A friend recently suggested that our sense of who we are is entirely dependent on what other people tell us we are. I was about to respond with some of what I've learned over the past four years as a counselling student, but then remembered something important.
As this was mentioned on social media, there was a lack of context. Taking a step back, questioning why I was eager to comment, and who that comment would have benefited, I decided to simply say that my answer would have been a long one (it would have - person-centred theory has a lot to say about who we are and from where our sense of self comes).
Recently, I've been looking at Buddhism or, more specifically, the Gelug school of Tibetan Buddhism. It was during some extra training connected with my work that I finally made the decision to look into this although, strangely, it had appeared on the periphery of my consciousness in various ways in the preceding weeks.
Some of the principles of Tibetan Buddhism have helped me to better deal with some challenges to my emotional health. The important thing here, however, is that looking into this system of belief was my choice. Given that I was raised in a family which was traditionally Roman Catholic, it also felt like an act of rebellion.
The things we choose to do teach us valuable lessons about ourselves, if only we have the wisdom to understand.
Last week, I attended a martial arts class that I've been attending for a number of weeks now. During that class, we had to perform a drill in pairs, in which one person would hold pads and shoot a left jab towards their training partner. In response to this jab, the other person would slip to the outside while countering with a left to the midsection, followed by a series of further punches.
I spent six years learning Wing Chun. I still practise the forms, though not as regularly as I once did. The point is, when I was expected to slip the jab and counter, I was trying so hard not to respond with Wing Chun that I froze and was hit a few times.
When I had finally managed to switch off my previously trained responses to the point where I could slip the jab, my training partner changed the jab to a chop to the side of the head. I complained about this, and the instructor replied that it was better for me to be hit in that situation than out on the street, where they wouldn't be so kind. "Out on the street", they wouldn't have had the luxury of knowing what I was going to do, so the argument wasn't valid. More importantly, my training partner had deviated from what we were supposed to do. I hadn't, but maybe I should have.
Had I responded with Wing Chun or something from elsewhere in my history of learning combat arts, this wouldn't have happened. The last time I did this, however, it led to a situation in which the instructor seemed to feel that he had something to prove. If I'm honest, the irritation I felt regarding my training partner's behaviour and the instructor's response said something of my own vulnerability to the machinations of the ego.
You may be wondering what lesson is to be drawn from all of this. Well, one requirement of the last counselling course on which I was a student was that each of us had the experience of being the client of a counsellor. During those sessions, the counsellor said something I didn't initially understand:
"You've learned to hide your power, because it makes others feel uncomfortable."
My training partner hadn't hidden his power. My experience of the instructor in the class, so far, has been that he's not the type to hide his power either. Both of them have been practising Jeet Kune Do for a long time. Where is my power in that environment? It's a Jeet Kune Do class and, though I have some previous knowledge of Jeet Kune Do, I don't have their experience of practising the principles and movements.
In trying to fit in with what they were doing, and actively suppressing my previous training, I was putting myself at a disadvantage - I was hiding my power. How often do we do this? In an attempt to be liked, accepted, or to gain approval, we take on the rules of our social environment to the point where we hide our individuality. We learn to wear various masks or personas, according to the situation. When we do this, are we valuing or respecting ourselves?
I forgot something important. Returning to martial arts, for me, wasn't about learning to fight. How easily I was dragged into valuing my experience on the terms of others! In that situation, all I had to do was avoid harm. Everything else was, as my recent exposure to Buddhism would suggest, a manifestation of the ego.
The condition of rigidly sticking to what has been taught is, I now see, unnecessary. It is imperative that we listen, observe and learn, but also that we respect and value our own experience. We are the sum of our experience, and so much more. Why, then, should we hide our power?
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