Mentally abandoning social media

There are things that we find disturbing in the world around us. We may feel compelled to fight against what we see as injustice. Our compassion may draw us toward helping our fellow humans. We have our beliefs, our values and our attitudes. We also have our biases and prejudices.

The truth is, our experiences can make us sensitive to certain things that we judge to be especially bad or wrong. Those same experiences can, however, make us unaware of so much else. I see this every time I log in to my social media accounts.

I have been trying to decipher the messages that God has sent during Lent. Admittedly, I have still been struggling to pray as regularly as I had planned, but I strongly believe that God has been answering. Putting it all together now, there is one message that has become clear. In exercising compassion, we should never forget to show compassion to ourselves. A part of that self-compassion is accepting that there are things over which we have little or no control, and worrying excessively about them will only make us more anxious.

Many of us now hear news stories, and what the people we know think and feel about them, via social media. We may hear how people we know or don't know plan to fight against what they see as an injustice. We may feel that we want to support them in their fight. We may feel that we want to oppose them. All of us are prone, on occasion, to believing that our way of seeing things is the only correct way.

During Lent, I have tried to engage less often with social media. I had noticed that looking at social media regularly led to me thinking and feeling things that were definitely not Christian. Anxiety led to anger, which led to a desire to control certain things, as much as possible.

The algorithm noticeably pushes certain narratives. Recently, friends have not responded to my infrequent posts. It is tempting to share more and more often, to get a response, but "tempting" is the key word here. It is currently Lent. I suspect that, rather than friends no longer caring, they are simply not seeing what I have shared. It could be that they have also chosen to engage less frequently with social media.

I once heard a Polish saying translated into English as "Not my circus; not my monkeys." This seems to sum up my current attitude toward social media. To extend the metaphor, we might turn up to see the show occasionally, and then remember why we did not go for such a long time. More importantly, we are spectators, and have no real control over what happens in the circus. Just enjoy the show, and don't take it too seriously.

Messages

I prayed as I walked this morning. Three Our Fathers. One Glory Be. After reaching the place where I perform my morning exercise, a dog interrupted me just a few movements into the routine. It's a dog I have often seen, and it will not leave until it has been greeted cheerily and stroked on the head. As I continued with my exercise, the dog, rather than leaving, simply retreated a few steps and started to bark.

The dog had apparently realised that, in seeking attention from a stranger, it had become separated from its owner. It was his task to find the dog, rather than for the dog to find him. Continuing to exercise, I questioned what this encounter meant. The dog had approached so quietly that it had seemed to appear suddenly, startling me. As I flinched, the dog had also flinched a little, relaxing when I said hello and stroked it on the head.

Today's gospel was about Christ's ability to heal, and being true to His promise. Was the purpose of the encounter with the dog to heal something in me? My initial response to the dog had been one of shock and maybe a little fear. This response had quickly faded with the recognition that this dog was not one that meant to harm me, and my response turned to friendly compassion.

After the dog had gone, I practised karate. I have been learning and practising two styles of karate in the morning - one because I attend a weekly class which teaches it, and one because I regard it as particularly good for self-protection. Over the weekend, I had resolved to practise only the style which I am formally training in a class.

I moved on from karate, without practising the older, more self-protection-oriented karate. As I did this, a strong gust of cold wind came seemingly from nowhere. I had not experienced such a sudden gust on my walk to the training spot, nor would I experience it on the way home.

Several months ago, a neighbour had decided that I was responsible for everything that had gone wrong in his life. He had followed me to my door and initiated a quarrel which escalated to him throwing a punch at me. During the confrontation, my initial anger had gradually been replace with a quiet confidence. His punch had easily been stopped, and this was followed with a calm assertion that further attempts to hurt me would lead to him being injured. Unfortunately, this did not dissuade him, as his pride led him to dismiss his fear.

On the one hand, this morning's message was that I have been too defensive, too suspicious of others. There are multiple reasons for this in past and more recent experience. On the other hand, there was a message about not letting go of training which may be needed to keep me safe. I will have to reflect on what this all means.

Lent

Lent will soon be over. At the end of it, I will be confirmed as a Catholic. Themes that have come up during Lent this year have been not judging others harshly, praying even for those we consider enemies and praying for what we want rather than complaining. With these goals in mind, I have not been doing very well.

The question of what Jesus would do in a given situation has rarely crossed my mind. The promises I made at the start of Lent have not been kept. It would be all too easy to look at this Lent as a failure. That, however, is not the case. The experience has taught me a lot about myself and has helped me to accept that there are things I need to work on. It is with this knowledge that I will make my confirmation vows.

First karate class of the year

It could have been flu. It could have been something more sinister. Whatever it was, it came just before the new year. My voice hadn't fully recovered yet, nor had my energy levels. The karate class was more of a challenge than it would usually be. The joint and muscle pain that followed was a reminder that I had yet to recover fully.

The focus of the class was self-defence drills for the upcoming grading. I had hoped to move up a belt, but was given a work shift that made it impossible to attend. Maybe that's a good thing. Going through the drills with a partner was confusing, and he became confused too. The problem with having learned wing chun for six years, and practised it almost daily during those six years, was that those movements became a default response. As much as I tried to stick to practising karate, something within me wanted to keep doing wing chun.

A woman wearing a white belt, marking her as a novice, was telling people senior to her what to do. When the instructor had the class going through katas, she apparently knew gekisai dai ichi, gekisai dai ni and sanchin. As a white belt, she should only know gekisai dai ichi. I saw her talking to the instructor's wife during the class, as a friend rather than a student talking to an assistant instructor. Then, I understood what had happened.

Any sense of competitiveness quickly evaporated. In my own time, I practice shorinji-ryu karate, as well as goju-ryu. The tai chi I practise may be having an influence on my karate. I'm also, as already stated, the man who can't stop doing wing chun in a karate class. As much as I don't like to think about it, I also have autism spectrum disorder. Why should I feel compelled to compete with someone who is not on the same journey as me? The coloured belts don't matter either. Getting through the next class without feeling absolutely terrible afterwards matters.