Zen, Trust, and the Big Cheque
So, the date has stopped moving. It is tomorrow, December 12th.
I will sleep in Pozzovivo tomorrow night. Sicuro.
But tonight, the anxiety is not about dust or plumbing. It is about the “Big Cheque.” Tomorrow, I hand over my money for a house that is still, euphemistically, a “work in progress.” I am doing this in a country where I barely understand the language, let alone the nuance of property law, the cultural code, or the standards for construction.
The “Trust Too Fast” Trap
My personality profile warns me about this. It says I trust too fast. It says I fall in love too fast. And looking at my track record—specifically Marriages 1 and 2—I cannot argue with the data. I am a romantic. I want to see the best in people. I want to believe that the builder’s smile is a contract and that his “sì, sì” is a binding guarantee.
History suggests this trait is expensive.
I am standing on the precipice of a not insignificant financial transaction, wondering if I am being a courageous artist or a naïve foreigner. Deep down, I believe I am travelling through the next beautiful chapter of my very adventurous life. I started a company with very little capital, travelled to work in 65 countries, and mastered all the challenges those chapters presented.
Now, on the eve of my move-in, I do wonder: am I just repeating the pattern of falling in love too fast and ignoring the red flags? Or am I still a true romantic adventurer? Perhaps I should look to Rudyard Kipling, who understood exactly this pull of the unknown:
“Something hidden. Go and find it. Go and look behind the Ranges— Something lost behind the Ranges. Lost and waiting for you. Go!”
What Would the Buddha Do? (About the Cheque)
If I ask the Zen masters about trust, they don’t give me the answer I want. They don’t say, “Don’t worry, Giovanni is honest.”
Zen suggests that my anxiety comes from trying to control the uncontrollable. I am trying to use trust as a shield to guarantee an outcome. I want to “trust” that the house will be perfect so that I don’t have to worry.
But real trust, the Buddhist kind, isn’t about trusting others to be perfect. It is about trusting yourself to handle it when they aren’t.
There is a concept called “Don’t Know Mind.” I don’t know if the boiler will work next week. I don’t know if the paperwork is filed perfectly. To dwell in “Don’t Know” is uncomfortable, but it is the only honest place to be.
