My Mea Culpa.

I do my best to keep my blog from being overly self-indulgent. I realize the inherent contradiction in that statement as there is nothing more self-congratulatory than a personal blog. Against that accusation, I have no meaningful defense. I could say something ridiculous about intellectual exploration or codification of my thoughts but the reality is really much more mundane. For some reason, I think people would benefit from the way I think. The only thing that keeps this from becoming an exercise in pure hubris is the fact that I recognize all the many mistakes I have made and will continue to make. I am tremendously imperfect but I sense in the martial arts a methodology for addressing those imperfections and character flaws. So, instead of continuing with this lame disclaimer, I ought to get to my point.

When I was 16 years old, I had a very vivid dream. It was around 17th century Japan, during the Tokugawa Shogunate. In this dream, I was the Shogun's Assassin. In Japanese culture, this position was one of great honor. It was generally given to the best swordsman in the land. Beheading someone with a sword isn't an easy task. In fact, too many mistakes during beheadings (which led to undue suffering) led to the creation of the guillotine-- putting the job in the hands of a machine that could cut the same way every time. The Shogun's Assassin was traditionally the "kaishaku" of last resort or a dueling second. If the Emperor thought you had to die, you were given the opportunity to retain your honor and your family's holdings and position but committing seppuku or ritual suicide. Now, disemboweling yourself with a short short required a fortitude most people didn't have. In order not to cause them any embarrassment, the kaishaku would cut the person's head off before he screamed, saving his honor. This wasn't as easy as it might seem. The swordsman had to perform a perfect 35 degree cut, the angle that would allow for a clean cut between the jawline and the upper shoulders. However, he had to leave a piece of skin at the very end so that the head would not roll off into the audience in an undignified manner. If the swordsman screwed this up, he would killed himself so there was great pressure to do this correctly.

The thing about this dream that sticks in my mind was how it made me feel. I can still remember very clearly that sense of melancholy produced by it. I remember feeling very proud that I was given the honor of representing the Shogun but I also recall feeling very sad that my skill involved taking a life. I asked myself in this dream whether it was worth being really good at something if your found that skill to be fundamentally repugnant. I had only been training the martial arts for 10 years at that point and I wasn't up to really digging into the Truth of my dream but I think I was on to something then that I am only beginning to understand now.

I have devoted 31 years of my life to hurting people. Spin it however you like-- at the core of it, you will find this Truth. Perhaps you know the story I tell everyone-- that the arts and my profession were the results of my mother's abuse at the hands of my father and my inability to protect her. Maybe I've told you the story of how I trained because I wanted to protect her and how I feel like am every time I defend someone otherwise defenseless. I suppose there's some truth to that. But really, I just wanted to be strong. Weakness, to me, meant suffering all manner of indignity. Strength meant the ability to say, "No! I will not allow that." But I think I've engaged in what all warriors eventually engage in-- trying to ennoble and dignify something that is horrendous. Unfortunately for me, I happen to be pretty smart and well educated so my justifications are elaborate and convincing regardless of their lack of authenticity.

So I've said it. I wanted to be strong. Then I was injured and I could no longer be strong. Was all this training for nothing? I did not have the fortune of dying gloriously. I was confined to a hospital bed and at the mercy of just about everybody. My worst nightmare had come true. I had spent my entire life focusing on how to be strong so I could ultimately self-reliant. Now, I needed everybody and everything. Most distressingly, I needed their charity.

What made me most sad was something an ex-girlfriend said to me once. She said that when it came down to it, she was physically scared of me because of my physical abilities. That really disturbed me. Here was the woman I loved telling me she feared me-- not at all what I wanted. Because of the situation if which I was raised, I have always been very careful about my interactions with women. I make it a point never to resort to even a threat of physicality and I hardly, if ever, raise my voice. So much so that this stoicism has been confused for apathy by many a woman. It's not that. I'm just well aware of how slippery that slope is and I understand what I could potentially do if I were to ever lose my temper. So, I don't and it's as simple as that.

What my ex didn't understand is that it was because of my training and my fighting that she could trust me never to hurt her. I would never lose my temper no matter how she behaved because I have had years of study and practice at controlling those feelings. Most men tamp down their demons so that when they surface, they do so at their own bidding. I'm not like that. I know my demons well so I'm able to lead them and have them aid me in my endeavors. My old boss once told me that I was like a stock dog. If he didn't keep me busy, I'd tear up all the furniture in the house. I can't disagree. I know that's true. Nothing is more destructive than me, bored. But I think demons are like that. If you don't let them out to play once in a while, they will tear up all the furniture in your house.

I'm not a good guy. If I think you deserve it, I'll break your arm and go have lunch. But at the same time, you can be sure that I won't accidentally hurt you or worse, lose control and do something I can't take back. At least that's been the case up to now. Training and fighting has given me an understanding of myself and my fellow man that I think could have been gained no other way. Having sized up so many people to fight, I can pretty much get any person's number in under 30 seconds. Simple truth no 1. You can't hide who you are in your body. If you are a keen observer and know how to look, you can learn everything you need to know about a person by the way he walks and carries himself. Truth No. 2. If you don't have this skill, there's no way I can convince you it exists.

Example. When Craig started training with me, I told him he was too tense. He couldn't feel it. He thought he was relaxed. Now, a year later, he realizes that I was right. Now he can fix it. As a teacher, I don't fix your flaws. I merely point them out and force you to look at them. Fixing them is my student's responsibility.

Being a fighter is an odd thing. The power you get from it is enticing but the price you pay is steep. I'm not talking about the physical. I'm talking about intellectually and emotionally. You learn things about your fellow man you'd rather not know. It's that way, at least for me.

Voyerism

I met an interesting young woman at my friend's wedding this weekend. She's a Anthropology Ph.D. candidate at a prestigious university and charming company. Normally, I'm not that fond of academics but she isn't your average academic. She spent 24 months in Sierra Leone which is quite a feat. We talked about our experiences in Africa-- hers being much more intense than mine. It really made me question my right to talk about Africa. I've been there quite a bit but I've always been focused on my objectives. I was never particularly concerned with the locals except as being an obstacle to what I wanted to accomplish. It was really refreshing to talk to someone who knows far more about this topic than I do.

Anyway, we both got to talking about how much we hate it when someone come up and asks for a simple answer to some pretty complex questions. For her, it's when people walk up to her and say, "What's the deal with Africa?" as if Africa is some monolithic identity. The question is silly and it's insulting. Even if it could be answered like that, why would that person deserve it.

I think we're so used to getting things for free in our Country. In many ways, we have become the Cult of the Victim because we make it so rewarding to be a victim. There should be a cost for losing. There should be cost for sucking or even coming in second place. That's what makes you work hard. If there is no difference in standard of living or honor between achievement and failure, why should I work hard or risk to achieve? And I'm always amazed by folks who think they can achieve a great deal without risk. That's absolutely ridiculous. That's the whole sub-prime mess. People thought they could get rich speculating on real estate. They rolled the dice and they lost. Now they're expecting the Government to bail them out. The Government shouldn't be a wet-nurse or a nanny. That's not the foundation of a free people. It's really obvious. Take money from your parents and they have a say in your life. Take money from the Government and it's the same except the Government has the power to put you in jail if you displease it. Why would you want to give it any more power than is absolutely necessary? The idea that you can get something for nothing from the Government is modern day alchemy. It's a fool's errand.

But that's how our Country has devolved. Look at our fascination with horror films. Fear is no longer a real thing. We can rationalize it away. There is no consequence for the fear we experience. We're just spectators and never have to pay a price beyond the ticket. That's all fine but what happens when we come up against a real fear? People don't believe that there's anything to really be afraid of anymore. We've collectively become like the idiot who tries to feed the bear at Yellowstone Park. Wild animals are not cute. They will kill you whether you're scared of them or not. Scared people live. People who don't think there's anything to be afraid of get selected out. Look at terrorism-- specifically Islamic terrorism. People here in San Francisco love to say that there's nothing to be afraid of, that we're making it all up. I was in NYC during 9/11 and I find that sentiment extremely insulting. I think these same people cling to conspiracy theories because the option is simply too terrifying for them to contemplate. Better to think that it's a monster you know than one you can't possibly fathom. So all these people have confused their movie, voyeuristic understanding of fear with something that should really inspire it. And deserves to inspire it. Try to walk down the street in Saudi Arabia holding your boyfriend's hand and you'll see what kind of world is the option.

But back to my friend. She paid dearly for what she knows and understands. She has earned the position she is in and the beliefs she holds. She can back them up with thought and experience. Even if you repeated what she said word for word at a cocktail party, it wouldn't have the same effect because you wouldn't truly understand. Truth exists and can only be experienced. Language-- any language-- is only an approximation. The better we get with language, the more acute our perception, the closer we may get but there will always be a gulf between the Truth and any approximation. "It is like a finger pointing at the moon. Don't concentrate on the finger or you will miss all that heavenly glory."

Bottom line, you don't know unless you've been there. Even then, you might not be able to make sense of it for quite some time. That's why I think folks should do stuff before they go to school. You should accumulate experience before you learn to make sense of it. Otherwise, all that school will develop for you are lenses with which you may view the world, making you miss something you might have seen without them.

Again, it's like the martial arts. There are Truths contained in the arts which I cannot verbalize. You simply have to experience them. There are no words to accurately describe concepts which much be felt to be understood. As I commonly say, "Understanding is the reward, not the prerequisite." I think all great truths follow this rule.

My Thought on Healthcare.

I've been wanting for a long time to write something about healthcare. I've waited because the topic is so complex, I haven't felt like I had anything interesting to add. That really hasn't changed but I've decided to put pen to paper more to clarify what I think about the issue more than anything. Which brings me to my first larger point.

How I feel about the situation is very different from what I think about it. I feel like everybody should get healthcare regardless of their ability to pay for it. I feel like every human life is precious and we must make the extraordinary effort to save it, regardless of what we personally believe about the quality of that life. Unfortunately, my brain knows that this is unrealistic.

The response I often get when I bring up this topic is Europe. If Europe can provide national healthcare, why can't we. Well, there are several reasons. At a geopolitical level, Europe has been able to pay for their grand social programs because they have not taken responsibility for their own defense. Their lifestyle is maintained by American blood and treasure. Rightly so-- we entered into the Breton Woods agreement with them after WWII. We assured them that we would be the ultimate consumer for their products and that we would maintain global security so they would not have to rearm. Why did we do this? The results of European arms races were WWI and WWII. Nobody wanted to go through that again.

Even with our deal, this system is fast crumbling because European economies have not kept pace with health care costs. This is especially true with the influx of Muslim immigrants who often consume a great deal of the social programs without contributing very much to the State coffers. Because of this hard economic fact, doctors in France will not perform extraordinary procedures to save a life. If a person comes in needing expensive surgery, they tell that person that such procedures are not covered and send them to the South of France to die in peace. Such is the result of socialized medicine. Life becomes of matter of gross economics.

In addition, because of the raw number of people, the systems are often faulty, particularly in diagnostics. My friends grandfather comes to America from England for all his medical needs because he cannot stand the indignity of British Healthcare. I know what he means. I was, unfortunately, subject to such socialized medicine in Taipei, Taiwan during a stay there. I sat in a room with a doctor who didn't even look me in the eye once. Nor did she examine me personally. She asked me the most personal questions while there were three other people in her office waiting for her attention. It wasn't that I didn't get proper care though I know I didn't. It was the sheer indignity of the event that still sticks with me.

And European countries don't have the population size that we have. I've also had to deal with health care in Hawaii where the health system is strained to the breaking point by a unhealthy population. My doctors neglected me sorely, to the point I had to move to another state to receive proper care. I ran a high fever for 2 weeks and my doctor did nothing. I was urinating blood and he still did not act. I quite sure that I would have expired without much fanfare had I stayed. I don't think he was a bad man. I just know he was overburdened by a backlog of patients. Numbers, as any competent manager knows, can play havoc with a system.

Most importantly, I believe that people make the mistake of thinking that doctors are interchangeable. They are not. I've had close contact with the medical profession all my life given my profession and proclivities. I've probably had the pleasure of meeting over a hundred doctors. Out of all of them, I can confidently say that 3 of them were competent. How do I know? By the results of their treatment. Most of the time, I got better care from a PA or a medic.

So the question is this. Are we willing to give everybody mediocre healthcare just so they can be covered? If we answer "yes" to this, it will require tort reform as the lawsuits that will ensue as a result of the callous care will boondoggle our Court system for a eon. The rich will always be able to afford first rate health care because there will always be people who are willing to cater to them. So are we willing to force those doctors to treat only those uber-rich who can afford them? That is what will happen.

The health care system needs reform but I think it must happen on the Insurance side. Right now, the insurance companies can deny you coverage if you have a pre-existing condition. The only way around this is (in California) is the Major Risk plan which is very expensive and has a long waiting period. Your only other option is to have insurance through you company. They cannot deny you for any reason if you are in a group. If they can pass allow to force the insurance companies to give groups insurance, I don't see why they can't do that for individuals-- especially individuals who would pay. So a good solution, I think is a law forcing insurance companies to insure anybody who wanted insurance regardless of pre-existing conditions. They could have different prices for different situations but the max you should have to pay monthly for insurance is 1000 or so.

Whatever the case, health care should be left as is or made mandatory-- if it is to be a government program. Even if it's cheap, people still won't pay for it and we'll be in the same position we are now. If it's a government program, it has to be mandatory or we really solve nothing.

Ultimately, I think it should be a person's choice. But if they don't have the foresight and discipline to pay for insurance when they are young and healthy, they should have to pay a penalty in price if and when they are older and sick. As somebody who has had close contact with socialized medicine, I know it doesn't work. It's like all grand government programs. They sound good on paper but are hell to administer. I'm reminded of Mosca's Iron Law: For no matter what reason an organization was started, it will sooner or later serve to further the goals of its leaders.

The Gift of Food

I just got an email from an old friend of mine in NYC. This gentleman is a serious restaurant professional and has worked at the best restaurants in New York. I haven't seen him in years but it was good to hear from him. It made me remember how much I owe him. Through him and his restaurant friends, I was introduced to a world of food I would never have had access to. I don't exaggerate when I say that it changed my life.

When it comes right down to it, my tastes are relatively simple. Nothing in the world makes me happier than a real Hawaiian Bar-B-Q with all the different kinds of foods from various ethnicities. If I were to pick a single food, it would be something simple. Maybe a Shanghai Soup Dumpling or a piece of Southern Fried Chicken. I spent the early years of my adult life traveling the world but never really partaking of all the culinary delights that were offered me. Mostly, I didn't get it. I didn't get why someone would spend so much time preparing a meal or how they could charge so much. My first trip to France was a disaster. There I was, in the Western culinary capital, and I found most of the food distasteful. I realize now that it wasn't the food but my own preconceptions that prevented me from enjoying my experience.

Allow me to digress. I was lucky enough to make friends with Professor Kirk Varnedoe during my tenure in NYC. Professor Varnedoe was an amazing man. He served a term as curator of NYC's MoMA and taught at both Columbia and Princeton. He was one of two men who taught me about art. (The other being Thierry Dreyfus) Not so much the details of it (I still cannot name most of the major artists) but how to look at art and why it is important. Like Thierry, both men were unquestionably men. They were not like the effete art groupies you see using art to find their own identities. Professor Varnedoe was a manly man who happened to know a lot about art. I asked him one day how this happened, especially because he came from the South. He said that his art history professor in college was also his football coach. Because of that, he never felt any hesitation at pursuing his interest in art. He never associated it with the emaciated, chain-smoking, pasty, androgynous male who crossed his legs at the knees.

I think my friend did this for me with food. I used to think that thinking so much about food was a frivolous thing. That that type of self-absorption was essentially feminine in nature. Disregarding the fact that civilization itself is inherently feminine, I looked at eating as an exercise in refueling, nothing else. But then, my friend invited me to a special dinner at Ducasse along with some other restaurant friends. I'd never experienced anything like it. I'm not talking just about the appointments which were justifiably opulent. Nor was it the service which was simply flawless. No, it was the food. Food, unlike anything I had ever put in my mouth. At Ducasse, when you are seated at your table, it's yours for the evening. They only do one turn. Dinner turned out to be a 3 hour experience that changed the way I looked at food and more importantly, the world. Sure dinner was expensive. 500 a head even with the industry discount. Pricey but I can comfortably say that it was more than worth the price. I remember the oxtail gelee clearly even now. It was a beautiful orange color and I could taste every constituent part of the dish clearly. Yet, they all blended together into this flavor I had never tasted before and a mouthfeel that was far more luxurious than the jello I was used to. It felt like running my tongue on the smooth skin of a beautiful woman. The meal was magical, no doubt about that. But, like I said, it was more than just food. It shook my preconceived notions at their very foundation and made me question everything I thought I knew about food and by association, myself. It was identity-shifting.

It also opened a world to me in a whole new way. I believe that food tells you more about a culture than any single thing can. More importantly, a culture cannot lie to you about itself in its food. Contained in its food are its values, its methods, its history. You see what a people value and what they dismiss by what they eat and how they cook it. Previously, I looked at different cultures through a sterile mass of data; through an Aristotlean filter. Now there's nothing wrong with that and it's important to be able to do but now I can draw a richer picture. Whereas before, my view of a culture was prose. Now, it's a beautiful painting. Food can be a vehicle to self-awareness and to reaching out to the world. I'm grateful for having had the experience.