You Get What You Deserve

 

(Thanks for the inspiration Fire Guro)

Over a short weekend in NYC recently a lot of good conversations were had, together with good food and good weather. That's a perfect weekend for me. A good conversation often starts with a good question, so I tried to ask one of my best ones. It anchored what we talked about for the rest of the day.

"Do you think you deserve to be wealthy?"

Read that one again. There's more in there than you might imagine at first. This question causes us to define for ourselves what "wealthy" means, since it is not the same for everyone. It also challenges us to reflect on our self-image and judge whether or not we believe ourselves to be worthy of a certain standard. Lastly, it makes us consider what habits and behaviors we have that might influence our life's trajectory, and the outcome of our efforts. In the end, not an easy question to answer. It opened up a lot of discussion.

In my case, I think asking ourselves what we "deserve" is an important exercise. Not just about wealth, but about love, success, respect and the other things that make up the common KPIs we use to measure ourselves. For some, this line of enquiry suggests entitlement or birthright, meaning that one person may deserve these things and another may not. As a Buddhist, I can say that the answer to these for me is always emphatically "YES" but that I believe everyone else is born deserving of them as well. We are ONE. I concede that we may, through our thoughts and actions, relinquish the right to deserve these things. On the other hand, we are all allowed chances at redemption and by correcting ourselves we may recover the right as well.

For many of us, certainly for me, I struggled for a long time with my self-image and lack of confidence. For many years I would have answered NO if asked whether I deserved, literally, anything. As a handicapped foster child raised in a lower middle-class family in Chicago I felt abandoned (since I was) and unloved (I wasn't). We were far from wealthy but we had enough. As such it did not occur to me that I should (or could) deserve something more. In the beginning I did not believe I deserved a good education or a good career or a good partner or a good family or a good life. The truth is, I deserved all of those things and in the end I got them all. One of my best friends told me "You've aced it, Honeyman. You won in life. Take a victory lap. You deserve it." This was very hard for me to accept, but he was right.

I think it starts with learning to answer "YES" to all the questions about what we deserve. This means allowing ourselves to be happy, which is hard for many of us. It was very hard for me, too. Once I accept that I deserve something, I will put effort toward it with the assumption that I should have it, that achieving it is a natural outcome that I should expect. The sad part is that if I think I don't deserve something, I won't make any effort toward it since it seems impossible to achieve.

Back to the topic of wealth. For many people, including me, not growing up wealthy leads to an unconscious bias that wealth is not a birthright, not something we deserve. "The Good Life" is for other people. It's for the beautiful people we see on TV or in magazines, not us. The truth is that financial security and wealth (as we define it for ourselves) is a human birthright which we all deserve. By educating ourselves (education is also something we all deserve) we enable ourselves the power to decide how we allocate our resources (time/money/effort) to maximize our personal benefit. As Guro Jan Sorensen has pointed out in his excellent blog, Learn Fire, it is not a get-rich-quick sexy scheme. In fact, it is a careful, methodical process. Because of this, it works every time. There is really no luck involved, although luck might accelerate the process. If you follow the rules, you achieve wealth. That's it.

So why do I teach martial arts? Martial arts training instilled in me the confidence to believe in myself. Cycle after cycle, test after test, belt after belt, I proved to myself that if I trusted the process, my teachers, my training partners, I would improve and ultimately achieve my goals. This started in the dojo but later extended to every aspect of my life. Martial arts has allowed me to have the life I deserve. I am wealthy in every single way I measure. I am successful in my definition of success, which is all that matters. I am happy. I am happy because I deserve to be. I deserve a good life and all the things I associate with that. So do you. SO DO YOU.

Now, what are you going to do about it?  

  

Running Away

 

(thanks for the inspiration RLH)

I love a good conversation more than just about anything. If you know me, you know I'm not much for small talk. I like to ask questions, sometimes hard questions, and discuss the answers. I don't mind being asked hard questions, either. I'm curious about just about everything, and at 58 I realize how little I actually know. I want to know more. Facts are fun, of course, but I really want to know more about people - their hopes, dreams, motivations, fears, desires and aspirations. I want to understand what makes us human.

This question started with the premise that my conversation partner would be honest in their answer. They would give the question the consideration it deserves and respond thoughtfully. I hoped it would open the door to much deeper conversation. It did.

The question was "What are you running away from?"

I asked it because I believe we are all running away from something, whether we acknowledge that or not. We all have something we dread or dislike, something we did or know we must do, something we fear or loathe or regret. We are all running away from something. Running away from our past or our future. Some of us never stop running. 

After a reflective pause, the answer came. "I'm running away from my self-doubt.", he said. "I'm running away from the feeling that I'm not as good as those around me. They know it and they make me feel bad about it. It erodes my self-confidence every time I think about it or am reminded of it. I don't want to think about it but I'm forced to face it every day."

Gut punch.

"That's me, too." , I replied. I grew up underweight, with ADHD, a lazy eye and a mop of unruly hair; Thick, broken glasses held together with masking tape, bad at everything. An outcast. Bullied at school relentlessly for more than 10 years. Unable to afford a top-tier education and yet competing with the best in the world in places like JP Morgan and Microsoft. I have spent most of my life feeling like an imposter, and being reminded of it almost every single day. Married to a beautiful woman who manages to find a reason to love me even when I cannot love myself. Father to boys who are already far greater than I could ever be. Even in martial arts, surrounded by some of the best in the world, wondering how any of them could think I belong among them, questioning why they would ever accept someone like me as one of their own. Every day feeling like I am living on borrowed time and waiting for the bill to come. They say you should "fake it till you make it", but what if you never actually do "make it"? Can you fake it forever??

As the conversation went on it became clear that, although he often felt like he wasn't good enough, and constantly wanted to escape being made to feel that way,  he didn't give up. Day after day he managed to do the work, the painstaking, hard work of showing up for himself every day and putting in the effort it took to keep making progress. Never giving up. Never running away even though every fiber of his body screamed for him to do so. Quietly gritting his teeth and bearing the pain.

He has wisdom. Maturity. Resilience. Patience. These are very hard to measure but they are the measure of a man. Maybe the only true test of bravery we have is whether or not we can feel fear and stand fast.  Whether or not we can resist the overwhelming urge to run away from the things that trouble us. Bravery is facing your fear. Bravery is wanting to run away, but standing strong regardless. Doing what must be done even when you are unsure of the outcome. 

I learned so much about him that day. I think I also learned a lot about myself. It was the conversation I hoped it would be.

How about you? What are you running from?

What baking bread can teach us about martial arts

 

Like many people, baking bread was one of the hobbies I picked up during COVID. I’ve written about cooking before, especially the fact that recipes are more like guidelines than rules and that they need to be adjusted based on the circumstances.

As I started my baking journey, I began with a vision of how I wanted to be - happily enjoying my home-baked bread with a sense of satisfaction, gifting my bread to envious friends and colleagues.

Along the way, my vision changed. I practiced weekly, and it became more about learning every aspect and variable rather than showing off the results. I read dozens of recipes and watched dozens of videos. I took classes and listened to experts, gathering tips and best practices. Over time, the movements became second nature - deliberate but relaxed and easy. No stress. No shortcuts. Honest. I spent about 2 years working just on baguettes - I’m sure I baked more than a hundred loaves. After I got more confident, I stopped looking up the recipe beforehand because I knew it by heart. Eventually, I tried a few other shapes and loaves. Each one gave me new insights and perspectives. 

In the end, the journey was wonderful. I discovered joy in the routine and looked forward to each weekend’s tests. I never worried much about the mistakes. There were many but I ate them anyway and tried to learn from them.

I’m the baker I was meant to be. Not a master but comfortable and confident in what I make. It won’t win any gold medals, but my bread is just right for we who eat it. My family and friends think it’s some amazing talent but I know the truth - it was consistent focused practice that developed this skill. I wasn’t born with it. I learned it. Anyone else could, too.

Hopefully this story reminds of you of life in the martial arts. The joy of discovery and accomplishment. The personalization and ownership. The value of good, honest practice and repetition in your training. The importance of good instruction and using lots of different training tools. The satisfaction of progress. The comfort of going at your own pace and setting your own expectations. 

I think I’ll always be a baker. Just like I’ll always be a martial artist. They are no longer things I do. They’re part of who I am.

See you at class. 

Accidentally on Purpose

 

We have a few WhatsApp groups dedicated to sharing among the Kali Majapahit group leaders, black belt instructors and students worldwide. Recently, our group called "Beyond Martial Arts - The Health Journey" began a new twist courtesy of Guro David in Finland (he is the source of many good ideas). Various instructors would each own the group and provide content for 1-2 weeks after which they would then nominate the next leader and pass the baton. As expected, eventually my turn came around.

I was nervous since the prior instructors were able to deliver very insightful, impactful content including mind, body and spiritual alignment. I was struck (and still am) by the depth and breadth of knowledge among Kali Majapahit instructors. Their insights are amazing and they are truly an elite martial arts organization. Often, I have to pinch myself and wonder whether or not I am truly worthy to be part of the team. Imposter syndrome is real.

For my 7 days I presented some fundamentals of zen, which has been a cornerstone of my practice and my life since my first introduction to it in my original dojo at 14 years old. After a few years of study in my original school,  I began attending the weekly Zazen (seated meditations) classes at the Japan Cultural Center on Belmont in downtown Chicago. An hour lecture followed by an hour sitting practice, usually followed by breakfast nearby at Ann Sather, (I highly recommend you to get the Swedish pancakes with lingonberries - you're welcome). Later on, I continued my research and study led by PG Fred Evrard, whose knowledge of the esoterism in general and Tibetan Buddhism in particular was exceptional.

I wanted to focus on core zen teachings, which are truly non-sectarian. You can incorporate the essence of zen into any religious or spiritual practice to enhance it and develop a richer and deeper appreciation and feeling of gratitude. Used properly, zen allows us to truly examine our lives in a state of mindfulness, discovering more meaning and purpose in how we live every day. The practice is difficult, but I think the insight is worth it.

My sessions have a short explanation of an aspect of Zen together with a meditation exercise to try at home. I really hope it was able to help participants sharpen their meditation skills and reconnect with the important practice of seeking stillness in the hectic modern world.  It was a pleasure to record the videos with my son Ray and they were basically all done on the first take. I'm happy with them even though there may be a few mistakes (done is better than perfect).

Recording these sessions had me consider very deeply the idea of "purposefulness" which is a very important foundation of zen practice. By examining our thoughts and actions closely, we seek to align them to have a greater sense of deliberation in how we live every day. This sense of purposefulness empowers us and helps us feel that our actions are more meaningful, since if we choose what we do our actions are more connected to our missions and goals rather than just being occurrences of random happenstance or coincidence.

I began to realize that for most people, there is no great, overarching plan to their lives. Apart from the big milestones of graduating from school, getting a job and finding a partner, most of us give surprisingly little thought to how we spend our time. Very often, our routines are dictated by others (boss/family/friends) and are managed on a daily/weekly granularity that makes it difficult to plan years and decades in advance for who we want to be and how we want to live. Humans are creatures of habit and inertia, and as such we repeat the patterns as days and weeks become years. As the clock ticks and the calendar turns, it becomes increasingly difficult to have the will to change. In latter life, change is inevitably thrust upon us as those around us begin to age and die, and ultimately, so do we. Caught up in the lives of our children, we may forget to drive change and develop purposefulness in our own lives, too.

Zen offered me a way to organize my thinking about how I wanted to live and what was important to me. I know Guro Fred would remind me that those things were meant to happen anyway (Karma), but I think being aware of them and trying to choose how I use my time and my life has made a big difference in making sure I find time for the things that really matter to me. As such, at 58, I have little regret and I think I am doing what I am supposed to be doing, in accordance with my beliefs and needs.

I hope you will not live your life by accident, but rather take the time and do the work required to develop the awareness or your journey as it is happening day by day. I hope your life will become "accidentally on purpose" and you are able to enjoy both the spontaneous and the planned, moment by moment, so that at the end you will feel that the effort and struggle was really worth it, grateful for the memories of a life well-lived. Zen can be a good tool to help you appreciate each moment, and to find a much deeper sense of purpose and value in the divine gift your life is. Savor the moments.

See you at class.

Endings and Beginnings

 

4 years ago at the old dojo. Good times. Good people. I remember this night like it was yesterday. We had just finished a cycle and after the testing the mood was high and everyone was happy. They had worked hard for the past 3 months, showed their skills and were graded and validated. They passed. They progressed. It was wonderful.

4 years later I'm the only one in the picture still training. What happened?? Life happened. People change. They move, get married, switch careers, have children. Priorities change. There are lots of distractions on the Path. I understand. Really, I do. Perhaps better than most after 44 years on this journey. I think the real difference is whether or not a person finds their way back to the Path. If it is (or was) important enough to remain a priority. Some find their way back. Some don't. When they don't, we usually don't get to know the reason. It remains a mystery. They just...disappear. Sometimes even kasamas and black belts disappear. It happens.

At the beginning of their journey maybe it was a passing curiosity; a desire to feel safe or to be better or to challenge something a bit out of the ordinary gym/yoga/pilates/crossfit cocktail that many people are into nowadays. Then, hopefully it became a fascination. It became a thing to look forward to every week, an escape from the mundane eat/work/sleep pattern that we knew was better than just binge-watching shows on streaming. The culture, the movement was intriguing and the community was welcoming. A bunch of people discovering together.

Maybe it got to the point where they understood that the habit of going to the dojo yields benefits other types of training do not. Maybe they discovered that this was the key to creating the version of success they really wanted. The dojo became an obsession - a need to link effort and outcome to build a future where we can be truly, authentically, fearlessly ourselves. The dojo, the community became central to our lives as a place to grow and improve, a habit as cemented as brushing our teeth. This is what happened to me. In the end, there was really no place I would rather be than the dojo.

Or maybe not.

Maybe somewhere along the way the message simply didn't land. 

As a teacher this is what I think about all the time. Did I fail them? Did they fail themselves? Is it even a failure at all? Did their training serve its purpose even if they didn't continue? Could I have done more/done differently to help them understand the value of consistent training and of honoring the commitment to self improvement that lies at the heart of martial arts and the Path? 

I'm grateful for the opportunity to do what I do and for the trust placed in me by my students to be a worthy guide on the Path and to faithfully give my very best every single lesson for them - to make sure it is always about them and never about me. That said, I always feel a bit sad when students stop training, despite the reason. I worry that maybe I failed them.

If this is you, dear student, remember that I will always be here for you and ready to accept you back when you are ready. I promise to remain open to your feedback and not to let ego get in the way of helping you get what you need from your training. I hope your experience will have been a positive one and that it will leave you a better person than you were when you started. That is all.

No student "owes" their teacher anything except to do their best when they come to class. We are lucky to be here and to have this time together for as long as it lasts. For my part, I hope the day I die I will have taught a class - that I am doing this thing I love until my very last breath. I hope that I can be of service and be useful to others along this journey.  I hope I can inspire them to invest effort in themselves to become who they want to be and to build their version of success because they are not afraid to live life on their own terms. If I can do that, even for just one person, then it was all worth it.

See you in January 

The Lesson of the Snake

 

The lesson of the snake is an important one. This snake somehow managed to wrap itself around a common saw, which began to dig into its skin. As it felt pain, the snake fought back. It squeezed harder, desperate to hurt the thing that was hurting it. Desperate to win the fight. The harder the snake squeezed, the more the saw blade dug in and cut its flesh. Eventually, the snake succumbed to its wounds and died. The saw won.

This picture really got me thinking. How often am I fighting back when I should be letting go? How many times have I been so desperate to inflict pain on the people and things that hurt me that I end up suffering far worse? In the end, the desire for revenge, the need to win no matter what, cost the snake its life. It would cost me my life, too. If I let it.

Sometimes in life, the smartest thing to do is let go. To walk (or crawl) away.

Zen practice is really about seeing the truth. In ourselves and in others as well. In seeing this truth, moment by moment, we are free to act naturally in order to minimize the suffering of our own preconceptions and illusions. I hope to have the openness to accept the truth in my life and not let myself be hurt trying to win impossible fights. I hope I can see clearly that revenge can often cause more suffering than just leaving. If I am going to fight for my life, I hope it will be for something important and not just out of spite.

Thank you to the snake for this valuable lesson. I won't forget it.

See you at class.

80s Dance Party

 

It was a great night. Class parents organized an event for those of us with children graduating in the class of 2025. The theme was 80s Dance party. Being born in 1966, the 80s were a magical time for me. I was coming of age into adulthood, going from my teens into my 20s, graduating high school (1984), working my first jobs, starting college (1987) and so on. My favorite 80s music is tied directly to my experiences at that stage of my life. It brings back so many beautiful memories. It was a glorious time at the full-on pace one can only have when they are young and full of energy. Reliving those days and nights was such a treat.

I decided to go as a rapper, JON DMC (see photo). It was super fun to get out the Adidas track suit and fake chains, my Kangol cap and so on. I forgot how much fun a good costume party can be.

For the first hour or so, everyone was at the bar with drinks and chatting. This did not do for my wife, who LOVES dancing. She grew up a gymnast and dancer so as a lifelong athlete she really wanted to hit the floor. Finally the good music came on and we got to it. I’m not a great dancer by any means, but I used to go a lot, especially in the 80s.

I found an immediate difference between the parents who are active into their 40s and 50s and those who are not. Many of the wives had a sports background which continued into their parenting years via yoga, pilates, running and other sports. They were comfortable getting onto the dance floor and had a wonderful time. For some of the guys, although they looked slim, you could tell there was apprehension when it came to moving the body. They looked nervous and worried, that maybe their hip or back or knees wouldn't hold up to a song or two. Maybe they were shy and needed a few more drinks first.

Of course, for people with injuries I fully understand. Many of us have been in car accidents (I've been in 10!) or had other events that leave lasting damage to the body that is hard to recover. However, for many of them, the only injury is that of neglect. For some, being consumed by career meant not going to the gym, walking, or pursuing other hobbies that allow you to move and sweat. Over 10 or 20 years, the body adjusts to NOT MOVING, and that becomes the norm.

I’m not going to do an Ironman triathlon anytime soon, but I was grateful that I could still go out dancing for a few hours and then get up and be active (over 10k steps) the following day despite being 58. I think this is normal. I am again grateful for the habits of martial arts training which keep me stretching and moving a few times a week and make me feel younger than I am.

It was a reminder to stay active. Always. The alternative is early onset disability.

The saddest part of this is that it would occur (presumably) after becoming successful and having the time and money to pursue the passions and hobbies we have spent a lifetime saving for. This may explain why many people pass away so soon into their retirement years - the body simply can't provide the mobility for more activity.

Death is an inevitability for us all, but personally I'd like to be as active as I can until then. O-Sensei (Morihei Ueshiba), founder of Aikido, was actively teaching until the day he died. I hope to follow his example.

See you at class!

I'm Butch

 

(thanks for the inspiration Porl)

"You could stop, you know...you could just quit...", he said. "You have enough money, you don't need the stress." I had a big week ahead of long, long days and nights with the global team arriving that morning. I kept looking at my phone nervously. He noticed. This was the part of the lunch with my friend I always dreaded...the part when he tells me all the mistakes I make. It can take a long time.

He was right. I could stop. I could just quit. I have enough money. I don't need the stress. He was right. He's usually right.  So why didn't I??

He described the life he imagined I would have if I quit...idyllic days and nights filled with warm and comforting family times. Good conversations, good food.  Good times. Hearing him tell it it sounded great.

I wish it was always like that but frankly it isn't. Relationships are hard work sometimes, even relationships with your kids. Life at home is not always peaceful and comforting. Sometimes, to be honest, it is easier and more comforting to be in the office. He conceded that. He rarely concedes anything.

I told him what I missed most. What comforted me most. What was always glad to see me, welcomed me at the door, never judged me or criticized me. What loved me unconditionally. Not what...WHO.

My Butch.

Butch is what I miss most, what I was always looking to come home to. I miss sitting on the couch with him nestled in my lap, or lying down with him snuggled next to me, his little nose breathing softly. It's not the same since he has gone. It never will be. Nothing and no one could ever replace him. I told my friend with tears in my eyes. I held Butch at the exact moment when he died, right there in my arms. When he went I wanted to go with him...I didn't want to be left behind...it hurt too much.

That's when my friend dropped the bomb." Now you are Butch", he said. My jaw dropped. I tried to process it.

"You really are", he continued. "Now it's your turn to be there to love and comfort others. Now it's your job to welcome everyone home and to give them the same unconditional love Butch gave you." By this point the tears were rolling down my cheeks. I was starting to have trouble breathing. My chest felt heavy, tight.

"The best way to honor and remember him is to take the best parts of what he meant to you and live them for others. If you do this, Butch will always live on. Not just in your heart and in your thoughts but in your actions as well."

He was right of course. He's usually right. I hate when he's right. It is a blessing to have really smart and wise friends to advise me, but sometimes it's also a pain in the ass.

No, I'm not quite done grieving for Butch. However, the love, support and advice from my friends is helping me deal with it and learn to move forward.

I'll try to be Butch.