In 2000, my reality crumbled. My father died, my marriage ended, and my photo equipment was stolen. It was a harsh wake-up call; I was 34 years old, and I was lost. Serendipitously, a few weeks later, I met Zen Master Moriyama Roshi and dove into Zen meditation. I became his assistant and translator, spending months in monasteries and hours sitting in front of a wall looking at myself. It was hell, like spinning inside a washing machine on the highest cycle, but a much-needed cleansing. Breath by breath, I learned the art of stillness and rediscovered my center.