My Ninja Journey Part XIV - "Leaning into the Punch"

 

 If a fist flies straight for your face, what is your first instinct? To duck for dear life? Protect, hide and pull away, far from the punch? I'm learning that in the warrior's ring, if you pull your body away from the propelling power of a punch, you are actually moving deeper into its trajectory, giving it more time to land well. A warrior in the ring learns to abolish all instincts to pull away from the punch. Instead, she pushes her body straight into it. It is only when you lean into your greatest fear that you inch just out of its path, actually too close for impact. One of the greatest lessons I've learned on my journey to ninjahood: The way of the ninja is to head straight for the glove.

Fear is like a chunky, hairy, unshowered samurai with the sharp edge of his sword blocking your path, preventing you from stepping another inch forward. Denying fear only feeds it more power, rather than giving it a simple, "Hey, how the hell are ya? Can I take your coat and sword?" It's like trying to ignore an ex-boyfriend at a party while simultaneously trying to sneak obsessive peaks to see who he's with.

Fear is like the ex in the corner; the more we try to ignore it, stifle it or stuff it away, the more space it consumes in the room. A ninja goes straight to the corner, straight to the core of her fear. What is the worst that can happen? If I do go up to him I might bumble, seem silly and look like I haven't moved on… Okay so he thinks I haven't moved on and have a speech impediment. So then what? I'm thought less of by someone I don't even want to think about anymore?

A valuable ninja lesson I've learned is that metabolizing the absolute worst that can happen is actually a cathartic way to relinquish fear. Tilt into the fear instead of dipping between the ropes, straight out of the ring, because it is only as you continually face all the fists, head for all the dark corners of your fear that the power in them dissolves and you can lay your head down at night knowing no one and nothing owns you. It's been hard, but I'm leaning in and believing. Try it. Embody trust and then live as if no hit could ever keep you down. And you know what? None will.

Until next time...

My Ninja Journey Part XIII - "Kung Fu Falling"

Accidentally peeing in public, falling face-first in the dead center of a party, completely losing your place in a pitch to a new client team because of your jack-hammer stuttering until you give up, fall silent, adopt a catatonic blank stare, turn and walk right out... Episodes like these are evidence that you are in the game. In my quest for ninjahood, I've learned the key to success is not in achieving flawless, fall-less, confident perfection, but in learning how to take chances and navigate the tumbles. We ninjas call it "Kung Fu Falling."

Traditionally, as boys grow up they are encouraged to take risks, try new things, compete in sports, skateboard all night and bleed all over their little skater shorts. They become well-versed in taking tumbles. Girls, on the other hand, are encouraged to value fitting into the group, never standing out and cooperating even if it means diminishing ourselves a little - or a lot. Never the break dancing superstar, just the girl standing by with the boom box. This has created a great reticence in many of us, a discomfort with falling, failing, or ever trying. An interesting statistic: Only one in ten girls will volunteer to try a new technology in the classroom, whereas nine in ten boys volunteer.

Ninety percent of having the confidence to try something new is rooted in your comfort with falling, even if it's in front of an audience suppressing laughter at your expense. When I used to take riding lessons, my horse would often give me a nice, public humbling in front of my fellow riders (a few being very cute and adorable "jocks"). I frequently wound up on the ground instead of maintaining my seat, as my horse tried every trick in the book to dismount me. (I found out later he'd secretly been reading the equine manual "Ridding your Rider for Good: A Step-by-Step Guide to Reaching Every Horse's Dream of a Luxurious Life at Pasture.")

Despite having my ego shoveled down my throat, along with a pound of dirt and grass, actually experiencing those falls and surviving them lessened my fear of how horrible they are. Sometimes I even manage to rise in a fit of laughter at my dorkitude because falling is freeing. Bruises are beautiful, couraeous to acquire, and sassy to show off later. They are like postcards of ninja living.

Isn't it cool that when someone really sheds her ego and gets real, gets human and makes mistakes, it actually invites other humans to connect with her? When someone says, "I know it all, I've got it covered," there isn't any room for anyone else to participate, relate or share wisdom. But when you are humbly fallible, you become more accessible. The anxiety of perfectionism lifts while fluidity and community step in. The biggest comfort is in knowing that your genuine loved ones will stick by you whether you stay on the horse or fall off headfirst.

So dive in. Try. Kung Fu Fall. Laugh, get up. Then stay up.

Until next time,

My Ninja Journey Part XII: Emptying Your Cup

There's a story about a professor who visited a monk. The monk started pouring the professor a cup of tea, and he just kept pouring and pouring, tea spilling everywhere. The guest flipped out, to which the monk explained that his mind was like the teacup: too filled with his own ideas to let anything new in.

I've emptied my teacup, and went back to the place we all once knew, when we were children: unscathed, open willing, malleable, curious. Shoshin, a Japanese martial arts word, describes the state of consciousness that always remains fresh. It is a warrior's goal to live every moment with a clean-slated beginner's mind… Even after you find out, that, when he mentioned he was "duplicitous," what he meant to say was that he had a secret life involving a Russian the night before, three Brazilians a month ago, and a couple of female co-workers along the way. Even after the promotion you worked eighty hours a week for months to earn was given to the boss's niece, who came in one day and proceeded to take over your office and then spend two leisurely hours on the phone talking about where to get the best "mani." Ever after the person you thought you knew so well "got to know" the barrista at what is now your "former" favorite Starbucks. Even after all forms of catastrophic hurt – after all of the "they'd nevers" are replaced by the "they sure dids!" – we have the choice to begin again, to act as if the skid marks burning on the heart aren't really impeding every decision, infusing every choice with a brand new sense of "oh, hell no!"

The struggle for shoshin is like that of a child, once totally open to the world, who reached for the warm light of a flame only to feel the scorch on her skin. She never wants to touch again. How can you remain open and get to know that new, potentially "special someone" when you are acutely aware of the possibility of everything ending in a third-degree burn?? In the past, I have employed great skill in avoiding personal availability to burns. I've traveled, worked eighty-hour weeks and cushioned myself with busy schedules – leaving no room for "that." It's comfortable. It's safe. It protects and guards the heart. But there is a big difference between being tough and being courageous. It only takes a protective guarding to be tough, but it takes fearless courage to crack open. And it takes a warrior to remain open.

To obtain this state of shoshin you must first understand a universal fact about humans: unless someone is completely wacko, a person's top priority is not to hurt others on purpose. The ways in which others have ended up hurting me usually speak more about their limitations, our timing, the lessons I've learned – and the lessons they needed to learn… But it is not proof that the masses are out to make sure I am hurt by a thousand voodoo pins of pain. Hurt happens; it's the way we are challenged as humans to shake up and grow. Forgive the past. Forgive the humanity in others. Put it to rest. Let it go. Empty your cup.

After forgiving all of the firestarters, you must then learn to use the past, as opposed to wading around in it. You don't have to think of memories as "bad" experiences or wasted time. What matters is that you are circling closer and closer toward your truth through each debacle. That is the nature of life; all of us spinning around, running into dozens of others, taking nicks and chips off each other. We chip away until what is left is a beautiful sculpture, shaped by life, shaped by our lessons. The task of the warrior is to choose opening relentlessly; to allow others in and to chip away at you, teach you. In this way, all experiences have a home as our instructors. Use the past as fuel for wisdom. Use it to learn that you don't need to tumble down hills with every Jack and Jill. Get intuitively selective, make wise choices about who is worth the fall and, once you have - dive like you're never been bludgeoned before!

Until next time...