“At Least I’m Know for Something…”

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Unleashed a bunch of ruthless sweeps during King of the Mat last week. It wasn’t my fault; their hips were high or they didn’t have base in one direction…I just did what had to be done…

What’s more, everyone knew I was going to do it.

“Don’t take it personally,” someone said to a classmate I’d just swept. “He does that to everyone.”

And it’s kind of true. I’m known around the gym as someone with a very reliable scissor sweep. It was the first move that kind of made sense to me and it was an easy way to win the situational sparring that we spend a lot of time doing in class. It takes advantage of the opponent changing their position, usually as they try to stand up or otherwise pass my guard, and when I feel that their hips are high and they are vulnerable, I sweep them.

The scissor sweep has been a big part of unlocking all of jiu jitsu for me. I would grab another white belt and practice this simple but essential move over and over again, trying to internalize all the elements, from the larger fundamentals to the finer stylistic details. It’s made me something of a sweep artist (inasmuch as a three-stripe blue belt can be an artist of anything), which is exactly why I need to stop using it.

I’ve been ordered to, in fact: after sweeping the fourth or fifth person in a row, the professor noticed and declared for all to hear, that I was to abandon my bread and butter sweep and start practicing a different one.

Other people knowing what I’m going to do isn’t a problem for me. I want them to know my whole game. I want to give it all away so that I have to start over again from scratch. That’s how you learn, that’s how you grow.

Making Sense

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We were drilling a sweep in jiu jitsu this morning and someone (I didn’t see who) had apparently done one of the steps out of order and placed a foot or hand in the wrong spot. The teacher said something very instructive:

“Everything is in a specific place for a specific reason. We do the steps in a certain order for a reason.”

With that, another massive piece of what I think people find so fulfilling about jiu jitsu fell into place for me: things make sense here.

We live in a random, disorderly world. That’s part of what makes maintaining a positive mental attitude so challenging: anything could happen at anytime for any, or indeed no, reason.

In jiu jitsu, though, things make sense. Not unerringly, of course; nothing is an absolute. By and large, however, some truths hold out:

  • Experience beats raw power
  • Patience beats loss of control
  • Leverage beats strength
  • Hard work pays off

These truths and others like them likely form, for many people, a core of what they love about jiu jitsu and what keeps them coming back. Regardless of whatever else is going on in our lives and the world at large, we know that we have a place we can come back to where our hard work will pay off, incrementally over time, in improvements in our game and a larger understanding of something that really matters to us.

Hard for No Reason

wintermorning.PNGWhen I was a kid, I had a paper route. Man, how old does that make me feel? Pretty old. But then, I’m 34, which is a weird age to be. It’s not old enough to be old, but not as young as I used to be. More on that another time, maybe.

So I had this paper route. I had it for years. I was okay at delivering papers, which is a weird thing to be “good” at. The margin between the best paper delivery person in the world and just “okay” at it is probably pretty slim.

I’d always been an early riser and the paper route just made that already-formed behavioral pattern pretty much irrevocable. I loved being up before everyone, before the sun, even. To this day, I love being up early (which is good, because I’m pretty much incapable of sleeping late). I love the opening line in that Fiona Apple song “Not About Love,” “The early cars/already are/drawing deep breaths past my door…”

I always feel like I’m subtly getting over on the world as I walk the streets, watching “the steam rise up out of the grill like the whole damn town is about to blow,” smelling the coffee brewing in the bodegas, hearing the dull thud of the stacks of papers being tossed from the backs of delivery trucks…

Growing up in the ‘burbs of New York, as I did, one of the benefits of being up early is that I always knew if school was going to be closed in the winter. Some mornings it would be obvious: 6 inches of snow of the ground and no sign of plows = no school. Other mornings, it’d be more of a showdown: I’d make my rounds in the snow, hearing the reports come in of one-hour delays, then two-hours…white-knuckling it until the school finally closed or, fists clenched and teeth gritted in defeat, we marched to the busses.

Then there were those mornings that I called “cold for no reason.” These mornings were cold. They were cold, cold, cold, cold, cold. They were cold and clear and you could still see the stars in the pre-pre-dawn and you could see your breath and there never seemed to be enough layers to keep me warm. (I learned later that these clear mornings were so cold because when there are clouds overhead, they hold in heat from the ground.)

I called these mornings “cold for no reason,” because when it was bitterly cold and there was snow and we got the day off, well, that was a good tradeoff. But on those cold, clear days, there was no light at the end of the tunnel. The only reward I got for being cold for the however long it took to deliver all the papers was the howevermuch I earned while doing it. The margins were slim; I recall every lost customer felt like a huge dent in my finances.

I came in, warmed up, went to school, got my ass kicked in wrestling, got okay grades, and the paper route didn’t really matter much. It wasn’t the hardest thing I’d ever done. It was just hard for no reason. Sometimes things are like that. Sometimes your partner puts on an Ezekiel choke too hard and your jaw is sore all day and the only thing you learn is that you should have tapped instead of trying to defend like you did and it’s hard for no reason and you move on.

Absolute Situational Awareness

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I’m reading Dune right now, because I hadn’t read it before and I felt like leaving it unread would remain a cardinal sci-fi nerd sin. I can see why people love this book (and the rest of the Dune cannon): high intrigue, spaceships, lasers, shields, giant worms, compelling characters, dramatic dialogue…the list goes on.

But I don’t want to talk about any of that; it hardly seems necessary. I’m sure (absent even the most cursory search) that limitless material extolling the books many strong points and criticising its weaknesses (of which there are also some) already exists.

I’m writing to discuss one specific element: situational awareness (and, relatedly, meditation).

There’s a scene early on in the movie “The Bourne Identity” (abrupt content change, I know, but stay with me) wherein super-spy Jason Bourne proceeds to explain to his female companion that he has, since entering a diner: memorized the license plate numbers of all the cars in the parking lot, sized up all exits and created an escape plan in his head, assessed that the waitress is left-handed, assessed the threat level of a guy sitting at the counter, and determined that the cab of the gray truck in the parking lot is the best place to find a gun.

That level of situational awareness and deep knowledge of other people doesn’t exist in the real world for many (if any) humans. But in movies and media, it’s everywhere: Batman, Sterling Archer, Sherlock Holmes, James Bond, and countless other superheroes and actions heroes exhibit a supernatural ability to instantly understand everything that’s going on around them and more importantly, what people are going to do and why, using only their powers of observation (and usually passive observation at that).

In Dune, this ability is consciously cultivated by various highly-trained characters and is wielded as a tool/weapon as situations demand it. They are simultaneously able to take in vast amounts of information and discern which bits of it are most important to the situation, then use that to predict likely outcomes as situations unfurl. Certain characters even have the ability to tell if someone is telling the truth, and also to discern shades of meaning that it would be impossible for them to know.

These are all interesting devices in media and literature, but they can distract from the fundamental idea of focus and observation.

Meditation serves many purposes for me, but I’m routinely shocked at the degree to which I can take in massive amounts of information if I slow and silence my thoughts and simply observe the world around me. It’s especially striking when walking through the City and hardest to do when rushing to work (as is almost always the case when moving to and from work). But when I free myself from my little work world and walk around the City, so much jumps out at me: advertisements, people rushing to and fro (of which I am, as aforementioned, often one), a million tiny interactions, the sources and endings of which are inscrutable to me and which I’ll likely never know.

When I worked at Amazon in Seattle, I used to take a break and walk to a window in the kitchen area and watch the cars and people below go through the busy intersection below. I thought about all the decisions that had to have been made to get to that point, all the impacts, big and small, that those people and cars down there, most small enough to be blotted out by my thumb, might cause in the world around me.

Will I have the presence of mind, of self, to observe those changes when they come about?

Maybe, if I use my situational awareness.

Maybe, if I continue to both narrow and widen my focus.

And then, maybe not.

Photo credit: Riccardo Palazzani – Italy La Giostra di Brescia via photopin (license)

Rolling vs. Drilling

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Had a good night tonight: I hit a variety of sweeps against a variety of opponents during King of the Mat, kept my breathing controlled and through my nose, and just had a really great time (the true measure of whether it’s a good night or not).

When the dust settled, a white belt brother of mine asked to go over a sweep I’d hit on someone else. I couldn’t recall exactly what I’d done, which prompted wild speculation from the assembled crowd. “Half spider” eventually seemed to garner a consensus. I simply explained that when you get good enough at sweeps, at the idea of sweeps, you just sort of feel when and where a sweep is an option.

So I invited the white belt (we’ll just call him Ross, since that’s his name) into my guard, and I demonstrated the classic scissor sweep, explaining exactly when I had his weight in a sweepable position. I’m always very careful not to be seen as sweeping. When I want to share an insight with other students, I’m careful to say things like “In my experience,” or to directly quote the teacher and give attribution “Well, it’s like John [the teacher] always says…” or “Just like John shows, you do this, and then…”

When someone asks me a question and John is available, I always redirect the question to John, so that he can answer it. It’s his gym, he’s the teacher, and even if I’m 100% sure I know how to do something (which I rarely am, anyway), he remains the authority under that roof and there’s always something he can share and an eye for detail that he can lend that I just don’t have yet.

Once John had walked Ross through the sweep, I invited Ross to drill the move with me for a few minutes. We get a 15 break between the two evening classes on Monday and Wednesday nights and we spent about 10 minutes going through the sweep before we had to break for the next class.

In the locker room, Ross and I discussed the finer points of rolling vs. drilling, and I said the following:

“Look back on the class we just completed: we probably drilled for about 20 minutes, all told. We never get enough time to drill in class. Next time you have time after a class, grab another white belt, check the move with John, and drill it. Pick one move and drill it. The sooner you start drilling and the more you do it, the faster you’ll feel those moves start to click into place. Right now you drill moves during class, then during live rolling, you might hit one once in a while and feel like a lightbulb is going off in your head, but as you drill more, you’ll be able to play your game your way, and it’s not like rolling in the dark and getting flashes of light. It’s like rolling with the lights on.”

So, if you’re a white belt and you love to roll, I feel ya, but consider this: drill as much as you roll. If you have a one-hour open mat, drill for 30 minutes, roll for 30 minutes. If you only get short open mat periods after a class, drill one time, then the next time, roll.

It’s like saving for retirement: the sooner you start and the more you do it, the better off you’ll be in the long run.

Photo: tonysacco.photo Open Mat 7-23 (12 of 39) via photopin (license)

Can’t Buy Love

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The City is a crowded place. Most places are crowded. It seems like, as a society here in America, we’re almost always crowded together on top of each other. Sometimes its straight-up on top of each other and sometimes it’s in smaller towns with a bit more sprawl to them.

There’s a curious interplay between wealth and space: the more desirable a location is, the more money it costs to buy space there. That’s why a big apartment in New York City is such a status symbol. It’s only when you get farther from more “desirable” urban areas that land and space become more affordable.

But rarely, if anywhere, will you find a truly desirable mix of space and amenities and (most importantly) people. What you will find in big cities, New York, especially, is opportunity.

Well, chance, anyway. They’re not quite the same thing, but they’re closely associated enough to confuse one, so I’ll break down what I mean.

In New York City, or any sufficiently large city, you get a chance to do what you want, assuming you can afford it. As long as you can pay your rent and the plethora of other charges any person in an urban setting need reckon with, you can stay. You get a chance.

Here you’ll find countless people of every description, making one’s inability to find love or friendship seemingly a personal failing, and not an inherent weakness of a system that only values what you can do and how much money you have. In a city, if you can pay, you can stay.

You don’t get any other guarantee than that: the ability to stay, the ability to TRY. You’re not guaranteed friends, or support, or love. Just the chance to take a chance.

I’m writing this because someone I know recently had a major shakeup in his life and had to come face to face with the grim reality of life in a huge city like New York. No one knew he was suffering. Well, I did and a few others did, but no one but me did much to try to aid him and I was insufficient for all his social needs. By “no one,” I mean that the broader swath of people who encountered this poor soul were oblivious to his suffering and saw it as not their problem.

This surplus of individual sentiment, self-love, self-involvement, is the root of our cruelty towards one another. Our money should say “fuck you, got mine.” As long as I have a home to go to and money in my pocket and food to eat, no one else’s suffering matters to me. Would I trade a little comfort for others to enjoy more love and support? I try to: I volunteer, I donate. It doesn’t solve every ill, but it’s what I’m able to do (crippled by the self-inflicted wound that is student loan debt) for now.

And I listen. I try to be there for the people in my life who I can. I don’t always succeed, but I try. I wish more people would. But wishing doesn’t make it so.

Photo: _.Yann Cœuru ._ Who am I ? via photopin (license)

The Stimulus Chase

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I’m guilty of this, many of us are in this era. We seek distraction when we should seek refinement.

Many are the times I’ve faltered, sliding easily into the trap of novelty, seeking it on Facebook, Reddit, wherever. There is no human achievement that can rival the Internet for compiling and delivering the sum total of all human knowledge, but there is also no device more deft at wasting our time, at presenting us with endless distractions.

Even to post this brief bit of writing, I had to turn on the same device on which I do my work and have my play and wade through various attempts at securing my attention. It’s a minefield.

Practices like meditation are useful in helping one to develop the discipline necessary to avoid (or at least stave off temporarily) the distractions of the modern world. But the degree to which outside influences seek to take control of our precious inner minds is staggering. There are screens built into the elevators at the office building where I work and they terrify me.

They are branded “Captivate.” The name is entirely too 1984-esque: here we are, captives in the tiny prison cell that is the elevator and the owners of the building literally sell our eyeballs to advertisers. It’s extremely difficult to position oneself in the elevator in a way that doesn’t subject your gaze to this insidious device, and this is either the first or last leg of your commute: you’ve been subjected to countless ads from the time you left your home to arriving at the office, or you’ve just left the office and are walking out the door (after a day of listening to corporate music with intermittent ads, etc.) and are about to enjoy your evening barrage of ads on your way out.

But the stealers of focus are everywhere: on every surface, just a tab away as you pull up Facebook for the umpteenth time that day, and the random buzzing of text messages in your phone so ubiquitous that people have “phantom message syndrome” where they feel like their phones are buzzing, when their phones might not even be on their person.

This all “works,” because our minds are wired for stimulus. Sometimes it’s a matter of life or death: if I detect smoke or fire, I can react to it and get away from danger. If I get a text message from someone I love, I may experience a surge of good feelings (and maybe the promise of more good feelings to follow as we plan to see each other later).

But these powerful, positive impulses have been hijacked by forces that don’t know us or love us, but usually just want our money, which is a real bummer. I don’t have much more to go on here, none of this is new (well, meaning, I didn’t make it up myself), but writing this did allow me to have a bit of catharsis, and if this is new to you, welcome to being awake.

It’s Not Worth It, Part II

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In part I, I detailed the minor street altercation that I’d witnessed between a cyclist and a driver who seemingly almost “doored” him. An unfortunate situation, to be sure, and an avoidable one (check your mirrors before exiting your vehicle).

Once the two men were embroiled in the conflict, though, there seemed to be no way for them to get out. Whether it was for fear of appearing weak (either to other man, the unknown societal “other,” or, in the driver’s case, the woman he was with) or because the human mind craves that feeling of being right, and/or because they were both amped up on testosterone and fight-or-flight chemicals (locked into “fight” mode), I can’t say.

What I can say is that the easiest way out of the fight would have been to stop fighting, which is probably why it is, ironically, also the hardest thing to do. The human mind just wants to be right, even if that doesn’t always entail doing right. Winning an argument just makes us all feel so good that we’re willing to do whatever it takes to feel that way, even if it’s dumb or dangerous, as it often is.

Realizing when our minds are being hacked by our body chemistry, by unhelpful ways of thinking, and by societal constructs (to name just a few things that can keep us from being who and what we want to be) is a powerful first step towards changing those behaviors for the better.

The next, more difficult step, is to actually do something about the behavior in question.

Photo credit: aiba.boxing Rio 2016 Olympic Games – Day 5 via photopin (license)

It’s Not Worth It, Part I

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The other day, while walking in my neighborhood (the cliche-riddled Park Slope, Brooklyn, NY), I observed two men having a shouting argument in the street.

Despite having lived in New York for over three years, having gone to school there for four years (as a commuter, but still), and having had my fair share of drunken adventures (during which time you might logically think I might have even been [accidentally or otherwise] involved in a fight), I’ve never actually witnessed a full-blown fight, an act of violence, or even an altercation like the one I witnessed the other night (which was, admittedly, pretty tame).

What seems to have occurred was that Guy A had been riding his bike in the bike lane and Guy B had opened the door of his parked SUV without checking the sideview mirror. Getting “doored” (hit by the opening door of a parked car) is a primary fear of a lot of bikers (myself included, when I bike). Guy A had apparently braked just in time to avoid colliding with Guy B. Rather than roll on and be thankful for not being injured, etc., somehow the Guy A and Guy B had ended up going at it.

I have no idea how their dispute began (ie, “who started it”) and I’m not interested in assigning or discussing blame. I’m not even really interested in is why they kept screaming at each other (which they did for a moment or two). I have no idea how long it was, it just seemed like a long time. I stood idly by on the other side of the street, wanting to say something, to ask them to calm down or ask themselves why they were screaming, ready to jump in if things did actually come to blows (they didn’t). I desperately wanted to say or do something, but I was at a loss as to what words, exactly, might shake them from the violent trap they found themselves in.

“It’s not worth it,” I wanted to say to them.

“I know you’re mad,” I wanted to say to Guy A, “Because Guy B opened his car door without looking and could have gravely injured you…”

“And I know you’re mad,” I wanted to say to Guy B. “Because you don’t like that Guy A is yelling at you. On some level, you may also realize that you did something wrong or know that you could have hurt Guy A, and it sucks to feel this way…”

And to both of them, I wanted to say: “And nothing you’re doing now is helping that.”

Part II will explore how we could (maybe?) help it.

Photo credit: tsbl2000 Head of the Family via photopin (license)

A Life Less Labored

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Amazon recently got some ink for its plan to roll out trial 30-hour workweeks for select technical teams. The details of these teams were described in several articles as “full benefits, 75% of the pay,” which actually makes these workers more expensive to the company than their 40-hour counterparts. What that statement I just made doesn’t take into account is the lives of these 30-hour workers and their impact on the economy at large.

First, a flashback: for four years, I worked for Amazon Local. I worked anywhere between 45 and 50 hours a week. I was a writer, endlessly cranking out descriptions of deals for local merchants. I was good at it and highly efficient. I also had time to attend weekly Toastmasters meetings, crunch numbers (I was a team leader for part of that time, responsible for reporting metrics that rolled up to my manager), and could flex my start and end times to suit my social life and gym schedule. I know that isn’t everyone’s experience of working at Amazon (or indeed, that most people’s experiences are wildly different, as a spate of articles a year or so ago made abundantly clear), but it was mine, and for the most part, it was good.

One thing I could have done without, though, was the culture of presenteeism. You were expected to be at your desk for a baseline of 45-50 hours a week, though there was nothing stipulated on paper anywhere. The operative thinking throughout the company was to give people more work than they could do in 40 hours and let them figure it out. You were also supposed to “innovate yourself out of a job,” by by figuring out how to automate or eliminate simple tasks and free up your creative human brain and other skills to solve bigger problems. This is actually a challenging issue when writing is involved, because there’s definitely an upper limit in terms of how quickly a decent piece of copy can be churned out, edited, uploaded, etc. That being said, the team did come up with a variety of ways to quicken turnaround time and eliminate errors. It’s also worth pointing out that I don’t necessarily have a problem with anyone innovating themself (or anyone else for that matter) out of a job…

…as long as everyone still has jobs at the end of the day, which admittedly, everyone won’t. I’ll even argue in another piece to be written later, that everyone doesn’t even NEED a job anymore, but like I said, that’s a piece for another day (spoiler alert: minimum income!).

Back to this 30-hour workweek thing: I like it and I think it’s pretty good. I mentioned all that stuff about my time at Amazon so that I could also mention this: when I worked there, it was an open secret/joke that I would have taken a 25% reduction in pay to work 20% less per week (pro-rated, I would have gone on to say, to reflect that I didn’t want my benefits reduced, so my salary would probably have diminished by more than 25%, because I understand that benefits are fixed costs, etc.). I say it was an open secret/joke because I said it to friends, coworkers, etc. but never to my bosses because I didn’t legitimately think it would ever get off the ground and furthermore that it might cast my loyalty or dedication (or whatever other nebulous, thoughtcrime-esque conditions for perfect worker-hood a person at Amazon might have for other Amazonians) into question. I was already outspoken enough about how much I thought capitalizm sucked (still do, for the record) to make not wanting concrete black marks against me a legitimate priority.

So imagine my surprise when, mere days after a spirited debate with a coworker at my new job about the merits of MORE time off (sparked by a radio conversation that I and my partners were forced to endure during jiu jitsu), the aforementioned Amazon articles came across my desk.

I’m not all rose-colored glasses on this 30-hour workweek thing, either. When I posited my hypothetical “25% less pay, 20% less hours” thing, I also postulated that the amount of output required for the team would remain constant. So, my argument went, if you get three other writers to each take a 25% pay cut and work 20% fewer hours, you have 4 workers each working 20% less, but with a 25% pay reduction per person. Assuming they all get paid about the same amount, this reduction would be equivalent to one FULL salary, but leaving only 80% of an actual workload to get done. Who would do that work? Well, in my simplest version of events, ONE full-time worker with benefits (though I’m sure very sensible arguments could be made that this could be a contract worker, an hourly wage worker with no benefits, outsourced, etc., but for purposed of my idea, it assumes that full-time-with-benefits workers are a desirable thing, because the capitalizt system we exist in has tied [more-or-less affordable] health insurance mainly to full-time jobs, even with Obama Care).

Going back to my hypothetical situation after that long aside: if ONE full-time-with-benefits worker were hired to do the remaining 80% job (4 days of work), you’d only need to pay them the same 75% salary that you’re paying the other 4 writers, resulting in all the same work getting done, but at a 25% salary savings.

Clearly, this is not a perfect system or solution. There are issues around the increased cost of administering these extra bodies. There’s also the question of extra desks (sort of solved by working from home and/or sharing/”hoteling” desks). Also, I know that this doesn’t work for all jobs, but for a wide variety of technical, and quota-/project-based jobs, all of these are more or less deal-with-able. The reason they’re worth dealing with is simple: jobs.

Politicians talk about job creation. The ways in which a government or company goes about creating those jobs are hotly contested and I won’t go into them here, but this plan opens the door for more workers with benefits, working towards whatever kind of lives they want to try to live and having the security that a full-time job with benefits provides. It’s an unfortunate fact of life that benefits are tied to jobs in this country and we’re in a jobless recession where large amounts of possible workers aren’t even looking for work, but if some of these 40+ hour jobs were partially freed up, we could have more people back to work, earning real wages, with a safety net, saving for retirement, and maybe feeling better and happier about their lives. And I think that’s worth money.