The parking lot was difficult to navigate through. Tents were propped up in the front lawn. Music played loud enough to pass through my car windows. People filled the streets: young, old, men, women, people covered head to toe and those wearing spaghetti straps.

I'm not going to lie; this wasn't exactly the picture I had in my mind when my friends and I decided to visit the Guang Ming Temple for their celebration of Buddha's birthday. The previous night I remember texting my friend asking how 'modestly' to dress, and questioning whether a Buddhist Temple would have any sort of problem with me wear pants as a woman. It wouldn't be the first time something like that had happened.

In all actuality, I was pretty nervous about attending a Buddhist Temple for the first time. The girls I was going with weren't raised Buddhist (though one of them lived in Japan for a year and had found interest in many of the Buddhist principles). I had spent so much time and energy researching Judaism and Islam over the past months, that it felt confronting entering into this brand new space.

What if I regret it? What if I'm not dressed right? What if I don't like it? What if I get weirded out? What if they don't like me?

None of these worries seemed to matter ultimately. Guang Ming is Orlando's biggest Buddhist Temple, and hosts this celebration each year, finding itself more embedded into the community as a cultural event as time goes on. They want people of all backgrounds to attend their events, regardless of how well-versed they are in the faith: hence, spaghetti straps and slew of politicians.

They did a lot to introduce the attendees to the way this specific temples did things, especially in comparison to other temples. For instance, they prayed to the Buddha. Guests were seated in chairs, not on the ground. Everyone kept their shoes on. They also stressed the Chinese aspects of practicing their faith both in speech (much of the service was in Chinese) but also in the ways they decorated the space for Buddha's birthday.

After the service, they provided many workshops for additional learning, including chronicling the founding on Buddhism, practicing Chinese calligraphy of Buddhist proverbs, engaging in a traditional Zen Tea Service, and finally one called The Path to Happiness.

I wasn't so keen on entering this last workshop. I thought happiness was kind of ridiculous. The room was almost empty, though set with about thirty chairs. A couple sat in the front row discussing concepts from a sheet of paper with the Buddhist representative, a middle-aged white man in a smock representing the temple. The green sheet had a list of about fifteen dimensions to happiness that Buddhism prescribes.

Then he said it, as I took my seat, a thought that has perplexed me since he said it some time ago.

"90% of the negative emotions we feel in life are a result of thinking of the past or future."

At first, I thought this could not be true. Life had to be more complicated than that. There had to be some factors, some history, some situations that could produce these negative feelings that were not a result of such thinking. I personally felt I was feeling negative emotions (like hurt and anxiety) often.

We then went on to the Zen Tea ceremony on the top floor where my two friends and I sat criss-cross on the ground in a silent room with a tea master who prepared tea for us. She wore a pink floral gown with sleeves draping long. There was a whole process she led. Tea leaves could only be placed in the pot a certain way. Pouring the tea could be done in one direction for half the cups, and in the other direction for the remaining cups. No one spoke, just complete silence.

By observation, we understood that we were meant to close our eyes as we smelt and drank from our small, porcelain cups of green tea. The words of the man rang in my ears.

"90% of the negative emotions we feel in life are a result of thinking of the past or future."

In the silence of this room, I realized that there had to be some truth to this. Whenever I felt hurt, it was often because of things that had already happened in the past, rather than happening in the present. Furthermore, many of my anxieties had to do with things that were not yet to come: my career, bills, my final exams, how I was going to make it to my next appointment later in the day.

None of these hurts or anxieties were actually present in the present. They did not exist in the room. They could not get to me if I focused on what was in my hands. Just me and my tea.

In essence, this reflects one of the main principles of Buddhism as I understand it: stay in the moment. Be there. Let go of the things you can't control.

I reflect on the worries I had the day before or earlier during the day.

What if I regret it? What if I'm not dressed right? What if I don't like it? What if I get weirded out? What if they don't like me?

These were mostly a result of hurt based on past experiences and anxieties about the future. These were negative emotions that were inflicting on my ability to stay in the moment and be happy where I was.

I have much to learn from Buddhism life and thought still, but ultimately this first experience was a very rewarding one. It caused me to rethink what happiness could be and how our Western view of 'staying in the moment' deviates from the rich wisdom Buddhism can provide, even and especially alongside other faiths.