Trevor Weltman is a business leader and writer who currently lives with his wife and two daughters in the US. Daily, he reads books of all flavours, from self-help to sci-fi, management theory to graphic novels, and actively applies everything he learns to his attempt at cracking further the code of this thing we call life.

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Trevor Weltman

<h4>
 TREVOR WELTMAN’s honest appraisal of life in
 lockdown, with his wife and two young daughters in busy Bangkok, is a
 refreshing look at how to navigate and transcend the expectations and tensions
 that surface when we are thrown together for months on end in close quarters
 without all our normal support structures. Best of all, the outcome is
 positive and inspirational!
</h4>

<h5 style="text-align: center">
 Anything we ever said, ‘I’ll deal with that later.
 I will feel that later.
 I will think about that later,’ will come up in meditation,
 because by meditating you are saying to life,
 ‘OK, later is NOW. Bring it on.’”
</h5>
<h5 style="text-align: center" class="my-5">—Dr. Lorin Roche</h5>


 Oftentimes we use metaphors from our daily life to elucidate concepts in
 meditation or spirituality that are ineffable or abstract – from the term
 “enlightened” itself to “summiting the mountain,” “walking the path” to
 “accruing inner wealth.” Even the great saint Kabir is able to distil the
 enormously important but difficult concept of cosmic mergence into the
 ever-accessible “drop of water joining the ocean.”


 In this way, metaphors are the lighthouses of understanding and the security
 blankets of language: when faced with what we don’t know or cannot fully
 comprehend, they balm our intellect and guide our consciousness safely back
 through the abstraction to more familiar harbors.


 But what happens when what we’re experiencing is truly novel? What if it is
 without comparison? How to make sense of something that virtually no one alive
 today or in the recent past has credibly experienced?

What happens when we are without metaphor?

 I believe this has been one of the most difficult parts of COVID for me, and I
 would venture for many others as well. As the second wave of the virus
 intensifies around the world, and as its health, economic, and social impacts
 all deepen, we are truly in uncharted territory.


 Certainly there are lessons we can learn from the 1918 Spanish Flu, the 2008
 Great Financial Crisis, and the Ebola and SARS crises respectively, to help us
 better manage the current pandemic. However, I find these past examples don’t
 do much to help us understand how to feel about what’s happening, and that’s
 problematic. For none of these previous crises has unilaterally disrupted the
 lives of most of the seven billion people on planet Earth at the same scale as
 COVID, nor led to what will in time be looked back upon as the impetus behind
 the great rethinking and reorganizing of our international politics and
 national economies.


 This time period will also be remembered as the great reorganizer of our
 homes, our families, our priorities, and – as I’ve come to see – our
 expectations for ourselves and our loved ones.


<img
 class="has-img-center mb-5"
 src="https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/choosing_growth2_img_2b4a1d24e5.jpg?updated_at=2023-04-06T06:13:18.743Z"
 alt="choosing-growth2"
/>

 So, without any external event to help me make better sense of COVID in a
 holistic way, my theory at the outset of lockdown was simple: begin actively
 seeking parallels between my spiritual life and what I have experienced in
 meditation, to help me better understand my experience of the pandemic.


 Before I get much further, though, I must admit that this “lofty” idea was
 born of much less glamorous and enlightened circumstances. In fact, it was an
 essential coping mechanism. The rigors of isolating in place with two children
 under four in a country that neither my wife nor I call home was taking a
 tremendous toll on our marriage.


 I’m not suggesting that the emergent term “COVID-divorce” was a foregone
 conclusion; far from it. Rather, we were not in sync as the newness and
 stresses of lockdown, and the greater uncertainties surrounding COVID, had
 created and exacerbated new tensions between us.

Or had it?

 It was then I began to realize that lockdown – like Dr. Roche’s quote about
 how meditation tells life to “Bring it on” – wasn’t actually the cause of the
 issues we were experiencing. Instead, it was a focusing event, like
 meditation, that was forcing us to confront the myriad issues we already had,
 all at the same time.


 On the surface, these issues seemed interpersonal. She was angry that I was on
 back-to-back Zoom calls all day long, while I was incredulous at her saying
 she didn’t have time for herself when she was managing to watch a few hours of
 Korean dramas and choosing to bake complicated recipes every day.


 Couldn’t I see she was under water managing the kids?


 Couldn’t she see I was doing all I could to ensure our continued livelihood
 and that of all the staff who depend on me?


 Yet, as the comparison of meditation and lockdown crystallized further in my
 mind, the truth I came to realize was that these issues were actually just
 personal to each of us. Deeply so.


 In other words, deep inside me and deep inside her resided two very different
 sets of ideals and expectations of what it meant to live well, as well as a
 raft of expectations for the other person to change and fit these ideals.


 Thing is, these expectations and ideals, such as support, time management,
 balance, and even home tidiness, were all based on normal operating
 circumstances pre-COVID: kids at day care 5+ hours a day, me at the office,
 access to yoga, the gym, days out, days off, and a weekend that actually felt
 like a weekend etc.


 But even then, we still managed to fight and disagree about these differing
 expectations every single day! In fact, in retrospect, these unspoken and
 unasked expectations for daily things were the largest source of pain in our
 marriage.


<img
 class="has-img-center mb-5"
 src="https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/choosing_growth3_img_dec7311541.jpg?updated_at=2023-04-06T06:13:18.719Z"
 alt="choosing-growth3"
/>
<hr />
<h5 style="text-align: center">
 Meditation is in no way separate
 from anything you do during the day,
 all your relationships,
 and your whole purpose on Earth.
</h5>
<hr />

 Many of these expectations couldn’t have been more incongruent with our
 situation during lockdown. And yet, we were both muddling through a kind of
 passive despair over what was happening to us, instead of embracing one of the
 most profound lessons taught by meditation, namely, that our experience of
 lockdown, as does every experience, was in fact happening through us.


 Dr. Roche builds on this idea in the same essay when he writes:


 “Meditation is in no way separate from anything you do during the day, all
 your relationships, and your whole purpose on Earth. In every meditation, you
 will have to sort through all the stuff in your mind and heart, and if
 anything is out of balance, you will feel it intensely. If you have wronged
 someone, or left an important conversation unfinished, you will find your
 attention going to it again and again. If you want to go any deeper in
 meditation, you will have to bring some resolution to your outer situations,
 otherwise your meditation will start to feel stalemated. So you’ll find
 yourself adjusting your behavior in daily life to be more ethical, to minimize
 the amount of your meditation time that is taken up by processing the residue
 of the day. In other words, in meditation every day you will have a small
 degree of the insight people have on their deathbed, where they wish they had
 lived their lives.”


 In the same way meditation isn’t separate from the rest of our life, lockdown
 isn’t a separation from our pre-COVID life either. It is an intensified
 continuation of it. Akin to “marriage” or “parenting” or simply “life” on
 “hard mode,” we found ourselves without our ritual distractions of the gym, or
 yoga, or work, or whatever to hide behind when tensions flared.


 Thus it drew our expectations out into the open. As we began openly asking
 each other for the kind of support we needed, lest we kept suffering in
 silence or exploding in anger, we were able to work through the “residue” of
 our marriage that existed pre-COVID and ultimately go deeper into our
 relationship as a result.


 But, like meditation, it isn’t easy. Speaking so plainly with your spouse
 about what you need or don’t need as support is difficult. You may get that
 support, or a multi-day argument, or you may need to give up an expectation to
 preserve equanimity, or realize you are being unrealistic, which also hurts in
 and of itself. But, by doing so there is at least a more honest foundation to
 grow into and through (there are also fewer desires floating about, which is
 healthy in its own right, and could be the subject for another article).


 So, no, we didn’t choose to go into lockdown and cut ourselves off from our
 families and social and professional networks for months on end, but – like
 how we choose to meditate to work on ourselves – we have improved our
 relationship during lockdown by choosing to hit pause, accept the situation,
 reorient our expectations, and take responsibility for how we feel.


<img
 class="w-100"
 src="https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/choosing_growth4_img_60a5f8644d.jpg?updated_at=2023-04-06T06:13:18.737Z"
/>

 As hard as it is to write about a shared global experience, I am attempting to
 do so, because I find many strong, resilient people I know are now at their
 wits end. Lockdown was manageable for them when it seemed it would be just a
 few months. But faced with the prospect of another six months, or more, of
 severely limited movement, and mounting worries about income and jobs, they
 are starting to cave in to the loneliness, the feeling of being cooped up, and
 the feeling that life is fully beyond their control.


 Make no mistake about it, I believe this is all going to get worse before it
 gets better. So, to gird our sanity as this intensifies, we need to help each
 other find those metaphors from our life before COVID, wherein we succeeded,
 excelled, grew, and proactively took charge of our lives.


 For those with experience in meditation, lean into it as I have. Make it your
 metaphor. It is the perfect training for dealing with the challenges of
 uncertainty and isolation posed by lockdown, because it teaches us to address
 how we feel without brooding, so we can take responsibility for our feelings
 without succumbing to them. In these troubled times, this is a precious
 experience to have, and, as my wife and I found out, a critical skill to
 navigating the uncertainties.


<hr />

<h4 style="text-align: center">
 Article by TREVOR WELTMAN Illustrations by GAYATRI PACHPANDE
</h4>
<hr />

Choosing Growth

<hr class="vertical-space1" />
<h3 style="text-align: center">
 ON CROSSING THE BRIDGE OF YOUNG ADULTHOOD
</h3>
<hr class="vertical-space1" />
<h4>
 TREVOR WELTMAN describes the rite of
 passage he has experienced moving from youth to adulthood, how he
 navigated this crossing, and how meditation and yogic Transmission
 supported him along the way.
</h4>
<hr class="vertical-space1" />

 “When I was young, there were very
 few elders willing to talk about the darkness; 
 most of them pretended that success was all they had ever known. 
 As the darkness began to descend on me in my early twenties, 
 I thought I had developed a unique and terminal case of failure. 
 I did not realize that I had merely embarked on a journey toward joining
 the human race.” 


 Parker J. Palmer&nbsp;

<hr class="vertical-space1" />

 <img
 class="w-100 lazyload"
 src="https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/invisible_ropes_love2_ef99a5e906.jpg?updated_at=2023-04-10T06:10:34.981Z"
 alt="invisible_ropes_love2"
 />

<hr class="vertical-space1" />

 Traversing young adulthood in modern times is like hiking with a group of
 close friends and coming upon an unavoidable rope bridge covered in fog:
 the only way forward is through, but of suspicious carrying capacity and
 wide enough for only one person, you’re suddenly forced to go it alone,
 yet can’t see more than an arm’s length in any direction, say nothing of
 the other side.
 


 You intend to walk slowly and deliberately, but are beset by primal fear
 pushing from behind, uncertain if the failure and therefore danger of your
 next step will send you down simply a half meter into shallow water, or a
 thousand to a point of no return, or instead just reward you with another
 opportunity to continue inching your way forward into further
 unknowns.


 So you pick up your foot, place it down, and …


 Do you decide to give up and try your best to return back to the places
 and people you just came from, or do you feel the ropes underhand and
 choose to trust they are leading you toward the where and the who you’re
 supposed to become?


 This idea, while pitifully telegraphic, is the best articulation I have
 for how I oftentimes felt during my twenties.


 And whether you’re still out there standing on the bridge right now, or
 you’ve already passed on through, you know precisely the feeling I am
 referring to: the desperation, the shock at finding yourself so suddenly
 alone, the feeling that no one really understands or cares, the pressure
 that it’s all on you to make these important life decisions with little to
 no confidence or experience to back them up, and the overall lack of
 clarity over where you’re headed.


 This was exhausting, and as I reflect now on my experience
 “crossing the bridge” over the last ten years, the single thing above all
 that stands out to me as the root cause of pain on my journey was the
 extreme pressure I constantly felt to have had my life more figured out
 than it actually was at any given moment.
 

<h4>
 Meditation helped, but not entirely
</h4>

 I’ll be the first person to tell you how beneficial it was to have a
 sustained and disciplined meditation practice during my twenties. In fact,
 I would even go as far as saying that my meditation practice is why I –
 unlike so many others – didn’t wind up with anxiety, depression, panic, or
 drug or alcohol abuse. While meditation cannot cure these things, as a
 preventative it gave me the inner tools and resources I needed to cope
 with young adulthood that many of my peers didn’t develop.

<hr class="vertical-space1" />

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 class="w-100 lazyload"
 src="https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/invisible_ropes_love3_8850f414ff.jpg?updated_at=2023-04-10T06:11:57.207Z"
 alt="invisible_ropes_love3"
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<hr class="vertical-space1" />

 And yet, I may be the first person to tell you that meditation in and of
 itself wasn’t the decisive factor. As a purely mental or emotional
 training I did for about 90 minutes every day, I benefited from
 Heartfulness in all the ways you’d expect to benefit from virtually any
 other sustained meditation practice: greater focus, greater concentration,
 greater relaxation, greater empathy, greater sense of purpose, and a
 greater ability to center myself during particularly trying times.


 But what about the chronic, unrelenting pressure? What about the
 loneliness? What about the devastating lack of confidence I felt almost
 every day about the important life decisions I had to make or was putting
 off ?


 Thus, meditation helped, but not entirely. While it no doubt helped
 ground me where I was, while I was still there, there was another force at
 play that gave me general confidence in the direction I was headed.

<h4>
 Yogic Transmission was my source of solace and confidence
</h4>

 The fact of the matter is this: I have been meditating in Heartfulness
 for nearly 13 years now and a trainer for over 10. In addition to my own
 practice, I have conducted literally thousands of introductory meditation
 sessions and given hundreds of talks and lectures around the world about
 this practice since 2007.
 


 And you know what? The absolute last thing I want to talk about or write
 about publicly or privately is pranahuti or yogic Transmission.
 It’s the key aspect of Heartfulness, the “secret sauce” if you will, and I
 have no words or desire to describe it.

<hr class="vertical-space1" />
<hr />
<h4 style="text-align: center">
 If I had to credit one thing above all 
 else that helped me navigate the darkest of times 
 during my passage through young adulthood into full adulthood, 
 it would undoubtedly be the surge of confidence 
 I felt every day in meditation, 
 feeling the yogic Transmission.
</h4>
<hr />
<hr class="vertical-space1" />

 This is mainly because I feel like I sound crazy talking about something
 that by definition is undefinable. In the books it says “pranahuti
 is the life of life,” an “energy that is not an energy,” and – most
 unhelpfully – a “forceless force.” Furthermore, yogic Transmission is a
 deeply personal experience. It is precisely its undefinable yet
 experiential nature that renders it so intimate and therefore unspeakable
 to me. But, in the hope that my experience with yogic Transmission can
 similarly benefit another person so hopelessly caught “on the bridge,”
 here I am doing my best to share one of my deepest, yet-unspoken truths,
 and it’s this:
 


 If I had to credit one thing above all else that helped me navigate the
 darkest of times during my passage through young adulthood into full
 adulthood, it would undoubtedly be the surge of confidence I felt every
 day in meditation, feeling the yogic Transmission.
 

<h4>
 Following the feeling
</h4>

 Yogic Transmission helped for two key reasons: first, it feels good.
 


 Like a warm inner hug, or a comforting vibration, yogic Transmission
 cannot be quantified but can absolutely be felt. This is no different than
 love, joy, kindness, and other abstract concepts we are more casually
 comfortable with describing, as yogic Transmission is also “unseen but
 real.”


 To quote one meditator, a mathematician by training and computer
 programmer by profession who used to sit with me many years ago: “This is
 not logical or illogical. The fact that I experience it but can’t quantify
 it means this yogic Transmission thing is actually a-logical, as in, it
 exists outside of any framework for logic I have ever learned, studied, or
 known.”
 


 Thus, at times when I was really feeling anxious or worried about my
 future, this comforting feeling would wash over me and act as a welcome
 counterbalance.

<hr class="vertical-space1" />

 <img
 class="w-100 lazyload"
 src="https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/invisible_ropes_love3_8850f414ff.jpg?updated_at=2023-04-10T06:11:57.207Z"
 alt="invisible_ropes_love3"
 />

<hr class="vertical-space1" />
<h4>
 From constancy to confidence
</h4>

 Second, though, and more important to young people: yogic Transmission
 gave me confidence. It was always there, waiting, ever accessible. No
 matter what was happening around me, I could sit down virtually anywhere
 and feel it in the same quality and volume I could feel it anywhere
 else.


 Such a dependable constant is disproportionally profound for a young
 adult, as this stage of life is defined by its transience – the literal
 passage between youth and adulthood. Thus nothing is constant, and nor is
 it supposed to be!
 


 Everything external is in a constant state of change, from schools to
 jobs, new cities to new people.
 


 We are also changing internally – from new ideas to new identities, new
 dreams to new regrets, new habits to new fears, and also new confidences
 to new insecurities.
 


 But no matter how overwhelmed I felt, I’d sit down. I’d start to
 meditate. And after a few moments …&nbsp;I’d feel the tug on my heart. I’d exhale. I’d smile. And many, many
 times, I’d find my shoulders would untense and lower for the first time
 that day.


 Keep in mind, nothing had actually changed – the pressure still existed
 and was mounting. The job still needed to be found or quit. The girl still
 loved me or didn’t. The move either needed to be made soon or was already
 under way.


 But the feeling overcoming me was the same one I’d felt on all the good
 days, too. It literally connected me in a powerful way to all the amazing
 moments I’d experienced after A+ exams and long nights with friends and
 epic road trips and even my transformational journeys to the far ends of
 Earth, meditating in beautiful places with beautiful people from all over
 the world.


 In essence, then, yogic Transmission, by its constancy above all else,
 taught me that finding balance and sanity during the rapid transitions of
 young adulthood was less about seeing through the fog to know definitively
 where I was headed, than it was about learning to
 reach through each moment I found myself in to
 derive comfort and confidence in every other place I had already been
 and felt, both positive and negative.


 One year north of 30 now, and this “practice,” or “belief,” or
 “experience,” if you will, continues with me to this day. For when I find
 the fog has descended (because let’s be honest, it never really leaves), I
 find my hands are already reaching out, searching through the mist and
 grasping for those invisible ropes. And, as it always has, across all
 these years now, the yogic Transmission is still there waiting to continue
 guiding my way.
 

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 <img
 class="w-100 lazyload"
 src="https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/invisible_ropes_love5_ff6ed526b3.jpg?updated_at=2023-04-10T06:14:29.971Z"
 alt="invisible_ropes_love5"
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<hr class="vertical-space1" />
<hr />
<h4 style="text-align: center">
 Article by
 TREVOR WELTMAN Illustrations by JASMEE RATHOD
</h4>
<hr />

Invisible ropes of love

<h4>TREVOR WELTMAN and his wife take on the video addiction of their young daughters, as they find their way through the digital maze, and successfully create a lifestyle for the whole family that is happier and more balanced.</h4>After yet another tear-filled episode with my kids pleading for “just one more” video, my wife and I knew change was overdue. It was August 2021, and the digital realm of children’s videos had ensnared our household. Our then 5-year-old and 3-year-old daughters bore the brunt of it. Regrettably, they were clocking in over two hours of YouTube and movies daily.While it’s tempting to blame the endless lockdown hours in a bustling urban center, the reality is different. The country where we weathered the pandemic had a brief lockdown. It merely sped up our descent down a path we’d chosen years prior.Need the kids to eat? Cue a video. Want them to tackle chores, dress quickly, or make a promise? Another video. In search of a fleeting moment of tranquility? Yet another video. We might not have handed them a physical pacifier, but YouTube was our digital one. Cocomelon, Little Baby Bus, Masha and the Bear, PJ Masks, Elsa, Anna, Moana... the list goes on.These videos worked wonders. They also wreaked havoc on our children. Post-screen mood swings were intense. Denials led to explosive meltdowns. They were hooked, only semi-content when engrossed in a video. In this digital sugar high, we played the role of enablers. Declining their requests was a battle. Unlike TV schedules of yesteryears, our kids knew we held the reins. Every viewing request became a zero-sum tug-of-war between an addict and their supplier. Facing the sheer intensity of their reactions, we often capitulated.This dynamic left me uneasy. Witnessing their screen-induced trances, the subsequent mood crashes, and our role in it all was distressing and disheartening. I felt trapped, seemingly powerless to alter course.<figure class="image"><img src="https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/breaking_habit_screentime2_34a031744e.webp" alt="breaking-habit-screentime2.webp" srcset="https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/thumbnail_breaking_habit_screentime2_34a031744e.webp 119w,https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/small_breaking_habit_screentime2_34a031744e.webp 382w," sizes="100vw"></figure><h4>The turning point: a screen-free intervention</h4>Recently, I saw a video of Daaji discussing his <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AbNfM9PdrEE" target="_blank" rel="noopener noreferrer">grandson’s transformation after a screen detox</a> and it resonated deeply. Our experiences mirrored each other. I therefore feel compelled to share our journey – not as a model family, but as an imperfect one that has found its way through this digital maze.&nbsp;We are not paragons of parenting. We know those homeschooling parents whose commitment and intentionality are awe-inspiring. If I had to label our parenting style, it would be “well-intended lazy.” Thus, our aim isn’t to seek praise or induce guilt (there’s a surplus of parenting content for that). Instead, we hope to offer a practical blueprint.In the summer of 2021, we initiated our intervention. Unbeknownst to our kids, we embarked on a two-week trip to visit friends (the Montessori, homeschooling, highly engaged kind I deeply respect). Days were filled with outdoor adventures, puzzles, art, gardening, and games. The kids, previously screen-obsessed, barely remembered their digital cravings after the initial 48 hours.By the trip’s end, a transformation was evident. Our previously screen-addicted children reconnected with the world and were happier. And none of this was difficult. As my wife always says: children learn fast, but also adapt and forget fast.<hr><h4 style="text-align:center;">We ensure they have constant access to&nbsp; their own tools of entertainment:&nbsp; nature, crafts, music, puzzles, books, and&nbsp; most crucially our presence.&nbsp; Seasons dictate our activities: snowmen in winter seed planting in spring, lake splashes in summer and hiking in the fall.</h4><hr><h4>Sustainable change: our new rhythm</h4>Two years on, we’ve maintained this rhythm. We’re not 100% screen-free and don’t want to be. Saturdays are reserved for a movie treat. The girls anticipate it but aren’t consumed by the wait. We also watch some documentaries and other movies together on occasion.&nbsp;This lifestyle comes, however, with a significant caveat: we couldn’t merely eliminate their digital crutch and leave a void. We learned quickly that we have to substitute it with equally, if not more, captivating alternatives.This didn’t mean inundating them with extracurricular activities. Over-scheduling is another pitfall that undermines their well-being.Instead, we reclaimed what YouTube had replaced. We resumed full responsibility for their engagement. This doesn’t translate to non-stop entertaining them. Instead, we ensure they have constant access to their own tools of entertainment: nature, crafts, music, puzzles, books, and most crucially, our presence. Seasons dictate our activities: snowmen in winter, seed planting in spring, lake splashes in summer, and hiking in the fall.Admittedly, this approach is more demanding of our time and focus. But after initial efforts, we’re learning that their self-driven creativity takes over, allowing us some downtime.Now, aged 7 and 5, our children are flourishing. Their creativity, mood stability, and connection to their surroundings have deepened. The same holds true for my wife and me – we feel more in command of our home.In today’s screen-saturated world, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed. But to parents everywhere, breaking the cycle is within reach. It wasn’t even hard once it got underway. Believe me, if we can do it so can you, and likely better.<figure class="image"><img src="https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/breaking_habit_screentime3_46a804de81.webp" alt="breaking-habit-screentime3.webp" srcset="https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/thumbnail_breaking_habit_screentime3_46a804de81.webp 128w," sizes="100vw"></figure><hr><h4 style="text-align:center;">Illustrations by ANANYA PATEL</h4><hr>

Breaking the habit of screen time with our kids

Trevor Weltman (American) and Van Le (Vietnamese) are Heartfulness trainers who have been married for seven years. After living in Vietnam and Thailand, they currently live in the US with their two young daughters.

thumbnail_Trevor-Weltman-and-Van-Le.jpg

Trevor-Weltman-and-Van-Le.jpg

Trevor Weltman and Van Le

<h4
 id="h-trevor-weltman-american-and-van-le-vietnamese-have-been-married-for-seven-years-after-living-in-vietnam-and-thailand-they-currently-live-in-the-us-with-their-two-young-daughters-we-recently-reached-out-to-them-for-their-perspective-on-intercultural-marriage-here-is-what-they-sent">
 TREVOR WELTMAN (American) and VAN LE (Vietnamese) have been married for seven years.
 After living in Vietnam and Thailand, they currently live in the US with their two young daughters. We recently
 reached out to them for their perspective on intercultural marriage. Here is what they sent.
</h4>
<hr class="vertical-space1">
V: Hey, so Heartfulness Magazine asked if we would write
 an article about our experience of intercultural marriage.
T:&nbsp; Yeah? Cool.
V: Cool?
T: Yeah. Cool.
V: You Americans with your “cools” and “dudes” and “awesomes.” Everything is always great! Except you never
 answer the question.
T: What question?
V: Do you want to do it or not?
T: Yeah, cool.
V: Ahhh. Okay. So, we’ll do it.
T: Yeah, awesome. [He doesn’t say anything more]
V: And what do you want to write about?
T: I’ve got, like, ten angles or concepts we could
 pursue.
V: Ten! What? We just found out less than a minute ago.
 How do you already have ten concepts?
T: I said “like” ten, you know, three. Maybe. Hear me
 out. I think we should start with a massive metaphor. We could go cosmic, like how the origin of the universe starts
 with an intense burst that eventually slows at the fringes. Or, agrarian, about the difficulties of grafting two
 trees together, but how they still manage to fruit. We could draw parallels.
V: What are you talking about? The bang big? Fruit trees?
 They asked for insights about marriage! Why not just answer the question?
T: I am answering the question. Are you mad?
V: No, I’m not mad.
T: But you raised your voice.
V: I’m annoyed.
T: So … you sound mad according to my culture,
 but you’re not. Instead, you’re annoyed per your culture? Do all Vietnamese people sound this way when
 annoyed?
V: Yes. No.
T: So, no big bang?
V: Why not answer directly instead of a massive
 story?
T: Because it’s complicated.
V: What is? Writing the article? Or marriage?
T: Marriage. I feel like any marriage is like roller
 skating on ice, where the husband is the left leg and the wife the right, both struggling to find their footing
 individually, and also move seamlessly in the same direction. But intercultural marriage? It’s the same, except
 we’re fighting gravity by being forced to do it upside down.
V: Upside down roller ice skating? Fighting gravity?
 That’s what being married to me is like for you?
T: No. But I think that’s what being married to me is
 like for you.
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<div class="block-image">
 <figure><img width="600" height="914" alt=""
 class="has-img-center lazyload"
 src="https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/Interracial_marriage2_81ef159d51.jpg?updated_at=2023-04-10T11:40:32.557Z"
 >
 </figure>
</div>
<hr class="vertical-space1">
V: Ha! I guess you got that right. Sometimes you drive me
 totally nuts with the things you say, and because you have no idea you’re offending me.You act so casually about it
 that it makes me even angrier. And also, because I can’t express myself in my language in our marriage, it sometimes
 feels like I have a foot in my mouth.
T: A what in where?
V: See, that’s a Vietnamese expression. Anyway, when we
 discuss how I feel, and you literally have no idea, it makes my feelings feel invalidated. Like, did I not just
 experience this?
T: Same. But I honestly think every marriage has this.
 Like, the whole oafish husband and nagging wife tropes, those have to come from somewhere.
V: You think I nag? I don’t nag.
T: [says nothing]
V: But you’re right. After we spent more time with your
 family and in the US, you made way more sense to me. Meeting our children’s friend’s parents, making more American
 friends, it’s like there is this whole part of you that is not just you. It’s American and its Trevor.
T: And both are cute.
V: [Gagging sound] You always make that joke and it never
 works.
T: That’s what you think.
V: But seriously, how will we write this?
T: Well, whatever we write, I want it to be funny.
 Honest. Not too philosophical. No grandiose advice. Show that marriage is a work in progress and we don’t have
 answers. Just experience.
Like you said, the extended time we’ve spent with each other’s families and in each other’s countries has been a
 massive boon to understanding each other, and helps not to take the many differences in opinion personally. I also
 want to highlight the amazing expansion of food options.
V: What expansion? From you, I learned about bread and
 butter. And candy.
T: Those are three very important food groups. What do
 you want to convey?
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<div class="block-image">
 <figure><img 
 class="has-img-center lazyload"
 src="https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/pancakes_9aff146521.jpg?updated_at=2023-04-10T11:36:09.030Z"
 >
 </figure>
</div>
<hr class="vertical-space1">
V: Well, I want to share that it’s not easy. But, that a
 third culture emerges, a family culture. Between us we have all of these new habits and traditions that are
 not American or Vietnamese. Our kids get American, Vietnamese, and micro Weltman cultures that include so
 many experiences you and I never had. That’s pretty cool. And I love how intentional we’re able to be about it.
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<div class="block-image">
 <figure><img width="500" height="569" alt=""
 class="has-img-center lazyload"
 src="https://cdn-prod-static.heartfulness.org/thai_plate_aee27a1911.jpg?updated_at=2023-04-10T11:37:02.909Z"
 ></figure>
</div>
<hr class="vertical-space1">
T: Yeah! Great point. And then there’s all of the playful
 language and mashups we make. To be honest, I’m a little worried our kids don’t realize how much of what we say in
 the house isn’t actually real, just WeltmanVietese.
V: Yeah, it was so hard when we started. But it’s gotten
 better, hasn’t it?
T: Sure has. I feel like our skill of being married is
 growing, to the point where our cultural differences aren’t a constant minefield of missteps. Rather, they are
 becoming more of what unites us. That intentionality you spoke of really resonates.
V: Do you really think so? Or are you just putting honey
 on the ear?
T: What on where?
V: [Sighs] So let’s do it. Let’s sit down later and do
 it.&nbsp; But let’s eat first. You want fresh rolls or tacos?
T: Yeah, cool.
<hr class="vertical-space1">
Editor’s note: Upon reading the final version, Van is on record as saying, “Uh, even reading this I am
 annoyed!”
<hr class="vertical-space1">
<hr>
<h4 class="has-text-align-center">Illustrations by ARATI SHEDDE</h4>
<hr>

Trevor Weltman

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