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.