You're a failure? Great!

“If at first you don’t succeed, try and try again,” right? Well, maybe. Success is a slippery concept and it is rarely black, white, or even a shade of grey. Evidence of this can be found in sayings such as “today’s success is tomorrow’s failure” and “don’t rest on your laurels”. Definitions aside, “success” is something that we all seek, whether a hermit chasing nirvana or an executive making a profit. Everybody has their eye on a prize.

Our hunger for success is so great that it feeds an entire “successory” industry. Tour the offices of any company and you will surely see inspirational posters featuring plants and animals in precarious situations, mugs emblazoned with encouraging mantras, and innumerable books all claiming to hold the secret of fiscal, interpersonal, or spiritual success. As far as I can tell, diligent practice and a little bit of luck is the only real “secret”. It would make for a short book but it may work as a poster.

But failure, now that’s a juicy topic. It is my assertion the word “failure” is bogus. The idea that we can fail has no real basis in Truth (capital “T” emphasized). Take learning to walk. A toddler isn’t failing every time he or she lands on their backside. Each attempt is providing valuable information that allows the body to generate the proper coordination, strength, and confidence that walking requires. Each “failed” attempt was a step towards “successful” walking. So does that not make them one and the same? Even the idea of some static end result, walking upright in this case, is an illusion. We continue to refine our ability to walk as we develop and eventually we discover that from walking comes running, jumping, and boogying.

The crucible of success requires that one be open to taking chances, risking disappointment, and experiencing failure. So, put down your Tony Robbins book, get out of your comfort zone, and have an epic fail!

Lessons from the ring

As the saying goes, “it’s the ones you don’t see coming.”

Standing in a boxing ring, outfitted with overstuffed 20oz gloves, claustrophobic headgear, and a crotch protector that resembled an adult diaper, I faced down my opponent. Almost 10 years his senior, I was confident that I would be dominant. A belief that was bolstered by earlier practice rounds which had inflated my confidence to a dangerous level. As it would seem, my reach gave me a decisive advantage when we were limited only to jabs, but this round was “everything goes”.

The bell rang and I moved in. I pressed him with my jab, a technique that had previously proved successful, but this time, not so much. Apparently he had been listening to our coach’s advice about countering such an attack and he easily deflected my hand. He came back with a right that inverted my nose. Stunned, I backed out to reevaluate the situation. Sensing that the tables were turning and smelling blood, he now advanced towards me. I attempted to launch my own attacks but I was repeatedly rocked by shots that seemed to come out of nowhere. Mercifully, the bell rang before I sustained any real damage.

With my nose sore and my ego suddenly deflated, I consulted with Coach to find out what I had been doing wrong. He told me that I was throwing my jab incorrectly, setting myself up for a counter punch. Additionally, my stance was such that I minimized rather than maximized my reach advantage. Coach corrected my body position and it felt awkward and unnatural. Having spent the past 9 months practicing martial arts, and the past 3 specifically focused on boxing, I essentially had to go back to the basics and start over.

Eating shots from an opponent that I had underestimated, however, presented me with an opportunity to improve. Of course I could resist my coach’s advice and foolishly persist in my current state. That, however, is an option that will surely result in continued punishment from future opponents. I could also take this set-back as a sign that I’m just not cut out for boxing and that I am simply ‘not good’. To resign myself to such a belief would be easy as I could simply quit boxing and effectively avoid the subsequent egoic beatings persistence guarantees. At this present moment, however, I am determined to take decidedly different path.

Going back and rebuilding my technical foundation will require plenty of work and a commitment to breaking old habits, but I’m game for the challenge. Win or lose, I’ll stay in the fight.

Quiet Strength

Screams and shouts that would curdle milk echo through the iron jungle. Its denizens struggle, huffing, puffing, and straining; bloodshot eyes bulging, and, through the skin, every muscle, tendon, and sinew etched in stark relief. If you’ve ever been to a gym and seen the sweating masses, thoroughly brainwashed by The Governator, Joe Weider, and action movies, you’ve witnessed this scene firsthand. We’ve come to equate strength with strain, and, in this club, patched hernias are worn like a badge of honor. Ironically, icons of sport, both Olympic and professional, such as Michael Jordan, Tiger Woods, Usain Bolt, Michael Phelps, and Roger Federer make it look easy. Sure, they are focused, powerful, and intense, but there is a definite rhythm and flow to their movements.

I found myself reflecting on this as I worked out today. During a particularly painful set of squats I allowed myself to relax and focus on my breathing. Releasing the tension in my neck and face, I refocused my energies entirely on the form of my squat. Range of motion increased, and I completed my repetition goal. Later, I practiced a handstand, and discovered that relaxing allowed me to find my center of balance even while inverted. Straining, holding my breath, and generally forcing the movement in defiance of gravity left me on my back, beaten and battered.

Straining seems to fit pretty well into the American work ethic. If something doesn’t turn out the way you want, don’t accept it, try harder. If someone doesn’t listen to you, talk louder. Unhappy with your life? Spend more money. Don’t like someone else’s way of life? Start a war. Sure this is a simplistic reduction of our culture, but it at least partially rings true. Reactiveness, egoism, and ignorance more often than not, trump responsiveness, selflessness, and understanding. But I digress.

Back to the topic of exercise, contrary to the gasket-blowing exertions of American exercisers, the Chinese have discovered that strength can be concealed in softness. The concept of “iron and silk” is primary to the art of Tai Chi and it refers to the notion that a relaxed body, a focused mind, and open senses can, when called upon, generate uncommon strength.

Additional practices, such as deep breathing, Yoga, and other mind-body systems can also foster the ability to relax under pressure. Benefits in life outside of exercise notwithstanding, learning to relax will lead to a boost in sports performance and reduction in injuries. Tense tight muscles fight against each other and prohibit the complete coordination required to excel in athletics. The ability to learn new techniques can also be improved as impatience and frustration give way to persistence and determination.

So, close your eyes, take a deep breath, and go!

A late summer day dream

I step out of the climate controlled cabin of my car and into the haze.

A fashionably dressed man rollerblades in lazy circles while a manic dog, tongue grossly extended, trots along side its owner.

Bored children fidget and play with soggy pretzel sticks while their sodden parents push.

The pat, pat, pat, of feet, the staccato thrum of insects, and the occasional flatulent call of a water-bird fills my ears.

Wet hot air clings to my skin and soaks through my shirt.

A patch of shade cast by gracious trees offers a cool embrace while the sweet smell of cut grass envelopes everything.

A steady stream of grim facades is broken by the occasional “hello”; there is hope for us after all.

Nature, spinning birth from death, continues its thrall.

Should I stay or should I go now

Heading to the company cafeteria today I had every intention of being reclusive. Go in, load up my tray with day’s fare, find a seat, and stuff my face for 30 minutes. I made it to step three before I noticed that my plan might be compromised.

After settling down to begin my meal I spied a co-worker from my department making her way through the food line. I shuttered at the prospect of awkward conversation interspersed between even more awkward bites of food, so I positioned myself for minimum visibility. To further disguise my presence, I focused intently on my food. I worked the contents of my tray like a sculptor in throes of hewing stone, or metal, or wood into art. Chicken cacciatore, mixed veggies, soup, and salad were my medium and I was not to be disturbed.

“Do you mind if I sit with you?” she said as she took a seat directly across from me. “Of course not!” I chirped, while dying a small inner death. The psychic barrier that I had so meticulously constructed seemed to have had no effect whatsoever. I briefly toyed with the idea of using indiscreet non-verbal communiqués to signal my desire for solitude, but I quickly checked the impulse. Resigned to sociability, I launched into a stream of small talk. Utilizing tactical open-ended questions, I thought that I would at least maximize the amount of time that I had to listen (i.e. eat).

There was a point, where I realized my foolishness; it was also the point where she said something that was genuinely funny and I couldn’t help but laugh. My defenses began to come down and we started to have a real conversation. This person, whom I had written off as less important than my collection of cafeteria eats, turned out to be quite likable.

The flow of the conversation meandered among topics such as the day’s dessert (“Is it a pie? A cookie? A tart?) and international travel. The allotted 30 minutes of break time quickly passed and we said our goodbyes. I was surprised at the feeling of wellbeing that I had, but I also wasn’t. Why would picking the brown bits out of a salad, spooning flavorless soup into my gullet, or quickly downing a bowl of pie/cookie/tart and soft-serve ice cream be more satisfying than experiencing a quality interaction with another human being?

This experience to me is a clear example of how wants and needs are different. I want a lot of things, and most of those things, if acquired, achieved, or experienced would leave me feeling pretty empty inside. I don’t exactly know what my needs are, but I know them when I see them, and I seem to be given ample opportunities to fulfill them.

It’s food for thought.

Playgrounds are for kids?

“Silly Rabbit, Trix are for kids!” jibed the children. The Rabbit, who only wanted to enjoy a bowl of artificially flavored modified food starch based breakfast cereal, would inevitably be thwarted by the end of each commercial, his elan giving way to depression. You might be thinking “Why, on a fitness blog, would you bring up a blatantly manipulative advertising campaign directed at children watching innocent Saturday morning cartoons?” Because YOU don’t want to end up like the Rabbit!

Case in point, on a recent visit to a local park, I noticed a sign at the entrance to the playground that read “Ages 6-11 only”. Six through eleven!? That’s an outrageously brief window of opportunity to play on a playground! “Play” for adults has come to mean organized sports, “adult” activities, or buying expensive things and tooling around like a, well, tool.

Play, in its purest most unpretentious form, is available to all of us and at any age. The sheer joy of bounding around a playground, clambering over obstacles, monkeying across bars, and swinging on swings should never be denied, bottled up, and repressed. How sad is it that society pressures us into redirecting our inner child towards self-destructive surrogates of genuine play.

Of course, the idea that we can experience great happiness and fulfillment freely and without need for addressing ourselves to a cash register is subversive. Our consumer culture functions primarily off of the inverse of this notion. However, if we can release our inhibitions against play without requiring the lubricating effects of drugs or alcohol the bliss of childhood can be relived. Just make sure to hit up the playground while school is in session. Kids always hog the swings.

On Quitting

Enough, I’ve had enough

Long ago grown wearisome

Tired from the fight

Surrender to the flight

Get going, going, gone

When can I stop?

But still I press on

A sliver of strength

Light burning and bright

Eyes wet with knowledge

Stay focused for now

That’s all there is

Learning

Watching, observing, absorbing information

Trial and error, failure upon failure

The body awkward and unwieldy

It clicks, something seems right

Slowly moving towards success

Walking away and coming back

Undaunted in the attempt

The moment arrives unexpectedly

Did I do that? I did!

Now try doing it again

What was once can be repeated

And repeated and repeated

Until smooth and effortless

What’s next?

Discipline? Fun?

Yes, I write a daily “to do” list. There is something powerful about transforming an abstract idea into a tangible scribble of ink on paper. The act seems to create an urgency that doesn’t exist in my head. I tend to be a little ambitious too. For example, I may jot down multiple PFGs (personal fitness goals), writing objectives, and various other consumption based activities that will force me to stretch what is possible for daily allotment of time.

Scratching off completed goals feels even better than writing them down. Working my way down the list I relish in the obliteration of a completed goal that is now a reality. Committing to seeing my goals come into fruition is essential to my own self-discipline. It is, in a sense, the internalization of “the parent”, an archetypal authority figure.

Yet, my inner child occasionally scoffs. Too much discipline may lead to a melt-down worthy of an enraged toddler. The crying, flailing of fists, and other external signs of anguish may not be there, but inside, the tantrum is alive and kicking. So what do I do? I make it fun.

For example, today I wrote down a goal of “60 minutes of cardio”. Usually, this takes place on an elliptical machine or a treadmill, but tonight, meh. I couldn’t bring myself to zoning out for an hour on a human hamster wheel. Fortunately I was in luck. A youngish fellow came into the fitness center where I work and asked if he could work on his break dancing moves. It took all of 10 minutes before I asked him if he could teach me how to do what he was doing. Approximately an hour later, I had a primordial “6-step”, “3-step”, and some “top-rocking” options. Did I get my cardio in? Yes! Did I have fun? Hell yes!

So is it important to be disciplined? Of course. Does the process need to be soul-crushing? No, it does not. Have fun with your exercise, try new things, play, enjoy life, and be fit.

Attitude adjustment

Abundance vs. scarcity. Positive vs. negative. Loving vs. fearful. Healthy vs. sick. Each of these dichotomies represent (among many things) possible attitudes that we may adopt during the course of our lives. The tendency is to qualify one as better, more desirable, or more enlightened than the other.

For example, "The Secret", a popular book and movie, espouses an abundance mentality, replete with positive thinking, and a belief in the "law of attraction" as the secret to success in all areas of ones life. If an individual comes upon this material and finds it to be helpful, great! However, the downside is that this belief system is extremely reductionist and can also be inappropriate and insensitive.

A mother who loses her child to a violent criminal, victims of genocide, and those subject to the numerous atrocities that take place each day on this planet are not asking for these things to happen to them. To place the responsibility of these events on the victim is ignorant at best.

Things happen, life can be brutal, and fortune does not always smile upon us and while we can cultivate our own best attitude according to our own needs it is incumbent upon us to focus on just that, our own needs. Trying to explain all of the happenings of our life with one convenient theory may be appealing, but, like all life and existence, Truth is shrouded in a veil mystery that refuses to be dispelled.