Accidental Buddhist

How Eastern Philosophy Found Me in the Bay Area

Moving to the Bay Area in 2007, I noticed something obvious: the West Coast is shaped by Asian influences, while the East Coast remains European. This isn't surprising given geography—each coast faces the continent that influenced it. Asian impact on the West began with Chinese immigration in the 1850s and Japanese in the 1880s, though Chinese immigration was halted by the Exclusion Act of 1882—a "temporary" measure that lasted 61 years. Today, Asian influence permeates everything from the region's food to its business culture.

I discovered Buddhism through an unlikely source: my accounting professor at City College of San Francisco. She had overcome personal hardships through Buddhist practice and recommended Chögyam Trungpa as one of Tibetan Buddhism's foremost scholars. Though less known than the Dalai Lama, Trungpa's story captivated me. He fled Tibet during the Chinese invasion, studied comparative religion at Oxford, and eventually renounced his monastic vows to marry. His path led him to establish the first Tibetan Buddhist monastery in the West and later develop secular meditation practices accessible to Westerners in Vermont and Colorado. Despite controversies around his alcohol use and relationships with students, Trungpa profoundly shaped Western understanding of Tibetan Buddhism.

About a decade earlier, Shunryu Suzuki arrived in San Francisco and founded the Zen Center after seeing how diluted American Zen had become. What strikes me most about both teachers isn't just that they bridged East and West, but how they cut through complexity to deliver essential wisdom in straightforward ways. Their impact on Western understanding of meditation and mindfulness principles continues today.

At Berkeley, I deepened my interest in Buddhism through several classes. I visited Green Gulch Farm in Marin (a place I'd pass on motorcycle rides to Stinson Beach) and discovered Alan Watts, who lived nearby. During this time, I also ran a student class on tech innovation that included a visit to Kleiner Perkins. Interestingly, one partner there shared my interest in Buddhism and wrote "The Monk and the Riddle" - ostensibly about Silicon Valley, but infused with Buddhist principles throughout.

I've meditated daily for year-long stretches twice in my life. The effects weren't immediate but became noticeable after about a month each time. I drift in and out of the practice. Buddhist texts, though, have been consistently valuable during uncertain periods. They offer a framework for meaning that I find practical. I've found similar value in Taoist and Stoic writings - the label matters less than the insights. I've visited San Francisco and Berkeley Zen Centers to experience these ideas in the community. A friend who frequents Berkeley Alembic (a consciousness culture nonprofit) suggests Lotus Underground is worth exploring. These aren't commitments to Buddhism as a religion but practical tools for thinking.

When my startup failed in 2014, I slept on floors and read Pema Chodron's "When Things Fall Apart." It helped. When my mother died, "The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying" provided perspective (don't confuse this with the less accessible "Tibetan Book of the Dead"). Three books I return to: "Shambhala: The Sacred Path of the Warrior," written under Trungpa's pseudonym; "Wisdom of Insecurity," written by Alan Watts; and "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," which applies Buddhism to everyday life. For Taoism with humor, try "The Abide Guide" if you enjoyed "The Big Lebowski." And if you're in San Francisco, visit Forest Books, run by an actual monk.

This intersection of Eastern philosophy and Western life continues to shape my perspective today. What began as curiosity about Buddhism has evolved into a practical toolkit for navigating life's challenges. The Bay Area's unique position as a meeting point of Eastern and Western thought provides fertile ground for this exploration. Whether through formal meditation, casual reading, or community engagement, these ancient wisdom traditions offer timeless insights that transcend cultural boundaries—proving that sometimes the most valuable innovations aren't technological but philosophical.