Jaz Lin: Traveler, Student of Life
Interviewed in Danbury, Connecticut. May 10th, 2009
Born 1986, Austin, Texas
“Arriving at each new city, the traveler finds again a past of his that he did not know he had: the foreignness of what you no longer are or no longer possess lies in wait for you in foreign, unpossessed places.”
— Italo Calvino, “Invisible Cities,” p. 29.
“May you find the world, and in the process, find yourself.”
– Joyce Lin
“One never goes so far as when one doesn't know where one is going.”
– Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
JL:
I was born in Austin, Texas, where my Dad went to school. That’s where he got his Ph.D. way back in ’87.
LS:
That’s where I went to school. I got mine in ’85 I think. What field was he in?
JL:
He was in engineering, I’m not sure which kind exactly. He said he spent all his time in the Library. So if you saw a little Chinese nerd sitting in the library with his head always down, that was my Dad. (laughs)
LS:
What’s your mother do?
JL:
She’s a medical technologist. She works in a laboratory. She looks through microscopes, takes blood samples and makes blood go donk-a-donk-a-donk-a and then looks at them, et cetera.
LS:
What did you learn from them?
JL:
Both of them are really good with people, and people really like both of them; people just like them. My Dad is a leader, and it was like that for me too when I was a kid. I was usually the leader of the pack.
But my Dad also has a bad temper, and I got that from him also. I tend to blow up really easily. He meditates a lot now, and so he’s really, really a lot calmer than he was way back. Still not zunnk! but a lot more chill. From my Mum. I inherited her… hmm, I’ll have to think about that one.
They say that from when I was in the belly, from then until now, I’ve always been a troublemaker. When I was in the belly I was always kicking and moving around, and causing trouble in the stomach.
When I was born, they say that it was a really difficult birth, like my Mum was in labor for a while. The whole time that she was in the hospital the Challenger (NASA space shuttle) was exploding, over and over on the television, and everybody’s running around like, “Gaa!” And she’s lying there, and I’m in turmoil in the belly, and she’s, like, “This really sucks.” (laughs) So those were the conditions under which I was born.
It’s really interesting to ask my Mum about what I was like as a kid, because it sounds like that’s pretty much how I am today. She says that I was very independent, I would do whatever I wanted. I was very rebellious, like they would say, “Sleep, sleep, sleep,” and I would be like, “No! No! No!” (laughs) So they would stick me in the crib and I would pretend to go to sleep, and then once they left the room I’m out of the crib, (laughs) crawling around. And they see me under a table and they’re, like, “What are you doing! Get back in there!”
But in school, both me and my sister were really good kids. At home we got in trouble all the time, but in school we were star students, I’m not sure how that happened. I haven’t thought about that one before.
My first day in public school I didn’t know what to do so I was sitting and watching everybody, and then the teacher says, “Everybody, look at Joyce!” And I’m, like, “Oh no!” And she’s, like, “Look how she is so good, she’s just sitting there with her hands in her lap and her feet crossed. You guys should all sit like that.” And I’m thinking, “Oh my god, now everybody’s going to hate me.” (laughs) That was pretty funny.
Then up until college: all straight A’s because school was easy. School was fun. All of our teachers loved us. I’m not sure how that happened.
And then we started going to meditation group in 4th grade. I was in 4th grade and my sister was in 3rd grade. My Dad had been reading the books of this lady for a while, her name is Ching Hai, and she’s of the Sat-Ma tradition, it’s sort of like a Hindu-Chinese Buddhist mix. I was 9 years old.
Also in that year I started playing piano and violin, and all of my family became vegetarian, and that year we also entered public school. Before that we were in private school. That year was big.
LS:
You mentioned meditation, was it important?
JL:
It changed the structure of our lives because now every Saturday night we’d go to the meditation center until Sunday. And then we’d go do group meditation on Wednesday and Friday. So after school, instead of just doing whatever we wanted, we would be with my Dad and we’d meditate with him for half an hour, and then go do homework, or play, or whatever. So that was a change.
In the beginning I was really, really into it, but then by 7th grade it became a source of rebellion, it became something I was really, really,… “Ok, life sucks because of that!” Or that was one of the reasons why life sucks. So in 7th grade that was one of the things I pitted against my parents.
LS:
Did that become a big battleground? Did you win the battle?
JL:
I stopped meditating regularly in 7th grade. Instead of meditating I would pretend to meditate, but instead be reading, or something like that, or somehow entertaining myself while I was sitting there. (laughs)
LS:
Did you to fake it the whole time?
JL:
Yeah, pretty much.
LS:
So you never really put your foot down?
JL:
No, no. I never, never ever, ever talk back to my parents, because that’s totally unacceptable. It’s unacceptable in our culture because you are supposed to respect your elders. For example, if my Dad and my Mom are, like, yelling at us and lecturing us, and if we speak back in some way, then they will get just even more angry, and do something horrible to make us not talk next time.
My sister now talks more than I do, she talks back more, and they have more of a dialog, and I’ve been starting to do it, but still not as much as she can. I just stuff it all in. Like they’ll be, like, “Da da da da!” And I’ll be, like, “Guhhh…”
LS:
Even now?
JL:
Yeah still. Even now. I’m learning to express more, but I still can’t really talk back, no.
Last time I went back to my parents’ place I don’t remember what happened, but I do remember conflict. They were yelling at me about something, I don’t remember what, and I was displeased about it. My way of coping with it is I’ll just let them yell at me. I was just, like, “Yup, yup, yup, yup.” And then I’d bike off.
That’s how I coped with it in 7th grade, too. They would yell at me, and then I would bike off somewhere and go deal with it on my own, usually up into the mountains. And I would bike further and further distances, and be away from home for longer and longer periods of time. The next day I’d stay at school for as long as possible, and then come home and go off into the mountains, and repeat.
LS:
Would you say that your recollection of your life with your family was that they were unsupportive?
JL:
I know that my parents loved me very much. I know that they loved me very, very much, and that they’ve tried their best to be good parents, and they got me through college. They’re not totally happy with what I’m doing now, but they’re not constantly attacking me either.
Back when I was really into photography my Dad was my greatest fan. And with what I’m doing now, they don’t think it’s good, they don’t think it’s healthy, so they’re not like, “Yeah, yeah! Go for it!” But they’re not, like, completely “Keeek!” about it, either.
My Dad’s basic thing is, like, “OK, I don’t like it, but this is the life you choose, so be it.” And my Mum says, “Whatever makes you happy! But remember that you can be more comfortable if you want to be.” And they leave it at that. But that’s because I reminded them that this is a choice, the life that I lead is a choice, it’s not a necessity, and that I’m fine. I’m fine.
LS:
So tell me about your life. What is your choice? What are you doing?
JL:
I am wandering around. Since college I’ve been bouncing around the county with no real destination or real purpose. I mostly go to communities, and I’m bouncing less than I used to. I don’t know how to put it into a nice little nugget. When I first finished college I was on the photo path. I was on the path to becoming a photojournalist. And then I decided I didn’t want to do that anymore when I was down in Alabama. And I thought, “OK, I could go back to California and feel like a loser, or I can go somewhere else because I’m in Alabama and I’m close to places I’ve never been before, so I might as well go check it out.”
From there I went to visit a friend in Arkansas, and along the way I met someone really cool in Tennessee, who was, like, “Yo, there’s something happening in West Virginia. Do you want to come up with us?” So I’m in Arkansas and I’m thinking, “Do I want to continue West, or do I want to go back East?” And I decided to go back East, and that’s the basic path: one thing leads to another, and no real control takes place.
I’ve definitely tried to take control, many, many times, but plans just don’t work out. When I was down in Alabama, for example, I was deciding, “OK, do I want to go check out the Florida Keys, or do I want to go up to Northern Alabama where there’s mountains, because I really, really miss mountains. Oh my gosh, there are all these possibilities and opportunities.” And then I’m, like, “I’m going to go down to the Keys.”
So I start going and then I think of the mountains and I’m, like, “Never mind, I’m going to go up to the mountains.” And then once I hit the mountains and I’m sitting in the woods all by myself and I’m, like, “I’m lonely.” I think, “I should visit a friend!” So I decide to go up to Arkansas, and along the way I meet somebody else, and it just turns my direction another way.
A good way of putting what I’m doing right now is that I’m being like the wind. I’ll go, and I’ll flow, and I’ll run into something that I like, and it will push me in one direction. Then I’ll run into something I don’t like, and it will push me in another direction. Everything I encounter, which I always consider is pretty random — but Daniel doesn’t think is random, but to me it feels pretty random — pushes me here and there. So being like the wind.
LS:
How did you first get away? How did you “break the strings.”
JL:
That’s a good question. Someone else asked me that question, “Why did you decide to go.” And I was sort of, like, “I don’t know.” It just sort of happened. Up until I got to Tennessee there wasn’t much direction at all. I’d take out my map in the morning and be, “OK, that place looks good. I’ll go there.” So it was pretty directionless in the beginning, and I didn’t know anything at all.
LS:
Were you hitch hiking?
JL:
No, I was driving. I started off driving, and eventually decided to get rid of my car because gas is expensive. My first time going across the country on my own was the second year of college. I went across the country in the summer for an internship in Delaware. I spent the summer in Delaware, which was a place where I didn’t know anyone beforehand, and that was really huge for me. And then I came back. That was a pretty big first bite of the travel bug.
After college it became a whole whirl-wind of activity. I bounced over to Hawaii for a photo convention. Bounced back and went up to Utah to check out something, and wandered around Utah for a month. Bounced over to Northern California… Da! Da! Da! Da! All that just contributed to my wandering nature. And then moseying down to Alabama for the photo internship — it was a nice, long, mosey down to Alabama — and along the way meeting a lot of people, and enjoying a lot. And after Alabama I just kept on going with it, driving.
Driving is a pretty good way to get around because you’re totally in control of everything, except you’re tethered to the car. So the only difficult thing about it is where to park the car.
I parked my car in Tennessee and roamed around with a friend for a while, down to Alabama to prune apple trees, and then back up to Tennessee to catch a ride up to West Virginia for a week-long convention on mountain-top removal. From there we caught a free bus over to D.C., and from there we caught another free bus up to New York City — I don’t remember how we finagled that one — and then hung out in New York City for a while, and caught a ride through Craig’s List back down to Tennessee. Drove up to Upstate New York to live in a community for a bit.
Communities are awesome! That was my second community, the one in Upstate New York, and that one is huge. 200 seasonal staff that work there for about 3 months at a time, for the summer. I stayed there for 3 months, which is a really long time for me.
The community living thing exposed me to all sorts of people from all over the place. That was another thing about college, too, meeting people from all over the place. Ideas from all over the place, and just, like, “Oh cool! You’re from there and that’s what that place has to offer? I want to go there some day.” And same thing with Omega (Omega Institute – LS) and all of the people that come through, from the staff to the participants, it’s just a full spectrum of color.
By then, that was the longest I had been without my car. I had been living out of my car, which is pretty sweet. The car can hold a whole lot of junk, it was my storage room, and I could sleep outside, and I could fit everything inside of it, and it would take me from A to B to C. But being without the car for such a long period of time made me realize that, “Wow, I don’t need it.”
While I was at Omega somebody gave me a book by a guy called Tamarack Song, and it’s about primitivism. So I read the book and it just jived with me so well. At the end of the book there’s a web site. So I check out the web site and I see that they need people to help out. And I get in touch with Tamarack and we connect, and I’m, like, “OK, I’d really like to come visit.” They’re in Wisconsin, and I have this strange idea that I’m going to go over to visit them.
I took a Greyhound to Wisconsin, and end up hanging out there for half a year. That was another community. That community was a bunch of people living out in the woods in upstate Wisconsin. That was the first real, real winter of my life, and it was beautiful.
LS:
You didn’t have trouble adapting to the cold?
JL:
Oh no, because I got there in Autumn so my body adjusted to it. And I’m young… and strong and…
LS:
Fat! (laughs)
JL:
Yeah! (laughs) Yeah, we ate fat! It was good. (laughs)
And then from there I hitch hiked over to Massachusetts, and that was my first time hitch hiking for a long, long journey. I had done some hitching in Hawaii, and some hitching in New Jersey, and some other random places, but it wasn’t really standing on the side of the road with my thumb extended.
I was going from Wisconsin to Massachusetts, and Massachusetts was where I spent last summer, that was — I gave myself a month for that journey — it was about a thousand five hundred miles and I had no idea how long it would take. It was fun and sometimes scary, but not really because I sort of eased myself into it. When I first left that community, which was The Teaching Drum in Wisconsin, I caught a ride out of there with a friend who was going up to the U.P., the upper peninsula of Michigan.
Hitching is a good way to get to know the people and the area. If you’re going slow you get to know the land. If you catch a really fast ride, then it’s just like, Phsst! And you’re across. It can be really fast.
LS:
That’s where I met you. You were living in a tent, or a hut, on the other side of a field. What happened in Massachusetts?
JL:
I was working on a farm over there, for the summer. And we were also doing a journalism workshop. The first month that I was there I was living on the land all by myself, which was sort of lonely, but it was a good transition from being at The Teaching Drum community back into the normal world.
I came early to help set up, which was fun. So first there was me living on that side of the road and wandering around the woods, and Keith, who was running the program, with his family living on this side of the road. We would take care of the vegetables, build structures for other people, and get things ready for when everybody was going to show up. I found a pretty good balance between town life and woods life.
Within a month everybody else shows up for the program, and life changes because all of a sudden there’s a whole bunch of people. Now all the woods aren’t just for me just to roam in, and there’s also more of a schedule, like we all meet together in the morning, and we come together at certain times, and I don’t take care of food just for me anymore. It was a fun experiment.
This was really interesting to see… and I didn’t really notice it while I was there, but looking back I see myself going through the transition from the primitive Teaching Drum community, back into living on my own, and then into a farm community.
As far as the journalism aspect, the program was sort of scattered. All of us had a main project, and mine had to do with nomadism, actually. It didn’t really move forward at all. Daniel was going to be the first person that I interviewed, and our interview didn’t get very far. We just started talking about other things. (laughs) It was fun though.
LS:
Did it change your direction?
JL:
At that time I was really into primitivism, and pretty much everybody at The Teaching Drum is there because they are interested in learning about how to live off the land the way the Native Americans did: building everything on your own, foraging for foods, hunting animals, and that sort of thing. It’s a very back-to-the-earth, non-farming thing.
Their philosophy was anti-agricultural. They think that agriculture was this huge tool for civilization to become the way that it is. Without agriculture we would still be out in the woods, pretty much. Now that we have agriculture we can sit around talking instead of being out foraging for food.
So here I am coming from Wisconsin, working on a farm and going, like, “This is very different from what I’ve been spending the past half year doing! Do I really want to be here?” The community that happened when everybody showed up knocked me off balance. I loved everybody that I was living with, but we didn’t jive completely.
Also, everybody there was more technologically oriented than I was. Back at The Teaching Drum I rarely touched technology, so I came back out feeling a little bit snobby about technology, like, “Pshttt! Computers!” And I’m still a little bit that way, which isn’t too healthy.
LS:
You think not being technological is unhealthy?
JL:
Well, it’s not that being not technological is not healthy, the unhealthy part is being snobbish about it. I think being uppity about anything is sort of stupid.
I remember sitting on a ridge once and looking out at town, with all of its bright lights and ridiculousness, and then looking at the other side and it was night, and at the darkness and the mountains, and just thinking, like, “OK, all the people down there, they chose the comfort. They just want to be comfortable. That is why all of this exists.”
Then I look at the mountains and it’s all dark and mysterious, and it’s the unknown, and it’s especially unknown for all the people in the town. They have no idea; they know nothing about what’s out there. So it’s understandable. Everybody has their reasons for doing stuff. I can’t be uppity because somebody chooses to live in a cubicle instead of play outside.
I ended up leaving the program and the farm before the program ended. I don’t remember how early I left, I think I just left one or two weeks earlier. I was really conflicted about it. Daniel was going down to Florida for a wedding, and I’m like, “Oh, I haven’t been down to Florida and I really want to go, but I really want to finish this, I’m so close to finishing.” I decided to go with him.
LS:
So where are you now, what’s next?
JL:
Aw, boy. I try not to look too far forward because usually my plans don’t walk that far before something comes along to shake ‘em. This summer I’m going to be working at Great Hollow, a YMCA-sponsored wilderness school for kids age 5 through 14; a huge range. I think I’m going to be in the department that teaches kids primitive skills.
I’m really excited to be playing in the woods with kids all summer long. I’ve heard so many different things about this place, like about kids who are really into it, and then about the teenagers who are just, “Phffft! I’m too good for everything!” I love the little ones, and I love the big ones, and I just love sharing what I’m into. I think there’s something to be said about being really, really excited about something, and sharing that excitement, and getting other people… just to see.
One of the cool things about hitch hiking is that you get to meet people from all walks of life. And I get to ask them, “So, what makes you excited to wake up in the morning?” Something I figured out a party once is that instead of asking people, “Where are you from?” or, “What do you do?” or all those usual boring questions, is to ask them, “So, what are your dreams like?” (laughs) And watch them go, “Huh? OK.” And then go from there.
Looking back, everything makes sense. Everything makes sense all together and you can’t be really, like, “I didn’t really want to go to jail.” I hated going to jail in New York City.
LS:
Did you?
JL:
Yeah, I went to jail in New York City. It was horrible. And back then, when it happened, it was hell. But if it didn’t happen I wouldn’t have stayed longer in New York City, and then I wouldn’t have gone to Omega because I wouldn’t have learned of Omega, and this and that wouldn’t have happened, and I wouldn’t be who I am today. So everything makes sense all together.
That’s something that’s so difficult to remember when times are tough. You know, when something so horrible happens that I’m just sitting there, like, ‘Oh! Man!” It’s really difficult to remember that it’s all part of the story. Maybe not now but it will eventually make sense.
As far as where I’m going right now, this summer’s job is going to last until August, or September. Right now, after that happens, I want to go back to the desert. I’m visualizing myself going back to the desert when the summer’s over, but who knows what the end of the summer will bring.
LS:
Is that how you make things happen, by visualizing them and taking the train, or car, or bus that goes in the direction? It sounds like you don’t make all these phone calls, and arrange all these things ahead of time, but maybe you do. How did you get this job at Great Hollow?
JL:
I learned about this place was from a friend that I met three years ago. I got into the wilderness therapy thing after college, that was the path that I was originally going to walk, and then I decided I was going to walk on the photo path instead. And then, after the photo path, I decided to walk the “unpath.”
But there is some direction, and I do try to take control. I would love to… I don’t know… that’s a difficult one to say. Part of me is, like, “Yeah! I want to know what the future brings.” And another part of me is, like, “No, I don’t want to know because then it won’t be as exciting.” I don’t know, I really don’t know. (laughs) I think that there’s a definite part of myself that is, “Yeah, I’m going to set this up, and this is going to work.” And if it doesn’t work, “Oy!” But the other part of me has learned not to wince when things don’t go as planned, and just to take it as it comes.
LS:
Is there any chance that somebody would offer you a stable, long-term thing that involves obligation and responsibility, and would you take it?
JL:
Well, hmmm… Actually, Daniel was trying to get me to commit to a relationship. And that was difficult. (laughs) Something that’s long-term is definitely tempting, because being on the road gets tiring after a while. After not really having anything to hold on to, being offered something secure is really, really tempting.
When I was leaving Alabama one of my editors said, “Be careful that you don’t become one of them.” And what he meant is to make sure that I didn’t go too much in one direction, because then I might go too much in the other direction, and then I might become somebody who I really don’t want to be.
I can see how that happens, and I can see how it has happened to all the old hippies. They walked too far in one direction, and then they walked in the other direction, and now they’re the boxes.
Right now I want a base. I want a solid set of roots that I can grow, and that will always be there for me. I have the roots that I had as a kid, but my circle is so different from when I was younger. It’s just so different from everything I grew up with. I went back to California and was just looking around and, “Wow! I went to college here? I took all this for granted, and this wasn’t surprising to me?” Everything was, like, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!” Everything was crazy. “How can people live like this? How did I grow up like this?”
LS:
Tell me more about Daniel’s request for commitment. What did you think he meant when he talked about making a commitment?
JL:
Sticking to a certain path instead of being like the wind. That’s what commitment means to me. Staying on a path regardless of whatever interesting paths come along the way. I haven’t stuck with anything at all since being on this journey.
Everything that I’ve done has been a journey of exploration, of outer and inner exploration, without any focus or commitment, which I would like to have, but maybe I’m just not ready for it. I’m just 23, I don’t know.
LS:
That’s young, very young.
JL:
It is young.
LS:
You’ve done a lot for three years. You got out of college at 20? That’s early. Did you do 4 years of college?
JL:
I did it in 3 years. I was a genius. (laughs)
LS:
Let me ask you my favorite question: Where do you think you’ll be in 10 years? Or maybe a better way to ask it is, can you give me a vision of where you’d like to be?
JL:
In 10 years I’ll be 33, and by 33… hmm… Where will I be in 10 years?
One possibility is that I will be somewhere in the Southern Utah or Southern Arizona desert, either with red rocks or chaparral all over the place. And I will be living in a community, and I will… do I want one or two… I will have two children, and a very good solid, strong, supporting father to go with the children. And I will be on a plot of land where I can grow foods, and have animals, and be creatively involved in the community and helping people. And I will be knowledgeable about the land and the plants, and myself and others around me.
I had a dream once of a bunch of people sitting in a circle, and every so often somebody would go out and doodle around and come back, and then another would go out and doodle around and come back, so in the end it looks like a flower, with all these people rooting out and coming back, rooting out and coming back. And there’s this base circle that’s moving around all the time, a root community in the center that provides stability for the floating petals of movement.
LS:
If you were going to talk to yourself when you were 15 or 16, when the world was so small, and it all seemed so normal, what would you tell yourself to prepare yourself for the future?
JL:
What would I tell myself at 15? Oh boy. I couldn’t have plotted my journey way back then, I had no idea that I’d be doing what I’m doing today.
It’s very important to follow your instincts and whatever feels right, because everyone has their own path. Take the experiences as they come, and the people. Remember that every person that walks by is full of stories! Don’t look down on anybody for what you see them initially to be, because everybody has something really special and golden inside.
My piano teacher said that everybody has a pearl inside, and the purpose in this life is to find that pearl and polish it until it shines like the stars. And when I look at someone and I’m judgmental I try to remember that that person has a pearl inside too. What’s the pearl? Have they found it yet? Can I help them find it? Everybody is beautiful in some way, and everybody is special in some way.
And another really important thing to remember is that you may often be alone, but you’re never, ever, ever lonely until you allow yourself to be lonely, because everything’s alive. Our ancestors walked under the same sky that we are looking up at. They went through all sorts of troubles and misfortunes, and they lived and they died, and we’re going to live, and we’re going to die, all staring at the same sky, under the glow of the same sun, sleeping under the same moon and stars. This earth that we’re walking on has been walked on by so many animals, and so many people, and so many spirits blowing through the wind, and that is so special!
It’s really important to remember that this life is a gift, it’s soooo special to be alive, such a gift. It’s all a gift regardless of whether it’s a painful hell, or … delicious mangos! (laughs)
Who knows how long we’re on earth for. I could die in 5 minutes, I could die in 50 years, who knows? But it could be any moment. It’s all there to be experienced for what it is, and it all comes together in the end as this giant adventure.
A page from Joyce Lin's diary.
