So it's almost midnight on the night before I leave.
Right now I'm sitting on my bed, surrounded by the bags and clothes that I have come to associate with change. I'm waiting for a last small load of laundry to come out of the washer, and so I'm not wearing a shirt or socks, and I keep eyeing myself askance in the mirror across the room. The trouble is, when I see my reflection, I realize that I'm still not used to seeing someone with a few more muscles and a lot less hair than the guy who always hung around the glass in college. I know that I look different than I have before, but I can't help but feel that right now I'm living a moment that I will look back on many times in both the near and distant future as the last clear incarnation of a certain part of my life. Already I can sense the changes beginning, and I'm inexplicably sure that the image I see on the wall across the room will remain in my mind, but that, as I think is common for many people, I will appear in hindsight somewhat shorter, paler, and more sharply-elbowed due to the comparative inexperience and naiveté which will dominate the picture.
In looking back at myself before other major experiences in my life, I find that I can't help but think of myself with some measure of condescending endearment. Surely, I think, I couldn't have been that different before I went to France, but nonetheless I see myself on the morning of my departure bright-eyed and practically barking, scrambling to collect all the wrong things for my travels in the manner of someone waiting to inspire a series of ill-advised teen action movies.
I suppose, by implication, these several chubby-cheeked self-portraits exist in contrast to some gaunt and battle-scarred visage of gritty wisdom that should be narrating, but if nothing else, tonight shows me that such an avatar of experience has never arrived. It's ironic, now that I think of it, that I can continually think of how far I've come without ever losing the swaddling clothes between ventures, but perhaps it's better that I don't ever think myself already the master of my future challenges.
It is still amusing though, that I can sit here tonight, thinking about all that is to come with tomorrow, and know that among all of the strange and wondrous experiences I'll have will be a moment in which I look back at my current self fondly, as one smiles at a cat that sniffs the dormant garden hose before a startling twist of fate. Ah well, I guess no one ever looks cool before the water comes; the jokes are only funny after you dry off.
That's just something I've learned over the years.
Ha ha.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Sunday, August 23, 2009
It's Getting Real
So today it really began to hit me.
Tomorrow will be exactly one week before I get on that plane for Thailand, and how different that will be is really starting to sink in. I've been telling myself that I've done the international travel thing before, and that I shouldn't be worried, but just the same, I have a healthy amount of trepidation about the trip.
In particular, I can't decide whether or not I want something else to do, so that I could at least feel like I'm taking substantive steps to prepare for this voyage. I've learned a bare minimum amount of Thai from Rosetta Stone, I've been working out (though not nearly as much as I could be, honestly), and I've been trying to wean myself from unsustainable hobbies, such as playing video games or watching TV. In fact, it strikes me as I write this that due to the nature of my project, all the important preparations come in the form of altercations to myself.
I don't actually plan to travel with very much, as one of my goals is to try to simplify my life for the next few months, and so there's not much to pack or to buy, no more equipment or travel-aids to acquire, no more bureaucracy or paperwork to trudge through, and I have only my own abilities to work on. On some level, this strikes me as rather beautiful; I've always appreciated tasks that require ability over equipment, but at the same time, it's really quite a responsibility.
As I sit here tonight at my parents' kitchen table, drinking filtered water in a large, air-conditioned room, I notice my distinct lack of bruises or soreness, my confidence and comfort with my surroundings, and perhaps most of all, my certainty that I am able to communicate with everyone around me. I know that at this moment, were I hungry, I could walk out my door, and without even troubling myself for a car I could walk to several places that would receive me without effort or comment on my part or theirs. In theory, I will be able to do the same thing eight days from now, but I know from previous experience that when in Rome, it's a different city if you aren't a Roman.
I think that what really makes the difference is the language barrier, which is only problematic because it rather debilitatingly undermines one's confidence. If I were to fly to San Fransico tomorrow, I wouldn't know the city any better than I'll know Phuket, but I know that I can ask whatever questions are necessary in a manner that won't cause any feeling of estrangement between myself and the person I'm asking. Perhaps this is just a personal impression, but in most American cities that I have visited, being from out of town, particularly from the Mid-West, is received most often as a charming bit of color to my situation or mannerisms. Even for those less inclined to appreciate the flyover country, it is certainly not awkward or problematic, just noteworthy and perhaps amusing that I come from those miniature cities for damaged people.
In foreign countries, however, this seems to be different. While I have no real fear that I will alienate the Thai by being from America, the lack of a shared language, and the fact of my undeniable foreignness, has proven in the past to be something of a stumbling block. This slight level of awkwardness amplifies my reluctance to go down to the grocery store, or to eat out in a restaurant. It makes it seem slightly fearful to go for a walk, lest I be asked for directions, or even hailed by a friendly passerby in an attempt to start a conversation.
In the past, as I'm sure everyone reading this can assume, the greatest rewards were of course gained from immersing myself in those slightly awkward social situations, and no doubt it is the first major struggle of living abroad to just jump in. I'm sure that when the time comes, necessity will step in where courage falters, but for now I'm just sitting in a comfortable room, rather savoring the notion that I speak a language that these walls are used to hearing.
Ah well, to bed now; ambition is for the morning.
Tomorrow will be exactly one week before I get on that plane for Thailand, and how different that will be is really starting to sink in. I've been telling myself that I've done the international travel thing before, and that I shouldn't be worried, but just the same, I have a healthy amount of trepidation about the trip.
In particular, I can't decide whether or not I want something else to do, so that I could at least feel like I'm taking substantive steps to prepare for this voyage. I've learned a bare minimum amount of Thai from Rosetta Stone, I've been working out (though not nearly as much as I could be, honestly), and I've been trying to wean myself from unsustainable hobbies, such as playing video games or watching TV. In fact, it strikes me as I write this that due to the nature of my project, all the important preparations come in the form of altercations to myself.
I don't actually plan to travel with very much, as one of my goals is to try to simplify my life for the next few months, and so there's not much to pack or to buy, no more equipment or travel-aids to acquire, no more bureaucracy or paperwork to trudge through, and I have only my own abilities to work on. On some level, this strikes me as rather beautiful; I've always appreciated tasks that require ability over equipment, but at the same time, it's really quite a responsibility.
As I sit here tonight at my parents' kitchen table, drinking filtered water in a large, air-conditioned room, I notice my distinct lack of bruises or soreness, my confidence and comfort with my surroundings, and perhaps most of all, my certainty that I am able to communicate with everyone around me. I know that at this moment, were I hungry, I could walk out my door, and without even troubling myself for a car I could walk to several places that would receive me without effort or comment on my part or theirs. In theory, I will be able to do the same thing eight days from now, but I know from previous experience that when in Rome, it's a different city if you aren't a Roman.
I think that what really makes the difference is the language barrier, which is only problematic because it rather debilitatingly undermines one's confidence. If I were to fly to San Fransico tomorrow, I wouldn't know the city any better than I'll know Phuket, but I know that I can ask whatever questions are necessary in a manner that won't cause any feeling of estrangement between myself and the person I'm asking. Perhaps this is just a personal impression, but in most American cities that I have visited, being from out of town, particularly from the Mid-West, is received most often as a charming bit of color to my situation or mannerisms. Even for those less inclined to appreciate the flyover country, it is certainly not awkward or problematic, just noteworthy and perhaps amusing that I come from those miniature cities for damaged people.
In foreign countries, however, this seems to be different. While I have no real fear that I will alienate the Thai by being from America, the lack of a shared language, and the fact of my undeniable foreignness, has proven in the past to be something of a stumbling block. This slight level of awkwardness amplifies my reluctance to go down to the grocery store, or to eat out in a restaurant. It makes it seem slightly fearful to go for a walk, lest I be asked for directions, or even hailed by a friendly passerby in an attempt to start a conversation.
In the past, as I'm sure everyone reading this can assume, the greatest rewards were of course gained from immersing myself in those slightly awkward social situations, and no doubt it is the first major struggle of living abroad to just jump in. I'm sure that when the time comes, necessity will step in where courage falters, but for now I'm just sitting in a comfortable room, rather savoring the notion that I speak a language that these walls are used to hearing.
Ah well, to bed now; ambition is for the morning.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Martial Arts vs. Soldiering
So I leave for Thailand in about a week. For any number of reasons, this is more than a little intimidating, but the growing proximity of departure has made the whole project more real to me than it has been since I found out it was going to happen. As I've been thinking more and more seriously about the theoretical nature of the project itself (not in small part to distract myself from the distinctly non-theoretical reality of getting kicked in the face), I have come across perhaps my first major stumbling block in my conception of what it means to be a martial artist.
In the past few months, due to the generally elevated testosterone levels of many of my friends, I have watched more than my share of movies which contain high occurrences of explosions, breasts and biceps. I don't really object to these movies on principle, generally thinking that everyone sometimes needs to experience a world in which gunshots and genitalia bounce and fly with equal ferocity, except that it led me to compare my own studies to the combat taking place on the screen. Fortunately, I have no real notion that my study of martial arts has much to do with Hollywood, but as many of these films feature soldiers in various forms, I began to wonder in what ways soldiering (in its more realistic manifestations) differs from the practice of martial arts.
I should say that before considering this, there has been (and still is) a vague and generally unexplained notion that as a martial artist, I am certainly not a soldier. As I reflected, this seemed a bit strange, as certainly we both employ martial force and act as protectors to a certain way of life, but at least viscerally, I felt that there was some great distinction, if only I could put my finger on what it is.
It is a central tenet of my project that martial arts are representative of the cultures from which they spring. Indeed, the whole reason that I feel it necessary to go to an art's native country is that I feel that in order to understand the art, one must also experience the culture which gave birth to it. At first, it seems to me that this is perhaps a difference between martial artists and soldiers, in that soldiering is created solely by and for purposes of war. In other words, to understand what it means to be a soldier, one must experience war, but not necessarily any specific war. Admittedly, however, this idea is a bit reductive. Surely there are differences between Thai and Brazilian soldiers, just as there are certainly differences between Muay Thai and Capoeira, though those differences are not necessarily the same.
Perhaps it is not then fair to say that militaries are products of war, while martial arts are products of cultures, because certainly soldiers are influenced by their native cultures, and martial arts are demonstrably linked to the early styles of warfare for the people who created them. It seems to me, however, that at the end of the day, each group has fundamentally different objectives, and at this point these objectives are the only difference that I can intelligibly isolate.
Though both soldiers and martial artists practice combat, and though both use styles of combat shaped by the environment and culture from which they came, I think that it is the focus on utility vs. the focus on expression which in the end is the primary distinction. Soldiers fight to win, martial artists fight to fight, which is to say to use the techniques. Even in my own narrow experience, the reasons that martial artists practice their styles vary greatly; some consider aesthetics, some power, some speed, some history, etc., but whatever the case, the objective of learning a martial art is to express what one has personally chosen as worth expressing. For soldiers, by contrast, the objective of being a good soldier is the preservation of an institution, or perhaps the destruction of another, but whatever the case, the objective of soldiering is externally imposed.
Anyway, this is the beginning of what I imagine will be a continuing line of thought, and Dr. Dorian Stuber has recently recommended a book called Imagined Communities by Benedict Anderson, which (from the little that I've read so far) promises to shed some light on this as well. More to follow.
In the past few months, due to the generally elevated testosterone levels of many of my friends, I have watched more than my share of movies which contain high occurrences of explosions, breasts and biceps. I don't really object to these movies on principle, generally thinking that everyone sometimes needs to experience a world in which gunshots and genitalia bounce and fly with equal ferocity, except that it led me to compare my own studies to the combat taking place on the screen. Fortunately, I have no real notion that my study of martial arts has much to do with Hollywood, but as many of these films feature soldiers in various forms, I began to wonder in what ways soldiering (in its more realistic manifestations) differs from the practice of martial arts.
I should say that before considering this, there has been (and still is) a vague and generally unexplained notion that as a martial artist, I am certainly not a soldier. As I reflected, this seemed a bit strange, as certainly we both employ martial force and act as protectors to a certain way of life, but at least viscerally, I felt that there was some great distinction, if only I could put my finger on what it is.
It is a central tenet of my project that martial arts are representative of the cultures from which they spring. Indeed, the whole reason that I feel it necessary to go to an art's native country is that I feel that in order to understand the art, one must also experience the culture which gave birth to it. At first, it seems to me that this is perhaps a difference between martial artists and soldiers, in that soldiering is created solely by and for purposes of war. In other words, to understand what it means to be a soldier, one must experience war, but not necessarily any specific war. Admittedly, however, this idea is a bit reductive. Surely there are differences between Thai and Brazilian soldiers, just as there are certainly differences between Muay Thai and Capoeira, though those differences are not necessarily the same.
Perhaps it is not then fair to say that militaries are products of war, while martial arts are products of cultures, because certainly soldiers are influenced by their native cultures, and martial arts are demonstrably linked to the early styles of warfare for the people who created them. It seems to me, however, that at the end of the day, each group has fundamentally different objectives, and at this point these objectives are the only difference that I can intelligibly isolate.
Though both soldiers and martial artists practice combat, and though both use styles of combat shaped by the environment and culture from which they came, I think that it is the focus on utility vs. the focus on expression which in the end is the primary distinction. Soldiers fight to win, martial artists fight to fight, which is to say to use the techniques. Even in my own narrow experience, the reasons that martial artists practice their styles vary greatly; some consider aesthetics, some power, some speed, some history, etc., but whatever the case, the objective of learning a martial art is to express what one has personally chosen as worth expressing. For soldiers, by contrast, the objective of being a good soldier is the preservation of an institution, or perhaps the destruction of another, but whatever the case, the objective of soldiering is externally imposed.
Anyway, this is the beginning of what I imagine will be a continuing line of thought, and Dr. Dorian Stuber has recently recommended a book called Imagined Communities by Benedict Anderson, which (from the little that I've read so far) promises to shed some light on this as well. More to follow.
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