by Jazz Szympruch
New York
I was in tears when the lights came up. The woman beside me took notice.
“Powerful woman,” she said, meaning Miriam Makeba, the protagonist of the play we’d just watched. For decades, the South African singer had fought to end apartheid from exile. As much as I was moved by her story, it was her spirit that had brought me to tears. To fight to achieve a beautiful dream against impossible odds—I could hardly imagine having such strength, but deep down, I did want to, badly.
This was back in 2024, in my ninth year in New York. I’d come to pursue a dream to tell stories—in writing, in theater, in film. But this dream had drifted far out of reach as I’d fallen into destructive patterns. Marijuana had become my daily crutch, a way to move through trauma and connect in my marriage. And this had been a losing battle. I was sinking into depression, battling suicidal thoughts. But that day, I left the theater feeling refreshed—by the play and the conversation I’d had. The woman beside me seemed genuinely interested in getting to know me, so we’d made plans for coffee.
That month, we sat down, and this time, talked faith—for over a decade, she’d been a practicing Buddhist. Personally, I’d ruled this out for myself, wary of reclusive practices. I already tended to isolate when things got hard—what I needed was to battle that tendency. But the more we spoke, the more I saw that her practice was not reclusive at all. It affirmed social engagement and daily life, which sounded sensible and good. So, we went a few weeks later to a local discussion meeting, where I was encouraged to ask anything on my mind. Coming from a religious background that had discouraged questions, this was refreshing for me. After this, I came out to the Brooklyn Buddhist Center, where I met lots of great people.
I became a regular there, connecting with more and more people. Soon, I challenged myself to chant daily, feeling energized and focused on my goals.
Within a few months, I landed a job mentoring youth pursuing film careers, helping each one land an internship in the field. Within a year of receiving the Gohonzon, I made a truly hard, but important decision: I separated from my partner of over three years. We did so amicably, but practically speaking, I knew I was choosing to struggle. That summer, I moved out of our shared home, living with different friends. These were my material conditions that September, when I first heard of the Young Women’s Conference taking place in October at the Florida Nature and Culture Center (FNCC). Honestly, I saw no way I could go, but the more I chanted, the more I felt this was precisely the time to fight hard. In answer to my prayer, I landed a coffee shop job that month. And then, literally weeks out from the day, I received a surprise reimbursement on an old insurance plan. With these funds, I made the impossible possible and had the most incredible time.
At the FNCC, I reflected on my growth in my first year of Buddhist practice. I also learned a lot about the spirit of supporting others. Specifically, I learned a lot about Byakuren, a behind-the-scenes support group, and heard how others had used this training to challenge both their human revolution and their personal goals. During the conference, a job I’d applied to reached out, and I took the virtual interview then and there.
Upon returning home, I kicked my daily marijuana habit, something I’d tried to do many times. Somehow, it felt so doable now—with a higher state of life, I simply took action. The interview I’d done led to a job as the general manager of a dance non-profit. As I took this on, I engaged more in Byakuren, which continually polished my life.
Specifically, the more I engaged in Byakuren, the more aware I became of my energy. My energy, I realized, affected people—it could uplift and contribute to a working mood. Supporting others, I learned, was the direct path to growth and success. But this lesson was really put to the test at the start of this year.
I’d been co-directing a documentary film featuring three Black alpinists, to be filmed at the start of September. It would entail climbing with the crew up the peaks of Mount Kenya. I poured my heart into organizing this.
But when, in March, my co-director announced that it was not feasible for me to join, I felt devastated and angry, but above all, hurt, crushed by my own inner critic. I didn’t have what it took—that’s what I thought, and I felt myself pulled toward old ways of coping. I wanted to isolate, to mute the pain, and I can’t say there were not days when I did. But at the same time, something pulled me in a different direction, toward community, empowerment and victory. With other young people, I studied guidance from Ikeda Sensei. One passage, I chose to engrave in my heart is from Discussions on Youth:
A spirit of mutual respect and trust is a vital basis for real friendship. That said, there naturally might be times when you have arguments and disagreements with your friends. But there should always be an underlying spirit of respect and consideration for one another, no matter how close you are. In friendship, you mustn’t think only of yourself. (new edition, p. 317)
As I chanted about the disappointment I felt, I began to consider things from my co-director’s perspective. I began to appreciate the pressure she felt and to chant for the success of the project. I racked my brains about how I could support, putting the project first. Soon, I began to feel excited again and grateful to play my role in the film.
In April, my co-director had a change of heart and asked if I could still join. Though doubts shot through my mind—like whether I was physically prepared—I said yes, resolved that I was ready enough, that I’d done the work and deserved to be there.
We made the trip at the end of August and came back in mid-September. On that trip, summitting Point Lenana, one of Mount Kenya’s major peaks, I looked around and took in the view. Below, vast glacial melt formed a lake, while above towered Mount Batian. Clouds rolled around its base, breaking now and then on a bright blue sky.
Dreams, I’ve realized, are so important—not only for their own sake. They give us something to fight for, and fighting for them, we transform and grow. There are many mountains that still lie ahead, but I’m excited to scale them all. With a prayer for the happiness of myself and others, I know there’s nothing I can’t accomplish.
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