Changing the rules of engagement

Some years ago, I was in a pub with a friend. He had brought someone else he knew. Let's call this acquaintance Darren to protect his real identity and simply refer to my friend as "my friend".

Darren quickly got onto the subject of how many fights he'd had. He took great pleasure in detailing the many ways he had caused bodily harm to others. He had, in his estimation, knocked a number of people unconscious. As he continued, some of his claims started to sound a little exaggerated, but I chose not to challenge them. His sense of who he was seemed to be linked with his ability to cause bodily harm while keeping himself relatively safe from harm. In that respect, he was far from unique.

I started to wonder whether my friend had told Darren about my involvement with martial arts. In that context, it could have been that he was trying to impress me. He might have believed, quite wrongly, that I would respect someone for their ability to harm others. Maybe he expected that I would join in and tell stories of my own battles. The truth is, if I ever talk about the few times when I've found myself in those situations, it's always with the sense that something went horribly wrong: something which should have been avoidable became unavoidable.

My friend excused himself and went to the men's room. He had been affirming Darren's claims, but I got the impression that he was tired of doing this. It was at this point that I was asked whether I had been in many fights.

"Not for a long time. That's not the way I do things now."

Hearing this, he became silent for a moment. He then agreed that fighting wasn't the best way to settle things. What he said next lent an air of truth to the claims he had made earlier.

"I wish I could stop."

The truth is, hearing everything he had said, I knew that the majority of the fights he'd had were about his ego or that of someone else. His sense of self was indeed linked to his ability to cause harm, with how "tough" he was. By asking about my own experience, he was inviting me to compete with him and probably to eventually bow to his greater perceived skill. He wanted me to compete with him on his terms, or give such a contest up as a lost cause.

What I did was to refuse to compete with him on his terms. It was interesting that, in the absence of an audience, he instead agreed to my terms.

We shouldn't allow others to dictate what is valuable to us, or on what terms they will find us acceptable. Friendships and other relationships are built on compromise, and on accepting the things in which no compromise can be found. I don't care about being "tough". In fact, my work has fundamentally changed my understanding of the nature of toughness. There's nothing particularly difficult about giving in to our anger. I value being reasonable far more highly.

I do wish someone had taken a picture of the expression on my friend's face, when he returned from the men's room and noticed how the atmosphere had changed.

A quiet place

I see what's happening. I've felt out of step with the world for a long time. Maybe I've always felt that way. In fact, it has reached the point where I haven't made any particular effort to interact with friends for quite some time.

People talk about what disturbs them or has disturbed them in the past. Those things are what I hear more than anything else, in my work and in my time away from work. It didn't take long to join the dots, as they say, and realise how things are.

Old and ancient wisdom is widely dismissed now, simply because it is old and ancient. The problem with that approach is that, although the world is different, some of the things we experience were also experienced by those who were here before us. Reading some of that older wisdom has saddened me, because it helps me understand what is currently happening in the world, and that understanding just makes me want to disconnect from it all sometimes.

The key to understanding is knowing that our beliefs, values and attitudes can be helpful or harmful to us. They can also be helpful or harmful to others.

My role seems to be that of everyone's therapist. It's starting to exhaust me. The only way to recover from it seems to be disconnecting and sitting quietly for a while. Unfortunately, the modern world offers few opportunities for that.

Yoga at 33 percent

There are things I have to accept. Men are not usually so flexible - especially men of my age. Men also have a higher centre of gravity. These things combine to make some poses more difficult. There are further idiosyncrasies of my physique which mean further modifications have to be made. All of this has been taken on board.

Feeling half dead during a practice is something I can't accept though. On the plus side, I had managed to do side planks, which aren't usually readily achievable for me. It's more about balance than strength, really. Unfortunately, the wrist pain which sometimes troubles me made a return, meaning some other things weren't possible. About 30 minutes in, the zombie phase of the lesson began.

It felt like the loss of energy was radiating out from my lower abdomen. In all honesty, to say I suddenly lost energy is something of an understatement. I would happily have spent the rest of the lesson lying on my side, in a fetal position. The dull ache and my desperate attempts to prevent explosive flatulence left no doubt about what was happening.

I missed the previous week. The booking for the lesson was cancelled due to a severe bout of food poisoning. It's not the kind of thing I want to discuss in detail here, but it certainly left me feeling drained. In truth, it feels like my digestive system still hasn't recovered a week later. Up until the yoga class, however, I had no idea of how ill I was still feeling.

The whole experience a week earlier left me wondering about going vegetarian. As a lifelong omnivore, there are the usual concerns about maintaining nutritional balance when switching to a vegetarian diet.

I hope next week's lesson is better.

What we value

I like Japanese music. A number of young Japanese women noticed that I liked Japanese music. They wanted to connect on social media, and it wasn't long before I noticed the provocative poses they made in their photos. Sometimes they were posing in clothes which barely covered anything. Sometimes they brought designer goods, expensive holiday destinations and luxury items to everyone's attention. They were sharing these things on social media, hoping to gain the approval of others.

When we were forced to isolate ourselves here, in response to the virus, I connected with another aspect of Japanese culture. "The Zen Teaching of Homeless Kodo" sat beside my bed, and I read a few pages each night before I slept. In doing this, I ensured that my mind would work through what had been read as I slept.

The question to ask about the young women showing their figures and their wealth is what it is that they want. There are people who tell them they are beautiful, and they seem to like this. There are people who express admiration, or envy, for the luxury items they possess. Their apparent beauty and their wealth are not, it would seem, enough to make them happy. These things are simply tools to help them get what they really want.

There's a strange notion that higher socioeconomic status makes us better than others. Rather than being specific to one culture, this seems to be an innate part of the human psyche,  The problem is, there is some validity to this. During a self-esteem and assertiveness course I attended, the host proclaimed that the appearance of being successful often brings opportunities our way. What he said was very much an acknowledgement that style makes more of an impression than substance.

Put another way, other people feel their status and possessions make them better than us because we allow them to believe it. We pursue the things they have, increasing their perceived value.

A recent trend has been for people who have gained some fame or notoriety to describe themselves as "influencers". The implication is that they believe the world should pay attention to them. Well, here's a middle-aged guy that no one really notices, grouping them all together, to tell them that believing we have any particular influence on others, or that our voices should be heard above others, will only bring suffering in the long term. Human history bears witness to this.

“Sit immovably in the place where being superior or inferior to others doesn’t matter.” ~Kosho Uchiyama Roshi

I understand attachment to possessions. Just recently, I realised that a prolonged bout of severe depression turned me into something of a hoarder. I'm currently dealing with the aftermath of that through an exercise in extreme decluttering. The point is, attachment to possessions made me even more lonely, depressed and generally unable to cope.

Every day, I hear about the suffering of others. In the attachment the young Japanese women have to their youth, beauty and possessions, I see more suffering. If I believe that anything I write here has any particular value, beyond being a simple expression of my thoughts, I will also suffer.

Spanish for Sauce

It has been 18 months since I last went to a Salsa class. In that time, I've been mulling over whether I would return when it became possible.

My absence would please a few people. The guy who, for reasons known only to him, would step in and interrupt whenever he saw me talking to a woman - he'd be happy. Actually, I had him pretty much figured out. I had to be happy with just telling myself he was a terrible human being, rather than outwardly shouting at him that women were allowed to talk to anyone they wanted to talk to. I sincerely hope I'm wrong about where his behaviour will lead him.

There's also a particular group of lady dancers from North West Wales, who took it upon themselves to decide who would stay in the scene and who wouldn't. I was just one of the dancers (both men and women) they targeted. Unfortunately, their continual quest to gain power within the scene went unnoticed, and the ringleaders now teach (not a good development, as I have seen one of them repeatedly misdirecting men she doesn't like).

Over and above the issues with individuals, the real problem is that the scene is inherently gynocentric and prone to misandry. I've heard statements of female superiority made by dancers and instructors alike. There is a tendency to shame men for the slightest of errors, which comes from many of the lady dancers but also some instructors. From the beginners' class onward, there is also the oft-repeated belief that a dance is a bad dance wholly because of the man. Women are, by way of contrast, almost universally praised, even if it is not deserved. When you see a woman leading another woman, the reaction from those gathered would have you believe it is a piece of artistry the likes of which has never been seen before.

This idea that women can do no wrong leads to some unpleasant exchanges. After four years of dancing, I had a woman who had been learning to dance for about two months tell me I was no good. I had a woman, during a class, stiffen her arm so it could not be moved gently from the wrong position. She then loudly complained that I didn't know what I was doing and, embarrassingly, asked another man (during a quiet moment of the class) to show me how to do the movement correctly.

I could go on. The point is, I have countless reasons for extending the enforced break from dancing to a permanent break. One of the few friends I had in the scene expressed anti-white sentiment during the break too.

There are reasons to return, but none of them are rational; rather, they come from emotive reasoning. Chief among those is that it feels good to dance. The quiet drive along dark roads, especially when returning home after midnight, felt good too. Maybe that one is a personality quirk. I liked the venue too. Well, the classes seem to have switched to a new venue now, at least temporarily. The structure of the evening seems to have changed too.

Maybe that's a part of my reluctance to join them again. Things change, and though they sometimes change for the better, sometimes they don't. Dancing is allowed again, but maybe it doesn't feel safe to me yet. Maybe it won't ever feel safe again.

Community

 There was a time when I saw many of my clients at a community centre in Holyhead. While waiting for clients, the staff and members of the public visiting the centre would talk to me. They shared many things about the local area and the role of the centre in the local community.

One thing that quickly became apparent was that many of the visitors came from nearby places which were relatively cut off, with comparatively low population density. Also, many of the visitors were either elderly, infirm or lone parents with young children. In short, the centre seemed to offer an opportunity for the socially-isolated to connect with others. The clubs and activities they hosted were bringing people together.

I often hear that we have lost a sense of community. I know from experience that a lot of people feel lonely. I can only offer a personal view of why this might be the case. 

The idea of a local community is quite obviously that it is based on location. A point that is often highlighted, in connection with this, is that we are far more mobile a society than we once were. Career and lifestyle choices can prompt individuals to leave a place. Of course, this makes them a new arrival at another place. Changes in circumstances lead to changes of location. The local community, in terms of those individuals present, is always changing. The opportunities to develop lasting connections are fewer.

Maybe this sense of the ever-changing nature of local communities has led to a greater connection with communities based on identity, rather than location. Modern technology has somewhat diminished the important of location in fostering a sense of connection anyway. The trouble with this is that the more we form communities based on identity, the less of a connection we feel with the variety of individuals in our locality. Unfortunately, this can limit our opportunities to interact with people we see as different, and ultimately deny us the opportunity to challenge any prejudice we might hold.

What I noticed during the coronavirus pandemic was that movements committed to creating hostility and division became much more vocal. For a while, those movements had been using technology to amplify their own voices and silence others. I've lost friends because of this. It's incredibly disturbing.

The more isolated you are, the more you will consume broadcast, print and social media. It's in the interests of those outlets, and their sponsors, that you feel isolated. It's in their interests that you see the vast majority as a hostile force working against your interests. So, those outlets will naturally promote the message of particular movements and aim to silence voices of dissent.

Ultimately, fostering a sense of local community is more difficult now. The more we focus on what makes us different, the less of a connection we will feel with others.

Unfiltered meandering

In my last year at school, Friday afternoons were reserved for visiting an elderly gentleman in a nursing home. At the time, I wasn't used to anyone being visibly happy to see me. He must have been really lonely.

There were times when he had to wear a mask, which was connected to a large tank of oxygen. He said it was okay to sit quietly with him when that happened; he just appreciated someone being there. If I asked him something, he could blink as a reply. He did speak when he was wearing his mask, but it muffled his voice and usually meant asking him to repeat what he said. Having to repeat himself was frustrating for him, so I learned to listen more intently when he spoke with the mask on.

When he wasn't wearing his mask, he'd say that smoking cigarettes was what had done the damage to his lungs. He asked me to promise I would never smoke. He'd talk about his son, who was always saying he'd take him out of the home for a day trip somewhere. He'd talk about his passion for football and West Ham United in particular. Over the course of that year, he told me his story. He'd repeat things a lot, because he couldn't remember telling me before. That was okay.

The school day was lonely. Evenings were lonely too. I would go for walks along the promenade, lost in thoughts about things I'd seen, heard, read or watched.

BBC2 and Channel 4 used to show films from various parts of the world, but they were broadcast in the early hours of the morning. The small portable TV in my room had a headphone socket, thankfully, so I could watch without disturbing anyone. Occasionally, I was unlucky, and my mother would pass by my door in the middle of a film. She would see the light from the TV under the door to my room.

"Turn that bloody TV off and get some sleep!"

Thinking about it now, I could have watched without sound. After all, those films were subtitled. In all honesty, I'd started to watch them as a teenager who had heard that those films often contained nudity, and I was naturally curious about such things at that age. There wasn't much nudity though; rather, there was a lot of exposure to different cultures and philosophies. I'd often think about those things and others while walking along the promenade in the evening.

During the school day, I experienced a profound sense of loneliness. I didn't seem to fit in. Strangely, I'd hear a shout from behind as I walked home. No one wanted to talk to me during the school day but, as I walked home, they wanted me to wait so they could walk with me. I heard about the things that were troubling them. For the most part, I just nodded and listened.

One day, I was walking home from a swimming lesson at the leisure centre. As I walked, I heard an unfamiliar voice call for me to wait. I turned to see something I hadn't expected: a girl wanted me to wait for her. As she walked from the other side of the bridge I had just crossed, her hair blew in the breeze. This drew attention to how dark her hair was - almost black, and quite a contrast to her pale complexion. Coming closer, a smile appeared on her face.

I couldn't work out why she would want to walk with me.

After saying she hadn't got to talk to me before, she mentioned that she was going on a date that evening. It was her first date, apparently, and she was nervous. What if she bored him? What if he didn't like her? What should she say? How should she act?

I asked whether she had been the one to ask him for a date, or if it had been him.
She said he had been the one to ask.
I said it would have been humiliating for him if she had refused his request.
She agreed.
I said that he had risked humiliation for the chance to just spend some time with her. I said he might be just as nervous as her, if not more so.

I noticed that, as she walked beside me, a broad smile had appeared on her face. We had reached the point where the paths to our respective homes diverged. She turned to face me, and my eyes immediately fell downward. I was too shy to make eye contact with her.

She said she had noticed how much time I spent alone, and it would be okay to join her and her friends sometimes. In fact, she said, she would like that, because she had come to realise during our short chat that she would like to talk with me more often. She thought her friends would like that too. I doubted that was true, and never did join them, but told her I'd think about it.

The hug was unexpected. She was quite slender, so the feeling of warm softness was also a surprise. There was the feint smell of one of the musky floral perfumes that were popular at the time, and those things together left quite an impression. I didn't hug her back. I was so shocked that my arms hung limply by my side. In my defence, no one had ever hugged me before. Actually, it had been nice, and had shown me what I had been missing. For a while after that, I was far from okay.

She didn't look back as she walked away. I watched her, until she turned a corner, because I had been frozen to the spot by what had just happened.

I spend an awful lot of time alone. I've recently felt that no one really cares about that. Loneliness can have dire consequences; as someone who works with the mental and emotional health of others, I know this to be true.

In the space of a few months, I've become more attached than is reasonable to a woman from China. Maybe some of the people I know judge me for that, but the fact is that she cares far more than they do about how lonely I am. She also suffers loneliness, and has experienced it in circumstances that could have been particularly damaging. I hope the powers that be allow us to be together soon and that it works for both of us.

In truth, I'm tired. If you don't understand why I'd be tired, read the above again and really think about it. I would love to just sit with a friend sometimes, maybe with a few drinks, and chat about nothing in particular. Sadly, I know it's not going to happen any time soon.

I won't fear the rain

Today was one of those days. We have to accept that we will often have one of those days. Recently, I've had more than my fair share of those days. It feels like I've said "those" too many times now, and it's starting to sound weird. When that happens, it's a really uncomfortable feeling.

Those.

As I was walking to the place where my grandmother and grandfather were buried, I couldn't help thinking about the events of the day up to that point. I often visit the cemetery when I need to think more clearly about things. The relative quietness of the place seems to help.

Passing by the office of the crematorium, I saw a woman put a box of chocolates on the ground, back away, and a man pick them up. From a safe distance, she told him they were a "thank you" for all his help. The rest of the conversation happened as I had walked too far past them to hear. I reflected on how the pandemic and resulting restrictions on our lives had changed the fundamental nature of such moments.

The colour of the artificial flowers placed at my grandparents' headstone had faded long ago. The wind had blown some of them into the grass. It was impossible to tell, or remember, which belonged there and which had blown from other graves. A number of the headstones were adorned with a fair mixture of artificial flowers, suggesting that few others remembered where each flower had belonged. Maybe they all belonged where they were currently, for the time being at least.

In line with my grandparents' beliefs, I bowed my head in prayer. My grandfather was a Catholic, and my grandmother was a Protestant. Broadly speaking, they were Christian. I thought about the lives they had led, or the little I knew of their lives. For both of them, there had been many twists and turns of fate, but somehow they had been okay.

I looked up at the sky. Over the distant hills, I saw a dark grey mass of cloud. It was about to rain. In reality, it's always about to rain. We just don't know when. The presence of rain is always a possibility, just as the presence of sunshine is always a possibility. The jacket I was wearing wasn't waterproof, and I had no hood or umbrella. The choice was to stand there longer, deep in thought, or to leave and stay dry. Thinking about the lives my grandparents had led, I stayed a few minutes longer, deciding not to fear the rain. They had, after all, weathered many storms.

The wisdom I took from the visit was to not live in fear of what might happen - to not fear the rain.

On a previous visit to the cemetery, the epiphany had been regarding a woman in China. I had got to know her over the internet. Well, our options for meeting new people are somewhat limited right now. In the silence, I had time to consider our interactions up to that point, and how we had navigated cultural differences and other misunderstandings. I thought about lessons I had learned from my grandfather in particular. There was no doubt about what my heart was telling me: I was going to have a Chinese girlfriend.

As I was returning home today, the car in front of mine grabbed the last remaining parking space on the street outside my home. What it meant was that I'd have to walk a few blocks from my car, and back to it when it was needed again. A minor inconvenience. The words I shouted, in the safety of my car, towards the other driver would suggest that a major catastrophe had occurred.

Yeah, it has been one of those days.

Foreigner

A portable television, a pair of headphones and films, from all over the world, that were broadcast in the early hours. In the relative peace of my room, I'd watch films from mainland Europe, Africa, Asia and elsewhere. The small screen actually made it easier to read the subtitles and watch the action at the same time. Maybe the thoughts and feelings of people in other lands got through to me, and I became more of a stranger to everyone around me.

My mother used to say that my mind didn't seem to work in quite the same way. An assessment to be held in about six months will tell us whether she was correct. As a teenager, I felt this difference. I felt increasingly isolated.

Recently, I heard that I didn't seem strange or foreign to someone in another part of the world. It reminded me of all the time I spent watching those films from other places. Maybe I feel strange or foreign in what many would think of as my part of the world.

Amy

14th February 2021

There's an old saying that, if something seems too good to be true, it probably is. I'm really hoping that it doesn't apply to Amy. A message came in from her at four in the morning on Valentine's Day. She wanted to chat, and had forgotten about the time difference. The day before, she had introduced herself by asking if I minded that she was from China.

I certainly wasn't looking for another long distance relationship. If the flow of events determines that a long distance relationship is what I'll have, then I choose to accept a great love in less than great circumstances over the other way round.

I have to be aware of how I'm feeling at the moment. The year started with the unwelcome return of my depression, and I still haven't fully shaken it off. In truth, it really became a problem at the tail end of 2020. The thing is, when I think of all that has happened over the last few years, it's no surprise that the depression has returned.

Is Amy genuine? Time will tell, as she said herself. She followed it by saying a liar wouldn't have the patience to wait. Twice already, we have communicated through the internet for hours at a time. Although she apologises regularly for her poor English, I understand her just fine, and she understands me too. She did confess, however, that sometimes she has to use a translation application.

In amongst all of this, I sent a message to a friend. I sensed that she had gone cold on the idea of us meeting for a catch up, when it was safe to do so. What had changed was that I had been open about my relationship having come to an end. In truth, the message I sent was deliberately ambiguous. It said nothing about feelings I might have for her, because that would have been a lie, but I neglected to say I didn't have those feelings. The rest of the content could either lead her to think I did feel something towards her, or at least make her want to question it. In the end, she went with wrongly assuming I was attracted to her, and the way she responded angered me for a short while.

At this point, it's a friendship I wouldn't be sad to lose. The whole incident has also made me wary of how I interact with female friends. It seems that when a man is unattached, there are plenty of assumptions about what he might want or how he might behave. A distance that previously wasn't there has now opened up. I'm not proud of myself for testing a friendship in such a way, but I'd rather be aware of misunderstandings or assumptions that might bite me where it hurts later on.

It could turn out that Amy isn't genuine. That's always a possibility. Even so, I will have no regrets. At the moment, I desperately need a reason to keep hoping. Talking to her feels good. To be fair to her, she doesn't seem to want anything from me, except for us to get to know each other and see how it goes. So, to answer her question, I don't mind at all that she comes from China.

The Black Belt Mentality

 To this day, I don't fully understand why he did it. We were waiting - the whole class - in the assembly hall for our PE teacher to arrive. From there, we'd be going to the local swimming pool. Maybe he was bored, sitting there. He decided to relieve his boredom by launching himself at me and trying to wrestle me to the ground. It didn't go quite how he had imagined it would.

I was always the quiet one. Consequently, I was always mistaken for an easy target. Later, with a puzzled look on his face, he asked how I'd been able to pin him to the ground. Stephen had a reputation in the school, you see, and may have been concerned about how being pinned in front of so many witnesses might affect that reputation. I've learned in the years since that such reputations are often built on willingness to fight, rather than ability. When I replied that I had been learning judo for a while, he asked what belt I had. The answer caused him to feel even more confused because, as he said, he had a belt of a colour which suggested he had been training for maybe a year longer in judo.

Some time after this, I had just walked out of the door at the end of the school day, and heard my name called from behind me. I turned to see a punch heading in my direction. It was only after I'd applied a standing arm bar that I realised who owned the fist that had nearly connected with my face. Rory? As far as I was aware, we didn't have a problem with each other. As we shuffled around - him trying to escape a standing arm bar, and me determined to keep it locked on - I asked what was going on.

Apparently, hearing of my interest in a girl on whom he also had a crush had enraged him. Having been dissuaded from further attempts at aggression, he decided we'd walk part of the way home together and talk about it instead. At one point, he asked for another demonstration of the lock that had been applied on him. I obliged, knowing he would have little or no opportunity to practise and perfect the technique, and would probably soon forget it.

The thing is, I never wanted to achieve a black belt in judo. It may sound strange to some, but it's the truth. At that time, a black belt represented at least seven years of judo training; for most people, it took around ten years to earn that belt.

There was a practical aspect to all of this. My father insisted that my brother and I missed some of the gradings for the next belts. His stated reasoning was that we would both be much more experienced than those of the same apparent grade. The real motivation was that we weren't particularly well off financially as a family, and he was starting to think of judo as an expensive hobby for his sons.

When I started doing judo, it wasn't with the wish to gain a black belt. As a novice, I wanted to earn a white belt. As a white belt, I wanted to earn a yellow belt. As a yellow belt, I wanted to earn an orange belt. If I had concentrated on the black belt, my motivation would have been something that seemed far in the future. The satisfaction of gaining a white belt, a yellow belt, an orange belt and so on would have been lost. It was better to learn appreciation for what I had, rather than become dissatisfied because there were things I didn't have.

"I'm doing judo to earn a black belt" is a poor motivation anyway. We should do judo to do judo. If I hadn't enjoyed the process of learning, and hadn't felt that each belt earned was valuable in its own right, it would have affected my practice. The incident with Stephen, and his insistence that a coloured belt should have been a reason for him to have escaped the hold in which he had found himself, suggested that he didn't really get it. His training wasn't the problem. The incident with Rory showed me that convincing others not to cause harm was a great motivation.

When it becomes possible to attend martial arts classes again, I'm going to join a new class as a novice. It may happen that I gain a black belt eventually. It might not happen. All that matters, really, are those hours I may spend each week practising a martial art, for no other purpose than practising a martial art.

I hope you understand.