Don't Look Back in Anger

I’ve been on a serious introspection kick the past several months. I have no idea what started it, but I’m starting to see things differently now than I did, even a year ago. My priorities have changed, I know that. But looking over the past several years, I think about what I considered important in 1998 is laughably trivial now. Especially in terms of martial arts. I threw out several of my old uniforms last month. Various gis, black belts, hakamas, you name it. Most were tinted yellow with sweat stains, several had blood on them. Rips, tears, patchwork, a drawstring broken here, a patch fraying at the edges there. Good memories, some bad. But still…Nothing I really wanted to hang onto for sentimental reasons anymore. It just doesn’t seem to be who I am now, and therefore taking up valuable real estate in my closet.

Then I started digging out my video collection…Man, there’s stuff in here I haven’t seen for years. Some of it decades. I found a knife seminar I gave in Myrtle Beach S.C. right before I moved out here…So funny, what I used to think was advanced knife training, and back then it was, but now it wouldn’t even get a rating on youtube. The old Wing Chun videos brought back some memories, the Inosanto seminars, there’s one of Pa Herman, here’s a few on Doce Pares. Some I converted to Mpeg for DVD burning later, others I just tossed outright.

Tripped over my Serak instructor’s course…Gaah, there’s something that brings a grimace to my face even now, several years later. Figured while I was at it, might as well throw out that tattered old “Serak, the Tsunami” book that I tried so hard to make sense of as well. It’s like an issue of Popular Mechanics typed up by monkeys after a 6 hour Red Bull binge session.

A paper box chock full and overflowing of Black Belt, Inside Kung Fu, various Martial Art and Ninja magazines, some of these dated as far back as 1978. Not as laudable as some collections, I know, but lots of these are reflections of the eras they were printed in. The early 80’s were especially funny to revisit. I kept about 15 out of 300 magazines, the rest are going into the recycling bin tomorrow. Then came the wall in my study.

If you look closely, you can see the patchwork spackling job I had to do this weekend. Took me a few hours, I can tell you that. I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do here. I took down all my rank certificates, belts, photos of teachers, weapons, etc. I kept my Garuda up, and the Inosanto crest (although Inosanto is probably coming down soon as well).

I’ve already thrown away a large bulk of my older rank certificates, keeping a handful as sort of a memento. As soon as they were off the wall…I dunno, something happened. I got the sudden urge to toss THOSE as well. I mean, it doesn’t seem to matter anymore. This isn’t who I am, or what I’m about anymore. I don’t fly anyone’s flag, or wear their patch. I don’t pay dues, association fees or renewal contracts. I don’t have to “update” my rank, or fly out to some country below the Equator to prove what I know.

I wonder if this is how others who started their own system felt? I will gladly acknowledge who taught me, what I learned, and where it came from…But I don’t feel like I should have to name my firstborn after them, or sacrifice a black lamb to the Gods for the honor of their knowledge. And it’s so much more often than not a double-edged sword. You give loyalty, but it’s not returned. You invest time, money, effort and family for someone who shrugs you aside on a whim or some organizational politics. Your teacher’s agenda becomes yours, and you fight his battles for him, thinking all the while that you’re doing he right thing. And then you get hit out of left field with a cannonball to your integrity. I’ve seen people who had the deepest of respect for their teacher turn into the bitterest of enemies due to obsessing over the irrelevant. It’s happened to me more times than I can count. But something good has come from all this, I’m evolving in a direction that was closed off to me as long as I was “under” someone. I would never have dared to alter techniques, investigate other methods and shrug the bindings away while I was a Wing Chun guy, A Kali student, a Pencak Silat practitioner, a Pa Kua player, etc. This came with no small amount of pain and heartache, but I’m glad I caught on at the age I did…Some folks spend their lives in the servitude of another without realizing the spell they’re under. Being on my own these past few years (for the first time since I started training when I was a teenager) has been an eye-opening experience, and I feel something I didn’t realize was missing before: I feel free.