FAO Schwarz, Pink Crayons, and the Inner Vow
On Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, across from the Plaza Hotel, stood FAO Schwarz—a massive fortress where children’s dreams were put on display. Occasionally, after spending a joyful time with my child in Central Park, I would make a point of stopping there on our way back. Every time I paid for the flamboyant toys my child chose, a joy more intense than the child’s—a sensation close to a tremor—would erupt within me. It wasn’t merely the satisfaction of consumption; it was a kind of sacred ritual to quench a long-suppressed inner thirst.
As I traced the roots of this peculiar happiness within meditation, I came to a halt in a classroom on the day of my elementary school entrance ceremony. On the desks of all the other children, including my seatmate, sat a brilliant set of crayons that vividly included the color pink. In front of me, however, sat a solitary, cheapest-possible pack of crayons where not a hint of pink could be found.
To my young self, pink was not just a color. It was the “vibrancy of the world,” the “bright laughter of my friends,” and a “desperate yearning to be recognized just like them.” Even if we were poor, my mother could have bought me at least one pack of crayons with pink in them. I resented her infinitely for prioritizing excessive frugality as a virtue while ignoring her child’s inner world. At that moment, my young self clenched her fists and vowed: “I will never hurt my child the way my mother hurt me. If I don’t have the economic means, I’d rather not have a child at all. But if I do become a mother, I will gladly buy my child whatever they want—even a world that glows in pink!”
Doll Play Created by Deficiency, and the Illusion of the “Perfect Mother”
The act of buying toys for my child at FAO Schwarz was not love. It was a deeply selfish “doll play,” an attempt to heal my younger self—the one who couldn’t have pink crayons—through the most flamboyant toy store in the heart of Manhattan. I wasn’t looking at my child as a whole being. I was merely being comforted by looking at the “young me,” filled with deficiency, projected onto the mirror of my child.
The greater tragedy was my belief that I was giving my daughter “freedom.” Having lived a life suffocated by my mother’s excessive interference and worried gaze, I gave my child a “laissez-faire” freedom, never even making a single phone call to check on her. I took pride in this as the “coolest” way to trust her and raise her as an independent adult.
But one night, after returning from school, my child locked her door and cried sorrowfully, saying over the phone: “Mom, why don’t you have any interest in me? Why do you never look for me? My friends ask me if you’re my stepmother. I wish I had a mother who worried about me and looked for me like other mothers do!”
I felt as if I had been struck in the head with a hammer. I hadn’t worried about her because I wanted to protect her from the excessive worry of my own mother that had strangled me all my life. Because I had lived a life suffocated by my mother’s strictness, I believed my child would be happy if I let her live exactly as she wanted. Yet, my heart had pierced her like a cold dagger of “indifference.” That night, I wept uncontrollably, realizing that while I took pride in having discarded everything through practice, I was still trapped in the prison of “reaction” against my mother, clutching my child in my own way. I scraped away the fragments of my memories of my mother down to the very bottom and discarded them.
Severing the Great Legacy: “Worry is Love”
I inherited a massive legacy from my mother: the belief that “worry is proof of love.” I believed that looking at my child with eyes full of anxiety was a noble act for the child’s sake. But through meditation, I realized that the negative vibrations emitted by the worry-monsters in my mind were a heavy shadow blocking my child’s path—an act of selfish violence. I learned how terrifying it is to gaze at a child through a lens of anxiety just to soothe one’s own inner unrest.
“My daughter, the worry and indifference I sent toward you were all illusions created by my own wounds. As I withdrew the energy I was pouring into the monsters within me, the world of ‘this moment’ finally revealed itself brilliantly.”
Now, I feel the abundance of the universe in the scent of a coffee costing just a few dollars, and I savor infinite freedom in a passing breeze. This ecstasy of “the present moment,” which I could never have known while living as a slave to monsters, is the true legacy I wish to pass on to my daughter. I want to teach her how to exist newly in every moment, rather than living trapped in the shackles of the past.
The Beginning of True Love: Breaking the Chain of Inheritance
Only after discarding all the illusions of my parents that stayed within me and dominated me did I finally become free. I admit that what I called “love” was actually “learned trauma” inherited from my parents. I know that erasing the contaminated records within me and breaking the cycle of inherited wounds is the only truly great thing I can do for my daughter.
My beloved daughter, if any worry-monster ever torments you within your mind, start the meditation of discarding it at any time. Only in that empty space after clearing ourselves can we finally love each other fully and unconditionally.