Wednesday 16 December 2020

2020

We're coming to the end of a year that has tested most, if not all, of us. For some, it may feel like 2020 has been all about loss. For me, it has been about acceptance.
 
The work I currently do is very much concerned with how we come to accept the existence of suffering. One thing that often comes up is a potential disparity between how we deal with our own suffering and the suffering of others. If we focus on one of those, at the expense of the other, it will eventually take its toll.
 
The extra time that many of us have spent alone this year has afforded us an opportunity. It has been an opportunity for something we often neglect. Whether we have done so consciously or not, it has been a chance to reflect, to think about where we are in our lives, what's important to us, and other things. In their absence, the way we relate to others may have been on our minds. It seems that many had the time to learn or practise things they had wanted to learn or practise for some time.
 
Unfortunately, there have been those who have tried to deepen divisions between people. Tragedy has been used as a catalyst to shame individuals, based on their group identity, in a misguided attempt to change behaviour through an apparently socially-accepted form of bullying. At a time when the focus might have been very much on a feeling of "us", the media and certain organisations fostered a sense of "them".
 
Here in the UK, the new year will bring a particularly uncertain future. If we believe that the result of the referendum in 2016 was accurate, then a slim majority of those who voted chose an uncertain future. I dare say that, no matter how anyone voted, they had reasons that made sense to them. The fallout from the whole thing, however, deepened any existing sense of "them". Sadly, a lot of the sentiments shared via social media were xenophobic or showed similar intolerance of perceived difference. Little doubt was left that a feeling of "them and us" was pervasive within our society.
 
Was the opportunity for reflection squandered? Maybe. It could also be that many chose to develop aspects of themselves which were all about a separation from others. Alternatively, a desire for greater connection may have led to a reinforcing of group identity, leading to the somewhat ironic outcome of social exclusion and disconnection from other groups of people.
 
I don't pretend to possess any great wisdom or insight. These are just thoughts that have come to me. Your mileage may vary, as they say. Coming to terms with our response to such things is very much about understanding who we are and, hopefully, being able accept it. If we recoil from and shut away the things we judge to be our darkness, they will only show themselves in other ways. It's my belief that we've seen a lot of darkness in 2020, but those whose inner darkness most visibly came to the surface tried to tell us they were the only ones to see the light.

Sunday 1 November 2020

Judo

When I was seven years old, I started to learn judo. My mother has claimed that it was her idea. The reasoning she gave was that she was worried my brother and I would be a target for bullies.

What actually happened was that one of the teachers at our primary school mentioned the judo classes. They were to begin that evening in the older building of the school. My parents were taken aback by the quieter of their two sons being the one to mention it. My father was thrilled that I had shown some interest in an activity that could be seen as manly; my mother's reaction would be best described as ambivalence.

After a while, we moved to a new home. The same instructor was teaching at a nearby community centre. It didn't take long for us to work out that, if we stayed on the mat after the children's class, he didn't mind if we took part in the adult class too. Our parents judged this as getting good value for money. Essentially, it meant that the seven years I was to spend learning judo had more learning packed into them.

The purpose of this post isn't to tell you that I was a great judoka. Even if that were the case, I have retained little of what I learned. No, there was something else about the adult class that had a more profound effect, even if I didn't realise it at the time.

At the end of the adult class, something happened which made it different from the children's class. As my brother and I (the only children present) knelt at the edge of the mat, we were fully expecting to bow and be dismissed as usual. Instead, the instructor told everyone to close their eyes and imagine the stress of the day running out of them into the floor below.

The area in which we lived was recently identified as one of the most deprived areas of the UK. Perhaps things got worse since we moved away, or else most of it escaped our attention as children. Judo felt like a break from all of that, for just a few hours a week. Years later, jujitsu lessons would serve the same purpose, but would be a break from something else entirely.

A few months ago, I lost a friend. She was the person with whom I felt most able to discuss spiritual matters. Others might have the impression that I'm not at all spiritual. It's something that's not easy to convey, and an aspect of ourselves that is all too easy to neglect. In counselling theory, it might be described as one of our "configurations of self". For me, martial arts practice is a part of my spiritual configuration of self. There are other components though.

Before the pandemic hit, I used to go to salsa classes once a week. The long drive to Chester was somewhat reminiscent of the long drive I used to take to Enniskillen, for jujitsu lessons. It was always dark on the way home and, at certain times of the year, dark on the way there too. Sometimes it rained. It always felt restorative. There's no better way to describe the feeling, unfortunately.

As I write this, it's dark and it's raining. Maybe it's time to go for a drive...

Monday 12 October 2020

The inner conflict

When my father left home, I was in the final years of junior school. It's hard to be more precise about these things, because he kept coming back and leaving again. He didn't know what he wanted to do, it seemed. It's difficult to put memories of that time in any kind of order.

I had no interest in the school youth club, but my brother wanted to try it out, or our parents needed to talk without us there. To be honest, I don't remember the reason why I had to go, but there was no sense that it was something avoidable.

There was a snooker (or maybe pool?) table in a side room. As that was one of my brother's interests, it was natural that he'd spend his time there. Me? I was incredibly socially anxious at that age, so the time there was mostly spent wandering aimlessly. At the far end of the club was a small indoor play area - the kind with lines painted onto a wooden floor. A game of football was in progress. There were loose footballs at the side, so I decided to just kick a ball back and forth at the side of the playing area.

Mark Charlton had never given me any trouble before. It's likely that we'd had no interaction at all, really. Him marching up to where I was, asking if he'd given permission for me to kick a ball around, came as something of a surprise. Him becoming increasingly aggressive and trying to push me around came as even more of a surprise. I'd been taking judo lessons from the age of seven, so had already been doing that for a few years at the time of this night at the youth club. I knew how to maintain my own balance, and how to disturb someone else's. By the time a "responsible adult" was able to intervene, Mark was on his back, and I was sitting atop him, letting a rain of punches fall on his face.

My first time at the school youth club would also be my last.

Sometimes, when we leave our home, we go back to check that we have locked the door or to check something else. We can tell ourselves we've had a blank moment, that we are becoming forgetful. We could also say that we've done something so many times that it requires little conscious thought. Perhaps it requires no conscious thought at all.

What does any of that have to do with judo? Well, experience is a great teacher, and experience taught me a very valuable lesson. If you practise, practise and practise some more, you reach the point where little conscious thought is needed for the performance of a skill. In fact, conscious thought can get in the way. Forget you even learned a martial art or combat sport and just act. The people of Japan have a word for this - mushin.

It wasn't that I wanted to fight. In truth, a day where I didn't have to fight would have been very welcome. Unfortunately, my brother didn't think I should be allowed such a luxury. No one taught me how to throw a punch, but I learned. The first few years of secondary school were also pretty rough. Some would talk about this with pride for their own sense of toughness. I can't do that.

Will the constant fear of sudden, unprovoked physical attack ever go away? I don't know. I was never in control, you see. I was never the one who decided a violent encounter would happen. Nothing in my demeanour had ever suggested that I wanted to fight - it happened against my will.

On one occasion, I'd had enough. As he marched forward with his hands raised into a boxing guard (he loved the Rocky films), I kicked his thigh with as much force as I could muster. He dropped to the floor, appearing to be in agony. Panic set in. I knew from experience, if my brother did anything wrong, we were "both as bad as each other"; if there was any sense that I'd done something wrong, it was for me alone to be shamed to the point of submission, and any perceived transgression was talked about as if it was the worst act any human had ever committed. I ran to my sister's house, where my mother was visiting, and told her what had happened. When we got back, my brother said he was going to kill me.

"Honestly, I can't leave you two alone for five minutes. You're both as bad as each other."

For a while, I lived in Northern Ireland, and the atmosphere of the area in which I lived felt so threatening that an obsession with martial arts practice took over. With the lockdown in place, as a response to the pandemic, there's a real danger of that obsession taking over again.

At the moment, I'm limiting myself to practising tai chi and eskrima.

Tuesday 22 September 2020

Actions, not words

One of the professional bodies for counsellors in the UK recently published motions that are being considered in the run up to their AGM. Actually, a part of the document was a resolution that they would tackle institutional racism, as highlighted by the Black Lives Matter movement.

Maybe most of us are familiar with the term "virtue signalling" by now. For those unfamiliar, it is about wanting to be seen to do do good things, but not really doing anything of value. In the worst case scenario, harm is being caused, but the person or organisation signalling virtue only cares that they have stated their intention to do good things. In short, it's a form of denial: an all too visible sign that an organisation or person is, in some way, out of touch with reality.

Unfortunately, virtue signalling seems to be a symptom of the modern age. Social media has made most of us aware of our "brand" - how we are perceived by others and the value they may assign to us, based on that perception. If, in our quest to be seen as virtuous, we make assumptions about the needs of others ("I know what's good for them"), without actually checking this with them, then I'd suggest that we are somewhat devoid of real virtue.

When an organisation makes a promise to "tackle institutional racism", I have to question whether they will make changes, or whether they believe making such a statement is enough. In terms of counselling, it was already written into our ethical guidelines that we treat clients and each other with equal respect, regardless of perceived race or other protected categorisation. If we are failing to meet our existing ethical standards, then there are deeper issues that a decree from on high is unlikely to fix.

Barriers to entry into the profession might be one place where we could do more to be inclusive. One of the motions passed, however, suggests that the work counsellors may be permitted to do should be limited. Unless the counsellor has trained at post-graduate level (therefore, a degree in counselling, psychology or a related subject is assumed), the work we are permitted to do may be limited.

When we qualify as counsellors, that is not the point where our training comes to an end. In fact, as long as we are practising, our training doesn't come to an end. Continuing professional development (CPD) is mandatory, and expensive in terms of time, money or both. Let's also not underestimate the value of the time we have spent doing the work, or the effect this has on our skills as practitioners.

Earning a degree is expensive, and beyond the reach of many. The counselling diploma itself represents a significant expenditure of time, money and energy. Essentially, the motion in question is proposing a barrier to entry. That barrier will mostly affect those from low income households. It's also an insult to many counsellors who have gained a lot of experience from CPD and the work they have done. An organisation that is supposedly tasked with working in the interests of their members seems to be doing the opposite.

The resolution to tackle institutional racism seems to be, amongst other things, an attempt to make the profession appear more representative of society. How can that happen when a motion with the effect of potentially limiting career progression and social mobility is contained within the same document? How many of those from ethnic minorities would be affected by the motion to exclude those without a degree from taking part in some types of therapeutic work? Well, maybe that is representative of our society, but do we really want to mirror and model prejudice or reinforce existing inequalities?

All too often those who talk about inclusivity actually mean "you're included, as long as you meet certain conditions". That's exclusivity; let's not get our clusivities mixed up.

Every one of us is unique. The various strands of our being determine the things of which we are capable, and the individual ways in which we show our capability. To judge any of us by one aspect of our knowledge and experience, and to make assumptions about our competence based on only that, seems to me somewhat contrary to the principles of counselling.

I'm not the expert on anyone else's condition. As a mentor once said, we have not lived one day of another person's life. I still maintain that listening, and checking our understanding, is the cornerstone of our work. Would a degree help me with that?

Saturday 6 June 2020

Leaving the battlefield

It's difficult to say, in simple terms, what has been troubling me. A part of the difficulty is that what I observe is a continuation of how things have been. Based on nothing more than one or a few aspects of who people are, they see others who don't share these properties as being the enemy, or at least "other".

The battles we're currently fighting have been fought many times throughout history, and nothing has been resolved. It's common for one group to shame another for perceived complicity in the oppression and resultant suffering of the former group. Employing "othering" like this reaches its peak in seeing one group as having an inherently greater capacity to commit evil acts. Ironically, this is often done in the pursuit of a reduction in the prevalence of intolerance and bigotry.

If all we manage is to replace one form of bigotry and intolerance with another, then we should acknowledge that the problem may not be with what is happening in the outer world, but within us.

Certain movements treat us not as humans, but as sub-categorisations of humanity. This is deeply upsetting to me, and I have to acknowledge that this upset has the potential to express itself in emotional reasoning. Nevertheless, the trend seems to be toward division, blame, shame and "othering". There are those who benefit from this division, but I'd suggest that it is certainly not in the interests of humanity more generally.

The language being used right now, across the political spectrum, troubles me. I've tried to use language that is non-divisive in this piece, but apologise if some has slipped through. It's probable that I am as unaware of my bias as anyone. My bias, in my view, is towards acceptance and compassion. Our task is to help the disadvantaged and downtrodden. I truly believe we can only achieve this through cooperation, not attacking those we perceive as "other". Let us try to understand, not condemn, and we might discover that we are stood firmly on common ground.

Sunday 24 May 2020

Injury

This has been my third day with a back injury. It has been a lesson in how much we take our ability to bend and stretch for granted. You might expect that I'd feel more than a little depressed by this turn of events, but that's not the case.

I accept my current condition, and feel compassion for the lower back muscles I have mistreated, which now refuse to cooperate.

All of us right now are having to practice acceptance, to some degree. From what I see, some seem to be struggling with this. There have been attempts to blame and shame others, not just for the spread of the virus, but for many other things too.

Certain movements have stepped up their campaigns to blame the oppression of one group on the members of another, and individuals are clinging to specific aspects of their identity, wielding them as weapons against those who don't share the pigeon hole. It all serves to separate us from each other, and create conflict where it need not exist.

In relative terms, an injury to my back doesn't make me feel depressed. I can't say the same for how this crisis is being used to further the agenda of those who use fear, hatred and anger to achieve their desired outcome. That's wholly depressing. It's a clear reminder that it's impossible to make peace with those who aren't at peace with themselves.

I try to adhere to my commitment to acceptance and compassion. Admittedly, I'm not always successful in that. It's starting to feel like a lonely place, to be honest. I suppose I have to accept that people project their inner conflict onto others. It's likely that I'm also guilty of this - actually, I'm acutely aware that I have been guilty of this. If we accept this projection of inner conflict as a sign of suffering, it's much easier to offer compassion to those we might otherwise supply with another perceived enemy.

Tuesday 7 April 2020

Fear and judgement

Has your behaviour changed? Has the way you feel changed? You might find that you're short-tempered, confrontational and just different from how you usually are. It doesn't help that others seem to be behaving irresponsibly, potentially putting us and those we love at risk.

People are experiencing a sense of loss right now. It could be a loss of freedom, a loss of income, a loss of their way of life or even the loss of someone they love. On top of all this, there's a loss of connection with others, in the way we'd usually connect with each other. We're facing a great deal of uncertainty, and it's understandable that we may feel afraid, whether we acknowledge the feeling or not.

It helps to separate the actions of others from who they are. We may not like the behaviour, but we have no idea what is behind the behaviour. You may notice that condemning others, feeling animosity towards them, doesn't bring us peace. Quite the opposite, in fact. We may start to lose our faith in humanity. This is all the more pronounced when the positive aspects of humanity - warmth, affection, connection - aren't so readily available to us.

What we have left is compassion. If we recognise that behaviours we find difficult to tolerate are almost always a manifestation of inner suffering, we are more able to separate the behaviour from the person. This is also showing compassion for ourselves, because we reduce the damage that fear, hatred and anger may inflict upon our mental and emotional health.

Monday 6 April 2020

When this is over

In real terms, little will change. The virus has already taken a number of lives, and a number of people have lost their livelihood. In the grand scheme of things, however, little will change.

In an episode of a martial arts podcast, the discussion took many turns, but at one point touched on the fortunes of Asian economies in comparison to those in Europe and the United States. A point was made that economies largely built on the exploitation of other nations' people and resources were now significantly weaker.

Up to a point, the governments of the world's largest economic powers were very much in favour of the process of globalisation. One possible outcome of the process, however, was a decentralisation of political and economic power. How a government responds to such a situation says much about their perception of where they stand, or believe they should stand, on the international stage.

The European Union is, in theory, an example of a cooperative form of governance. To some extent, this is true in practice, but it's also true that international competition exists within the union. Something interesting happened, though. Competing concerns within the union led to decisions being made cooperatively as compromises were reached. Depending on your political stance, this led to decisions being made in the interests of everybody or nobody in particular.

Unfortunately, some members of the union believed they should have more power; some members believed that others had too much power. The decisions became less important in the minds of many than how the decisions had been reached. Here in the United Kingdom, the media picked up on this dissatisfaction, and it became a tool for those who were fearful of the implications of some rulings, to convince the rest of us that leaving the union would be in our interests too.

Whether all of the above was a good or bad thing depends very much on your frame of reference. It does, however, highlight how our sense of separateness is linked to competitive behaviour, even when the environment in which we find ourselves calls for cooperation.

The current crisis has led to many of us feeling this sense of separateness on an individual level. The sense of threat connected to the crisis has, on an individual level, amplified the sense of competition with others. This was most visible in the panic buying which exemplified and reinforced existing inequalities.

Now that so many of us are living in enforced isolation, we might miss the company of friends, family, acquaintances and colleagues. There will, of course, be exceptions. Isolation will be a relief to some. The question is, will the physical absence of others at this time lead to us valuing their presence in the future?

Loneliness can have a profound effect on our mental health. When coupled with a sense of threat and uncertainty, the effect is more pronounced. Those who are unable to be with elderly or terminally ill loved ones may experience anticipatory grief, and those who lose loved ones at this time may feel the effects of complicated grief. Many other forms of loss will be felt - loss of income, loss of liberty, the loss of a way of life, etc. Isolation gives us more time and space to ruminate.

We are faced with the choice of looking inward, to our own experience and suffering, or outward to the experience and suffering of others. This isn't an entirely selfless act. In his book, Man's Search for Meaning, Viktor Frankl wrote that, during his time as a prisoner at a Nazi concentration camp, he noticed that those who were concerned for the welfare of others were more likely to survive longer. It's difficult to imagine how we, placed in such a situation, might be affected by the horrors we witnessed.

Modern writings on the subject note that compassion for self is a necessary component of compassion. Indeed, we may be of service to others, but it would be irresponsible to neglect ourselves. Acceptance and commitment therapy, for example, works with an acknowledgement that to be human is to feel emotions. Compassion focused therapy highlights how these emotions are often in conflict. When we give little attention to this aspect of ourselves, we are not exercising compassion for the one who looks back at us in the mirror, instead allowing feelings to gather strength and potentially overwhelm us.

"I feel... and how it affects me is..." It can be difficult to say this to someone else, if we lack trust in those around us or have reason to be uncertain of their response. To simply acknowledge it to ourselves is enough. There's a visualisation where we imagine reaching in to the feeling, and pulling it out, making it separate from us. Then, we reach out and bring the feeling back into us. It's a way of seeing the feeling as a part of us, but not the entirety of our being. Other visualisations involve seeing ourselves as an ocean, and our feelings as waves on the surface of the ocean, or variations on this theme. The waves come and go, but the ocean is constant.

In all of this, our thoughts about our situation and how we feel play a part. The words we use, whether spoken or in our internal processes, to describe what is happening, affect our experience.

I seem to have digressed, as I often do, but it is always linked in some way. Many discussions have started with "When this is over..." What I hoped to communicate was that how things are, when this is over, is fundamentally linked to how we use this time.

When I happened to see a good instructional video on Ba Duan Jin, I shared it with friends.


There has, so far, been no response. It doesn't matter. I know that performing this sequence, especially if we are otherwise immobile, has a positive effect on physical and mental health. I offered it in the spirit of helping others, but at the same time accept that others may choose not to accept it as such. It only matters that I offered it - that my focus was on others. I was thinking cooperatively, rather than competitively.

In the end, I don't know whether individually, nationally or internationally, a spirit of competition or cooperation will prevail. Most likely, the two will co-exist uneasily, as they have before. One or the other will be dominant at various points in time. Yin and Yang. Maybe we will use this time to come to some form of acceptance of the need for balance. Maybe we will just learn acceptance. Maybe that's enough.

Sunday 5 April 2020

Ottamage!

Sometimes, it feels like fate, the universe or something else is trying to send me a message. It's rare that the meaning of the message is known immediately, though it often becomes clear at a later date. Today, my attention was drawn towards a person - someone I've never met and am unlikely to ever meet.

Today, a number of things directed my attention towards Macharin (まちゃりん).

I'm not a typical fan of Japanese idols, if there is such a thing. My first exposure to the whole scene was entirely accidental. While I was searching for something else entirely on a well-known video site, Idoling!!!'s "Don't Think. Feel!!!" came up in the recommended videos. Curiosity, and the liberal use of exclamation marks, drew me in.

Somehow, the song and the video brought a smile to my face, at a time when, honestly, such a thing wasn't easy to achieve. I wanted to find out more, but almost everything I found about the group also mentioned another idol group called AKB48. A show featuring members of the group, AKBingo!, was highly recommended.

Most of the comedy in AKBingo! came from the reactions of the young women to the strange, uncomfortable or scary situations in which they found themselves. There's debate about how much of what we see from Japanese idols is an act, and how much is really them. If you pay attention, for long enough, you might just see something that hints at what you would see when there are no cameras around.

Many fans have their favourites. Many fans choose their favourite based on how attractive they are. There are fans who feel compassion towards young women who have made sacrifices to work in an industry where they entertain others. There are fans who fall somewhere between.

Macharin's given name is Ma Chia-Ling. She's originally from Taiwan. When she first appeared on the show, her knowledge of the Japanese language was far from that of a native. From her first appearance, she realised that her quest to learn the language was a "charm point". Some of the members taught her slang, and amusing phrases, or she learned them herself. The hosts saw this as a source of hilarity.

As we got to know more about Macharin, it seemed that she was trying hard to bring smiles to the faces of the audience, and even the other members, while feeling some emotional pain. Trying her hand at winning a comedy contest, she cried while talking to the camera, saying that she didn't feel she'd been accepted by the Japanese audience. During an episode of AKBingo!, we got to hear a call between her and her father, who hoped to see her on TV at a show for the new year. Some of the members in the studio, watching the clip, cried as the reality of a member living in a separate country to her family hit them.

Today, I managed to watch an episode of AKB48 Nemousu TV. It's another show linked to the group. In the episode, Macharin's acting skills were tested, and the tears came easily to her. When I later logged into Instagram, a post from Macharin was at the top of the page. I then saw a few news items regarding Taiwan.

Maybe I identify with Macharin in some ways, but that's a post for another time. It's hard to not feel some kind of connection with her. It seems all too easy to see how she feels. She was visibly surprised and delighted when she heard a member speaking Mandarin on AKBingo! She was visibly upset when AKBingo! came to an end.

One feature of the Japanese idol industry is that an idol's career has a definite lifespan. Those who have a good sense of timing have utilised their fame to break into other areas of the entertainment industry. I hope Macharin achieves everything she hopes to achieve. It's unlikely that she'll read this, but I really do wish her happiness.

Saturday 28 March 2020

Acknowledging and accepting

There have already been signs that people's mental health is being affected by self-isolation. It's quite apparent that the feelings are mostly connected to a sense of loss (freedom, income, certainty, etc.), apart from the obvious potential threat to survival.

This feeling of loss often changes our relationship with others, and how we relate to ourselves too. Our attachment to people and things now absent becomes a source of pain and suffering for us. We try to hide or lock away our suffering as an unconscious process, failing to realise that this gives our feelings more power.

"I shouldn't be feeling this way." The exact words we use to say this don't really matter. The message we send ourselves is essentially the same. We try to deny our emotions, our humanity, but like a child pulling at a trouser leg to get attention, our feelings remind us of their existence.

Acknowledging how we feel is, in the longer term, how we learn to accept and integrate difficult feelings into our existence. Once we make the feeling a part of our conscious awareness, we are more able to decide how we engage with the feeling. For many of us, this first step involves talking to someone we trust about how we feel.

We can no more avoid what we feel than we can avoid being human, and it is our attempts to avoid, rather than accept, what we feel that create the greater part of our suffering. However we come to acknowledge what we feel, it is our first step in accepting the feeling as a part of our experience and limiting its power over us.

There is more to be said, but maybe I have said enough for now.

Tuesday 24 March 2020

Lockdown, day 1

Lockdown day one. People seem to be more short-tempered than usual. The shops seem to have returned to some semblance of normality. I was able to get bread, cereal and tinned fruit. There was no toilet tissue, though. It was disappointing to see a general lack of awareness of personal space. I wonder how many people will become ill, or even leave this world before their time, due to what seems like either a lack of awareness or a lack of concern.

In small ways, and ways that aren't so small, this situation is likely to affect the mental health of many people. Maybe things will change. Maybe there will be the growing realisation that it is better to act cooperatively, rather than competitively and adversarially. Hopefully it's within us to do that.



Physical exercise is arguably more important than ever. Many of the warnings about going out, and meeting with others, say that we only have to sit on a sofa. That feels more than a little irresponsible. To be fair, a number of personal trainers, yoga instructors, martial artists and others have started putting free lessons online. Could it be that we're starting to see how our fates are intertwined?

This isn't too far removed from my everyday experience. For some, the lack of connection with others, and the absence of the physical presence of friends and acquaintances will be hard. That's something I spend much of my time dealing with. In recent months, it's been something I've chosen to do. There are times when our suffering takes us to dark places, and that darkness may, in turn, cause suffering for others. Maintaining a distance from others, in such circumstances, is an act of kindness, but they may see it as something different.

I've been waiting for an assessment, to see whether something fundamentally different in the structure of my brain has been responsible for difficulties experienced over the course of a lifetime. That meeting is now on hold, of course. In one way, such things are an opportunity - an opportunity to practise acceptance of uncertainty.

Friday 20 March 2020

Warmth

In my last year at high school, one of the girls wanted to talk to me. I was walking home from a swimming lesson that had taken place at the local leisure centre. From the other side of the footbridge I had just crossed, my name was called.

As I turned, she called for me to wait for her. She increased her pace; her long hair billowed out behind her and, coming closer, her smile broadened. After the customary pleasantries, and an acknowledgement that we hadn't really had the chance to talk before, she told me what was on her mind as we walked together.

That evening, she would be going on a date for the first time. She was nervous. She wasn't sure how she should act, what she should wear or whether she would meet the expectations of the young man in whose company she'd be spending some time. She had been thinking about cancelling the date, because she was sure to make a fool of herself.

I took a brief look at her, walking next to me. She was tall, slender. Her dark hair provided a contrast to her pale complexion. She was quite attractive, not just in outward appearance but also in her mannerisms, the tone of her voice, the pace of her speech and other things unique to her. Hearing that she doubted herself came as a surprise.

None of the girls had spoken to me in this way before. A number of the boys had, for reasons known only to them, walked at least part of the way home with me and talked about things that had been troubling them. A girl wanting to open up to me was new.

I knew that I was seen as a little unusual. It was, unfortunately, a particularly lonely time for me. Adolescence can feel like a limbo, in which we are neither a child nor an adult - neither one thing nor another. It's a time when many of us find our "crowd": the people with whom we identify as having similar traits or interests.

For some of us, it's a time when we come to realise that we don't fit in. We find no one with whom we particularly identify. In truth, I identified most with the world cinema I'd watch in the early hours of the morning. Using the small TV in my room, I'd watch numerous subtitled films which two of the available stations would broadcast at unsociable hours. They had a profound effect on how I perceived the world around me.

What I didn't want was to reinforce in any way the idea that I was odd. Actually, hearing a girl talk openly about her concerns to me, as we walked home, felt like a chance moment of connection with someone who might not otherwise have been too aware of my existence. Her eagerness to make a good impression, on her imminent date, mirrored my own eagerness to leave a good impression at that moment.

I asked whether she had asked her date for the evening to go out with her, or whether he had been the one to ask. She replied that he had been the one to ask. I said that I admired his courage. The possibility of rejection was something he had been willing to accept, I reasoned, in exchange for the mere possibility of spending some time with her. He had seen something in her which had made him want to spend that time with her.

How nervous did she think he might be about their date? She answered that he was probably feeling much the same as she was. She smiled. At that moment, we had come to the place where our paths home diverged.

She suggested that in future I might spend some time with her and her friends, and talk with them, during breaks in the school day. Knowing that some of the girls she thought of as friends would object to that development, I made excuses I can no longer remember.

The hug was unexpected. I didn't know how to respond. Much of the discussion I'd heard regarding such situations had suggested that males should be especially careful with the physical boundaries of females. As much as I resented the implication that some bodies were inherently more valuable than others, I didn't reciprocate. My arms hung limply by my sides.

She felt soft and warm. There was the feint scent of a musky, floral perfume. She released her hold, and said she'd see me at school. I only managed to nod in response, and watch for a moment as she crossed the road and walked down a side street. The impression left by her being next to me remained long after she had gone.

No one, as far as I could remember, had hugged me before. It seemed strange to think that it had never happened, but I certainly couldn't remember it happening. Until this isolated display of affection, I had been okay with that. After, I wasn't okay. I wasn't okay at all. In terms of my mental health, I went off the rails for a while. You can't miss what you've never had, I guess. After experiencing it, it was missed greatly.

Within a space of about ten minutes, I'd experienced more warmth from another human than I had for as long as I could remember.

If we experience, early in our lives, a lack of warmth and affection, it can be difficult to know how to respond. It can feel so disconnected from our experience that we find it hard to accept, and we may find it equally difficult to give to others.

It's all too easy to fall into the trap of believing that we must not have deserved warmth and affection, or it would have been offered to us. We dismiss the thought that those around us, for reasons entirely their own, may have struggled to show warmth towards us.

In more recent times, I've had to come to terms with the emotional response I have to any suggestion of warmth and affection from others. Speaking to a counsellor helped me to see this as something akin to a man crossing the desert, and suddenly being given a glass of water. Leaving behind the notion that I must have been somehow unworthy of love is a battle that continues to this day. The messages we receive in childhood have a profound and lasting effect on how we see ourselves.

Monday 16 March 2020

Compassion in a time of crisis

Sometimes I forget. When my thoughts turn to those who are in need, and are denied access to what is essential to them, I feel anger towards those who selfishly serve their own needs to the detriment of others. What I forget in those moments is something fundamental to the practice of compassion.

In recent weeks, the breaking out of a pandemic has put a spotlight on human behaviour. The shelves of supermarkets have been emptied at a greater rate as the panic sets in. Governments around the world have been applauded or condemned by their people, depending on how they have responded to the crisis.

I found that I became increasingly puzzled, and then angry, at reports that people were buying supplies in bulk, leaving fewer or none of the essentials for others. In my mind, it was an example of those who already had too much, and could afford to buy in bulk, depriving those who weren't able to do so. In my mind, it was an all too visible representation of social and economic inequality.

It would seem that those buying in bulk lack compassion for their fellow human beings. Their behaviour, at least, would suggest a lack of compassion. A self-centred greed, which appears to be a symptom of a society's move away from a sense of community to a greater focus on the individual, may be the root. That, however, may not provide an adequate explanation for what is driving the behaviour on an individual level. Print, broadcast and social media perpetuate assumptions much of the time, and serve through those assumptions to fuel fear, hatred and anger.

What if we were to separate the behaviour from the person? What if we observed the behaviour and looked for other potential mechanisms behind it? We might then see fear and anxiety. What we see then, is that acts which cause great suffering are being performed by people who, internally, are suffering too.

Recognising the suffering of others is not to excuse their behaviour - it is simply to change our perspective. It has been said that holding on to anger is akin to holding a hot piece of coal. Our choice is to vent our anger, in a way that is appropriate, or to question from where our anger arises.

It's all too easy to say the above. My work involves listening to the suffering of others with sensitivity, compassion and a non-judgemental attitude. Sometimes though, as I said at the start of this piece, I forget. Part of the training for my work covered this, and I've started to make peace with the fact that sometimes I fall short of the standards I set for myself.

After all, how are we to show compassion for others, if we are unable to offer it to ourselves?

Friday 21 February 2020

Martial arts, how we train and why we train

The hand placed at the centre of his chest surprised him. It surprised him because it had been placed there without him noticing, and had stopped him moving forward. He'd managed to back me up this far, but there was a road a few steps behind me, and he wasn't going to back me up any further.

We had reached this point due to a fundamental flaw in his character. Like all bullies, he was accustomed to getting his way, with everyone going along with what he said, and he certainly hadn't expected to meet with the level of assertiveness I had shown a few minutes earlier. He'd not known how to react, and fell back on what he knew - using his size and weight to intimidate anyone who dared to challenge him.

This time, it wasn't going to work. Oh no, sir. Not this time.

The bruises on my forearm would later bear testament to his attempts to shift the offending palm, and to my reluctance to allow that to happen. Despite his bulk, it had stopped his forward momentum, and provided me with a good reference point to deal with any attack he might launch, or to launch one of my own, if doing so became necessary. In truth, those thoughts hadn't been at the forefront of my mind at that moment; a trained response to a threat had been activated.

Maybe his attempts to move the hand were a sign that he understood the danger. It was like the red dot which might alert you to the sniper aiming a high velocity rifle in your direction. He had the advantage in terms of height, weight and even reach, but he'd made the mistake of placing himself within range of my artillery.

"You wouldn't last a minute," he screamed at me - a reminder that his interest in watching boxing and cage fights had given him an unrealistic notion of how long a fight would generally last outside of a sporting arena. He'd been shouting for the past few minutes, which was in marked contrast to the calm, muted responses I'd been giving to his anger. Unfortunately for him, I saw quite clearly where his anger was coming from - it was coming from uncertainty.

Sure, there were points where I was tempted to let him bat my arm away and counter with a punch he wouldn't see, due to his preoccupation with moving the obstacle. If he'd thrown a punch of his own, it would have been quite easy to sense it coming, evade and push him backwards. He was unwise to allow me to gain contact.

"What ya gonna do? Throw your chopsticks at me?" I hadn't needed the reminder of my experience as a martial artist, but his lame attempt at ridicule reminded me that he also knew about it. As he backed away, a little confused and still very angry, he continued to insist things wouldn't have gone my way, had he forced me to fight. I couldn't disagree with that. The last thing I wanted was to fight, so if it had happened, it would already signify a loss of some sort for me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I watched a video earlier today that, on the surface, seemed to have nothing to do with martial arts at all. From the comments on the video, no one had noticed something that I had seen. To be honest, it happens quite quickly.


At the 2:27 mark, the young woman in the middle has a panic reaction, and instinctively brings her hands up to guard her face. When her younger associate in the black and white jumper then tries to cling to her, when she's not looking in that direction, she seems to draw back her fist before connecting with a right cross. The young woman in the black and white jumper then falls to the floor. I had to watch it a few times, and then watch it in slow motion, to verify this.

As I follow this group, I actually know who they are. In this context, the fact that they are called Rocket Punch seems to be a tempting of fate. The member who seems to connect her right cross with another member's face is Juri Takahashi - the oldest and only Japanese member of this Korean group. In their latest release, which is being promoted in this video, is the line:

"I wanna hit the world with Rocket Punch." Quite.

In an interview, Juri was asked if she'd ever been involved in any sports. Her reply was that she'd spent a few years learning karate. She then demonstrated this with a perfectly executed high roundhouse. The interview was during a series called Heechul and Shindong's Internet Cafe, if you're interested in finding it.

I've got to admit to having something of a soft spot for Juri. She came to prominence as a member of a Japanese idol group called AKB48, and that was where I first got to know about her. Actually, following her career was how I got to know about Rocket Punch, as did many other fans. Along with two other members of the group, she came to the attention of the Korean audience mostly through her participation on the Produce 48 show (a joint Japanese-Korean venture).

All of that, and the story of how I got into Japanese and Korean pop music, is not the focus of this piece. Our focus is on Juri's martial arts experience. If I had the chance to interview her personally about it, I'd be more than happy, but there are a few reasons why that isn't going to happen, and one reason why it shouldn't happen - I know very little Japanese. I know about karate though, and in Juri's case, we're more than likely talking about Japanese karate, rather than Okinawan karate. I believe she hints at this during her brief interview - "I learned taekwondo... well, not taekwondo... the Japanese one." It's logical that she wouldn't know that the Korean word for karate is... karate.

What we'd call a left or right cross, in western boxing, is quite similar to the reverse punch in Japanese karate. How often is the reverse punch trained in karate? Ideally, often enough that it becomes instinctive - like a panic response, maybe.

The arguments about which martial art is better haven't stopped. If anything, the sport of mixed martial arts has come to prominence as comment streams on the internet have become increasingly polarised on the issue. What I've known for some time is that there is no better or worse martial art, but there is a better or worse martial art for you personally. What's more important is how you train, and how often you train.

The question should always be whether what you learn could become your panic reaction, if trained repeatedly. If it looks overly complicated, the answer is probably "no".

I was trained in Shotokan karate as a child, but for nowhere near as long as I had judo lessons. What I remembered was that judo worked, when I needed it to work, and I rarely used anything I had learned in a karate class. I'm hoping that I never have to use any of this stuff again, but maybe I misjudged karate. Maybe a lot of people have misjudged karate.

Actually, there's something that happened, twice, with two separate opponents. This is something that happened once in a fight where a self-professed martial arts expert was trying his luck against me outside a bar, and once on a mat in a Japanese jujitsu class. Both times, a high roundhouse was fired at me. Both times, I shifted back, just out of range. Both times, I came back into range just in time to kick my opponent in the behind, dropping them forward onto the floor. That was karate. That was my karate.