I have one more post in me to talk about limits, sunken cost fallacy, and American toxic exceptionalism. Yes, I know it’s American exceptionalism and toxic positivity, but they are one and the same to me. It’s not that I don’t think you shouldn’t strive to do well–wait. Let’s stop there a second. I have to qualify it by saying that it’s good to try to improve yourself. That’s what I’m doing with the different weapon forms. But, in other ways, I have no desire. Like jobwise, I just don’t care. Then, there’s my personal flaws. I want to improve some of them, but others, I have just accepted. I know I’m not changing them, and that is perfectly fine.
The problem is when people feel like everything you do has to somehow work as an improvement factor. Like taking your kids to the park, you should walk briskly so you get in some exercise. It’s beacuse in America, most people are so busy. They need to squeeze in exercise whenever and wherever they can. So many Mom magazines includes ways to use your baby in your exercising.
Which, I mean. I’m sure it’s practical, but not every moment has to be a learning/teaching/exercise moment. This is something I have learned with Taiji. (And now, to a lesser extent, Bagua.) I chose it because it was the lazy person’s martial art. My teacher expressly tells us that the purpose is to exert as little energy as possible in order to have as maximum an output of energy as possible. She talked at length about how bad the American ‘give 110%’ mentality was, and I slowly came to agree with her.
I had a classmate back when I first started who told me an aggravating story. He said that every spring, he would feel inspired to run. Now, mind, he did nothing to prepare for that throughout the year. He would just go out and run like ten miles on the first day of spring that he felt was warm enough to run outside. Inevitably, he would pull a muscle and then not be able to run for the rest of the spring. He did this year after year, and then was always surprised when he injured himself on his first day out.
It’s so American, though. The belief that you have to hurt yourself when you exercise, otherwise you’re not exercising hard enough. “No pain, no gain” is one credo. So is, “Give 110%.” The latter really annoyed me beceause you literally cannot give 110%. I know it’s just a saying , but it’s always bothered me, anyway. It’s been known for quite some time that you cannot give your all at all times. Not just that–it’s not optimal to always push to do your best. Let me draaaaaag out another hoary chestnut–“Don’t let perfection be the enemy of good.”
My teacher made it plainly clear that mistakes were not only expected, but encouraged. Not as in, “Make mistakes on purpose”, but as in, “Everyone makes mistakes, and it’s not a problem.” She also said that contrary to the “No pain, no gain” motto, Taiji did not want anyone to be in pain. Slightly achy from stretching things out? Sure. But actual pain? No. She told us that lightly sweating was fine, but anything more than that meant you should immedaitely stop. Whenever I’m down because of medical reasons, she tells me to stop when even a light sweat breaks out. She also tells me that there’s always tomorrow.
In other words, it’s the very opposite of what most American gyms tell you. In the beginning, I was still scarred by my previous experience with a truly horrendous teacher. I researched for hours with a few nonnegotiables. One, there had to be a female teacher. Nowadays, I would say non-male. Twenty years ago, though, it was male and female. My old place only had male teachers, and it sucked. Hard. I also did not want a place that did belts or wanted me to pay for anything other than tuition. No fees, no clothing, etc.
There were very few places like that. I found my teacher, and I was her first official student. She had just opened up that month or a few months ago (I don’t remember). And it was rough going in the beginning because I did not trust her. It wasn’t her, specifically, but anybody. My first teacher scarred me that badly. I should have left much earlier than I did, but a friend was the one who steered me to the studio, and I did not want to disappoint him. Unfortunately, he learned too well from his teacher, including dating his students.
That was after I left the studio, but I had to shake my head when I heard about it. I was glad I got out when I did, but I was angry that my old teacher was allowed to continue wreaking havoc. I don’t want to get into it, but suffice it to say that I do not think fondly of that teacher or studio–at all.
I’ve been polishing up a few of my forms. My memory is absolute shit since my medical crisis. And probably because of aging. It’s been frustrating for me because I have to keep going back to the videos. I mean, I should be, anyway, but I hate that I have to do it. In teaching myself the Bagua Knives Form, I’m only four or five real steps in (other than the walking the circle part, which is warmup, really), and I’ve already forgotten one movement. I practice it every day but Saturday (when I have class. I don’t do my daily routine for that), but my memory still let it go.
The problem with memory loss is that I forget something completely. You know how sometimes, when you forget something, it’s lingering in the back of your mind? And you can kind of remember that you have forgotten something? Which is fucking annoying in its own way? This is not that. I just taught that posture to myself a few weeks ago. There’s no reason I should have forgotten it.
I think I’ll have to check the video much more often. Like maybe daily. I’m shaken by how easily it slipped from my mind. This was not what I wanted to write about, but here we are. I will get to that tomorrow–or not. We’ll see how I feel. My father has late-stage dementia. My mother is worried she has it, too (she doesn’t. She just has and always has had a really bad memory).
I’m ending it here for today and will write about…something tomorrow.