, though others may not voice agreement in the moment, they do reach out, sometimes after a day or so, to say that they’ve taken what I said to heart.
Where I go now, I go not in fear, not in search of acceptance. I go on my own terms, in search of connection, true friendship and value.
With our mentor at heart, I go with this growing band of brothers, bearing our message: You, too, deserve to be happy.
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