I live with two guys.
I figure, in the ways of life, that I use toilet paper about twice as often as they do because I use it every time and they use it, well, when they need to.
So I've always felt like it was pretty fair for me to do the bulk of toilet paper shopping.
But that was back then, when I had a car, and I could go to Target or Safeway and buy those big ol' family packs of nice stuff for cheap. But now I don't have a car, I have a bike. And, I'm sorry, but just one of those regular four packs of toilet paper fills up your entire backpack and so you can't buy any other groceries.
So lately, I have not been buying toilet paper. And I've been kind of passive aggressive about it. I've been secretly hoping that my room mates will run out before I do and will have to buy toilet paper and I can just use theirs. I've been a little bitter too- pretty annoyed that they haven't bought any toilet paper yet and, actually, refusing to buy toilet paper because I think that if I do, they will use what I bought and so they won't run out and I'll just keep having to buy toilet paper.
But this week, I ran out and I didn't have time to go to the store and it felt wrong to sneak into my room mate's bathroom and just take a roll but I also didn't want to ask because I figured he'd say something like, "Why don't you just buy some?"
So I resorted to... paper towels. That's something my room mate actually buys, so we always have them on hand but still, paper towels, as toilet paper.... sad sad state.
On Tuesday night, I went to Young Urban Zen. Just before we went in to sit, I went to the bathroom and as I opened the door I saw, just above me, a partly opened six pack of Seventh Generation toilet paper.
"Oh," I thought. "That's exactly what I need. Just one roll to make it to the weekend when I can get over this silliness and just buy some toilet paper."
I considered just taking a roll. No one would notice and, honestly, I was pretty sure that everyone there would be happy to share their toilet paper with someone in need. But still, it felt wrong to just take it without asking, so I went in to sit instead.
At the end of the night, I thought about that roll again. I knew that I needed it, I knew that anyone I asked at the zen center would gladly give it to me, I knew that it was just a matter of me, going up to someone, and admitting my vulnerability in asking for something that I needed. I was scared to admit my vulnerability, scared to put myself in a place of need, but knew too that it was important to just do that- to admit that I needed something from others and to ask them for it.
I approached Shundo, the director of the zen center, "I have an embarrassing question to ask you..."
He noddded his head to suggest that I continue.
"Can I borrow a roll of toilet paper if I promise to buy the exact same kind and replace it by this weekend?"
He paused, for only a second, but I immediately thought, "Oh my gosh! Is he really going to say no? Maybe there's a policy or some inventory thing or some rule about loaning things to non- residents."
But my thoughts were quickly stopped by his response (this is how I remember what he said)
"You can have it. And you can return the favor with something completely different, some other time."
I looked up to the right to consider this, to consider how I would repay the favor in some other way and then looked back at him, smiled, and said "Thank you."
As I walked away I thought to myself, "Nope. I'm going to buy a roll of the exact same kind of toilet paper and I'm going to replace it immediately and it'll be like I never took a thing."
I walked into the bathroom, grabbed a roll, put it in my backpack and rode home.
As soon as I got home, I unzipped my backpack and the sight of that roll of toilet paper brought this wave of ease over my entire upper body.
"Wow!" I thought to myself. "You really needed that roll of toilet paper."
But then I thought to myself, "No, that's actually not what's going on. You didn't feel needy earlier this week when you were using paper towels, and seeing the roll didn't bring up the feeling of satiation or stability you often feel when your needs are met."
So then I thought back to my interaction with Shundo. I wondered about the fact that he hadn't said anything like, "Of course you can have something from the zen center. You give stuff here all the time. You've given so much we'd be happy to give to you in return."
And I have to admit that in noticing this, that he didn't say that, I felt a bit of disappointment. Part of me had wanted him to give me the toilet paper without question because of my generosity, because I had given so freely.
But the thing was, he hadn't said that. He didn't say "You can have this because you've given this," he just said "You can have it."
"This is what feels so good," I thought. "You're feeling what it's like to be given something not because you deserve it, not based on your value, you're being given something regardless of who you are, just because you need it."
And I thought that I wanted to do that for my students: to stop rewarding them, to stop making them earn things, to just give to them freely.
And so I thought that was it- that this good feeling came from being given something unconditionally, freely, simply because I needed it.
But when I thought back to what Shundo said, that didn't feel right either. I didn't feel like he had given me something because I needed it. If he had done that, he wouldn't have said that I could return the favor in a different way on another occasion; he would have just given it to me, and asked for nothing in return.
And then I thought about it, and I realized, that he hadn't actually given me anything. He didn't see a need in me and fulfill it. He didn't reward me with toilet paper because I had been generous in the past. He didn't even hand me a roll of toilet paper with no questions asked.
He simply said Here, have it, and be who you are.
And that's when I realized that that toilet paper roll was not a gift, it had not been given.
There are places for gifts in this world. There are places for fulfilling another preson's need. But there is also a beauty and equality, a respect and a love in not giving a gift, in not helping someone, in simply shifting something from one place to another- from one person to another, equally.
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