The Team as chosen family: lessons from the soaps

I am an absolute sucker for medical dramas. I first got hooked on the gritty, high-speed chaos of ER in the 1990s. Paramachitta and I lived in Spain and friends (Jayadevi or Osadhi) used to record episodes on VHS cassettes to play in our VCR machine. We loved them, couldn’t wait for the next tape to arrive, usually with 3 episodes. Then we started watching it on Spanish TV - Urgencias! My then partner had been an ER (A and E) doctor in a busy hospital and said it was fairly accurate - other than all the sex which seemed to happen in supply cupboards. That, she reckoned, was pure entertainment and fantasy. 

Then I got hooked on the emotional entanglements of Grey’s Anatomy, the compassionate leadership of New Amsterdam, and the intensity of The Resident. I find myself drawn back to these stories again and again. At first glance, they seem like pure entertainment—a way to ‘blob out’ - and I can’t deny they do, at times, serve that purpose. There are stories about saving lives, romantic subplots, and workplace drama. But I realised years ago, they are more than that. I wondered what it was about them that I found so fascinating. As well as all the solving of the medical mysteries and the tension, they're actually profound case studies in human connection. I think they show us what happens when people have to rely on each other not just for success, but for survival. They demonstrate teamwork.

In these shows, teams don’t just collaborate; they become family. And, years ago, I started to see a deep parallel between those hospital teams and the Sangha. Maybe I am being a bit over dramatic here but, honestly, let me point out some parallels. Both are chosen families, bound together by shared purpose, vulnerability, and a commitment to service

In ER, the doctors were brilliant but they mainly had big, difficult egos. They argued fiercely over diagnoses and treatments. But this wasn’t insubordination; it was rigour. Because the stakes were life and death, they couldn’t afford to be polite at the expense of truth. They stress-tested each other’s ideas because they cared about the outcome more than their pride.

When the crisis hit, however, everyone knew their place and would do what they could to fulfil their function. The junior nurse knew exactly what the attending needed before they asked. They pulled together seamlessly. This shows that healthy conflict isn’t the enemy of cohesion; it can be the precursor to it. In the Sangha, when we disagree on how we run our centre or on ways forward, we can view it not as drama, but as a chance to deepen our understanding. We argue because we care about the path. And when the real work begins—supporting someone in grief or pain, or organising a retreat, or being on a class team—we drop our agendas and move as one unit.

Grey’s Anatomy explores the blurring of lines between work and life. Surgeons breakdown after losses, and their colleagues don’t offer platitudes—they sit with them in the dark. They witness each other’s shame, fear, and exhaustion. This is the intimacy of chosen family. A true team sees you at your worst and stays anyway. In the Sangha, this is the practice of holding space. We aren’t here only for the joyful celebrations; we are here for the messy, uncomfortable moments of human struggle. As Bhante once said in his talk The Case of Dysentery, the Sangha sticks together through the unglamorous parts of life. We become family for each other. When we allow ourselves to be vulnerable with our sangha, we create a bond stronger than casual friendship. We know our companions will catch us because they’ve seen us stumble before. And, of course, like award winning surgeons, we rejoice in the victories of our friends. We enjoy Mitra ceremonies, we send people off with delight to their ordination retreats and we welcome them back with gusto.

One of the lessons I like best - and certainly one of the most powerful - comes from Dr. Max Goodwin in New Amsterdam. His mantra wasn’t “What are my orders?” or “How can I advance?” It was simply: “How can I help?” Goodwin modelled servant leadership. He rolled up his sleeves, washed floors, and talked to patients others ignored. He led by removing barriers for others, not by commanding them. This is the essence of service in the Dharma. It’s generosity in action. In a workplace or a sangha asking “How can I help?” shifts the dynamic from transactional to relational. It assumes that everyone’s goal is the same and that your role is to support it.

It’s proactive compassion. It’s humility in action. And it disarms conflict. When you approach your colleagues with genuine curiosity and a desire to serve, you transform the environment from competitive to collaborative and this is a hallmark of a real spiritual community.

Recently, I’ve been re-watching The Resident and I have just got to the series where they have to tackle the Coronavirus pandemic. In episodes like "A Wedding, A Funeral," we saw the staff fractured by fear, isolation, and loss. Doctors faced not just medical failure, but profound grief—losing mentors, fearing for their families, and working in isolation. Yet, even in those darkest flashbacks, we saw them checking on each other. They couldn’t hug, but they checked in. They shared the burden of guilt and exhaustion. This is what family does in a crisis: it doesn’t pretend everything is fine. It acknowledges the pain, shares the load, and keeps showing up.

It has been stirring watching them come to terms with Covid 19. It brings back memories of just how frightening it was to begin with. I think the whole pandemic took a bigger toll on people - physically and emotionally - than we realised at the time. I watched the strain put on sangha members throughout Triratna trying to hold the community together. Putting everything online was a huge piece of work. In terms of Triratna generally, we were incredibly lucky to have thebuddhistcentre.com already so effective and ready to step in.  In some ways they came into their own with people realising the potential of online, at home retreats and classes. We would have been more fragmented as a community without that.  Here in Glasgow, Kuladharini and Pasadini did an amazing job at keeping things going during that time of crisis, and we would have been a more fragmented sangha without the efforts made to keep classes and courses going through the pandemic. We have much to be thankful for.

I have just cried my eyes out watching that episode I mentioned. It wasn’t just people dying alone in isolation. It was when folk were clapping for the health workers. It reminded me of how emotional it was standing on my balcony banging pots and clapping. I was also crying because of what an empty gesture that turned out to be - at least in terms of the government’s response. 

In the Sangha, when life throws us a ‘pandemic’—whether literal or metaphorical—we need that same capacity to sit with suffering together without looking away. Whether you’re saving lives in an ER or seeking liberation in a meditation hall, the principles are the same. We are interdependent beings. No one succeeds alone.

So, how do we treat our workmates? Our sangha members? Do we see them as obstacles or allies? Do we offer the same patience and grace we would to a beloved family member?

Let’s try this experiment: In our next interactions, at work or in the centre, we can ask ourselves, “How can I help?” Not as a duty, but as an offering. We might find that in serving others, we build the kind of family that sustains us for a lifetime.

Meanwhile, as always

May all beings be well, may all beings find true happiness and its causes and may all beings be free from suffering.

Where the Bodhichitta has not yet arisen

May it arise

Where it has arisen

May it flourish

Where it flourishes

May it never die