Category: Buddhism & Philosophy

Peace Isn’t Just Given, It Must be Sought…

There is suffering in life. This is one of the key concepts in Buddhism , that an important goal in life is the reduction and elimination of suffering. This is generally in the pursuit of peace, although many don’t do much to try and work towards that goal. Speaking pragmatically, the elimination of suffering and promotion of peace within one’s daily life has a number of important health and mental wellness benefits attached, some of which we’ll try and address here a bit. For myself, I had the opportunity to go through a number of different iterations of how I’ve approached life, starting in my youth. As a child, I was reasonably withdrawn, solitary and shy. I would avoid most people and keep to myself. A lot of this came as a result of all the attention being placed on my brother, who was constantly ill. I can’t fault him for that but the result of such a childhood is that I grew up learning to stay silent, pushing down my worries and concerns and making as few waves as possible.

The result of that approach was the development of stress-related stomach issues, along with a ulcer in my gut. Not a great way for a preteen to be growing up. It didn’t take me long to recognize, even at that age, that I had to make a change. And it wasn’t long after that, that I began my martial arts journey. I’m the whole, I had a lot of benefits working in my favor. Our household growing up was always a quiet one. Despite how loud my mother and I could be, it was pretty easy to step up to an open window and enjoy the sounds of life without hindrance from the inside. It was at this age that I behave looking into meditation, humans books on the topic, as well as yoga and some medical texts that could help, in my local town library. That probably dates me a bit, considering there was no access to the internet at that time and all of my research was limited by the VERY limited resources of my local library. But it got me started.

As I grew into my teen years, a combination of hormones and increased level of fitness and martial arts skill changed me, and not necessarily for the better. I became angry, frustrated with everyone and everything, and prone to swing first and ask questions later. I was able to recognize this in myself as an issue and dove deep into my meditation and it was at this point that I began studying Buddhism. I always use the term “studying,” because it was in fact as study, to examine and learn as much as I could about the peace-promotions faith that nearly half a billion people worldwide follow. This allowed me to begin learning how to constructively focus that aggressive energy, to use it in constructive ways and to keep from bottling it all up and making myself sick with it. The result was a much greater control over what affected my day. I was able to keep from sweating the small stuff and live my daily life without feeling like I was on the icing of war all the time. The improvement was noticeable in my entourage, as well.

However, a lot of that changed when life choices that hindered routine and consistency came into play. For example, becoming a police officer certainly went a long away toward shattering my calm veneer. You want something that’ll crack your calm? Try working a career where you always see both the light side and dark side of humanity. That’ll put the itching powder in your boxers, let em tell you. This was combined with becoming a new parent. In 2014, we became parents to my eldest son. Nothing like spending every waking moment with a tiny human that does nothing but eat, sleep, cry and shit for 24 straight hours to put a chink in your armor AND your daily routine. I reached a point where meditation and calming myself with the external tools I had previously enjoyed were no longer possible. Ever try meditating when a baby starts crawling into your lap? Kind of tends to distract you. In both good and bad ways. But it simply means that one starts suppressing the negative instead of channelling or addressing it. And that’s where the problems begin.

Back in 2021, and with the continuing pebble in the shoe that was the COVID-19 pandemic, I found myself sitting at home, on leave from work due to my Type-1 Diabetes and contemplating life in all of its aspects. While contemplation can be good, there’s also the danger of one’s thought process going in the wrong direction. Take hands and all that. But for me, despite finding new employment and moving on to a cleaner environment than the one I had been accustomed to as a police officer, I slipped back into my persona of anger and frustration. Work bothered me. The drive home bothered me. Everyone was an idiot, everyone was in my way, everyone was saying or doing something to PISS ME OFF… It snuck up on me that this storm in my soul had been brewing for a few years. I suddenly came to realized that it wasn’t healthy or productive for me to be in a bad mood all the time and angry at the world. After all, if I’m being realistic with myself, the world cares little about my feelings and won’t change because I’m bothered. It would be up to me to make the change.

One of the big things that I started to work on was burning off excess energy. In recent months, I’ve come home and my first step when getting home is to change and go hit the punching bag for at least 30 minutes. Provided my blood sugars allow it, I try to follow that up with another 30 minutes but on the bike. You have no idea how well you sleep and how much aggression you burn off til a solid, 60-minutes of sweaty, exhausting exercise. I’ve come to discover that maintaining this routine, besides for the obvious purpose of working out and maintaining one’s health, helps me to sleep better, which means I’m better rested and in turn, I’m less cranky and Waterbury less aggressive and angry at everything. When you start to let go of all that anger, it’s amazing how easy it is to make one’s way through the day with calm and proper determination. And the more you stay calm and quit sweating the small stuff, the easier life gets. And in reality, that’s genuine peace; to live happy, with one’s family and within one’s own circle, without the messy noise that comes from the hustle and bustle of modern, everyday life. Good for thought…☯️

The Belt Doesn’t Make The Karateka…

Most people, especially in the western world, consider obtaining a black belt as being the ultimate goal for a martial artist. While it certainly is ONE of the goals to aspire to, it’s far from the end of the journey and there are several goals that should come before, during and after grading for shodan. But thanks to mainstream media and the commercialization of martial arts, people think black is the finish line and you become an expert. And once you’re there, you’ve completed your journey. In a world where tons of McDojo’s will allow you to promote to black belt simply by paying the fees, not only is this perspective incredibly inaccurate, but it’s a dishonor to the style and the rank itself, as well as to the actual, dedicated senseis that work towards training and developing students who are committed to the art and not just pushing through those who want the prestige of the belt around their waist. And now that I’ve finished with that rambling, long-winded sentence, I’ll step down off my soapbox and get to the point of today’s post: can a student actually fail a belt test?

Training as a green belt

I recently read a post of social media that raised this important question and a lot of good arguments came out of it, which I’ll cover off here. I tend to be cautious when I write a post based off of someone else’s. After all, i want to be fair and clear that this idea was prompted AS A RESULT of someone else’s writing and opinion and not a fresh useable that I came up with myself. That being said, I DO have a lot of my own opinions on this topic, and they hit close to home. When I started karate 36 years ago (holy shit, eh?), I walked into the dojo with a white belt around my waist. Personally, I didn’t care about the uniform, the color of the belt or any of the prestige that would come from training in karatedo. Even when I started to climb some of the initial ranks, i was never one to brag or boast that i was training in the martial arts. To me, there was no point; I was training to improve my health, learn to defend myself and all around save my own life. Granted, not everyone has that same perspective. Some folks love to puff out their chest and talk about their belt, their proficiency or their status within a dojo. None of this ever made a difference to me.

Now, it’s important that you don’t get me wrong, here. I was dedicated, committed and proud of every belt I achieved. But that pride is reserved to a personal space where I can look at old photos, such as the one above, and the belts themselves (yes, I still have them all) and reminisce about the times when I trained through blood, sweat and tears, the sacrifices I made to get to where I am in my karate journey and the friends and relationships I’ve lost because I wouldn’t compromise that. In my world, it was always more important to stay humble since you never know what someone else can teach you. I’m a black belt? Sure, but I can still learn from you. There’s always something more to learn. But getting back to the belt tests, I don’t understand the concept of someone potentially NOT passing their belt test. Many have commented that if a sensor is worth their merit, their students wouldn’t even be put up for testing until they’re ready to pass. Unfortunately, that isn’t the purpose of a test, nor is it realistic.

Four generations of student in one photo

I can only speak to my own experience and many dojos have different perspectives in this area. sent I was a white belt, I was all in and committed. I would pass up opportunities to hang out with friends, my high school girlfriend and I broke up (more than once) because I’d go hit up class instead of sticking around and I preferred to stay home and practice kata instead of going out and partying and drinking like most people my age. I climbed the kyu ladder and made my way to a level where it came time for me to test for my form belt. Now at this stage, given that it WAS my first change of belt color, my Sensei would usually be the one to determine when the student was ready to test. I won’t get into the specific of the test, given the importance of keeping such things within the dojo. If you want to know what grading for green belt is like, join a solid dojo and experience it. But when Sensei told me it was time to grade for gokyu (green belt), I was struck with equal parts anxiety and excitement. The prospect of wearing something other than white around my waist presented a curiosity that I hadn’t known I had.

But the anxiety was prominent, as well. What if I failed the test? What would it do to my confidence, my drive and my will to train above everything else? While I can easily and readily agree with those whose opinion indicates that a student shouldn’t be put up for grading until their ready, the post I ready made an extremely important distinction; there’s a difference between being ready to test and being ready to pass. While one may train diligently, nail down the skills, forms and techniques necessary for their next belt test, there is a big difference between training with your class in the dojo environment and testing for a belt by yourself with no one but Sensei watching your every move and step. For some, the nerves, stress and pressure that comes with such a test can prove to be too much and one can easily fuck up some key areas that may result in a failure of the test. For me, I had to steady myself and promise myself to give the same energy and enthusiasm during grading as I would have in the dojo. If I did my best and pushed as hard as I could, even if I didn’t pass, I would learn the areas that I needed in order to continue to progress.

Training in Okinawa as a brown belt

When I finally finished testing, I collapsed on the floor, exhausted and worn from four hours of intensive testing. And yes, you read that right. My green belt test was just shy of four hours long! When Sensei finally handed over my green belt and I wrapped it around my waist for the fire time, I felt a renewed sense of purpose to start learning my next forms, continue to develop my skills and maintain my health. I felt no inclination to go out and party, brag about my new rank or puff out my chest as a tough guy. But the lingering thought always sat in the back of my mind: what if I had failed the test? Turns out the answer was fairly straightforward; you don’t promote. You go back to the drawing board and continue training. While that can be a hard reality to deal with, it simply goes to prove that a student still has more work to accomplish. And at least in my dojo, the students were given the time and resources to develop and improve the areas that may have caused the failure. As long as they recognize that it’s only one piece in a much larger puzzle and that they’ll get their chance at that piece again, it should be a ‘no harm, no foul’ kind of scenario.

Turns out that in my dojo, while exceptionally rare, there were some who would fail their belt tests. I learned pretty quick that Sensei favored a more confidential environment where the test was not disclosed to the other students, nor was the result. Granted, passing meant you walked in with a different belt, so it was a difficult thing to hide. But in speaking with some who came back from a test with the same belt, they’d simply shrug and say they weren’t ready. So, what might be some of the reasons that someone WOULDN’T pass a belt grading? After all and in line with several popular opinions, if the sensei only schedules a test for a student ready to grade, why would they fail? Right? Maybe. But there can be a lot of underlying reasons. The first is what I discussed above. In many cases, the stress, anxiety and even fear of testing can throw a significant monkey wrench into one’s ability to be successful. We’re all prisoners of our own mind, after all. This can especially suck for someone who lacks the tools to overcome their own, internal anxieties.

Training as a black belt, with Sensei

And for some people, they simply lack the WILL. what I mean by this, is that some people are perfectly content to train and learn but have no interest in going through the rigorous demands of a belt test. Or worse, they walk into the grading thinking they’ve earned their place and rank and that the test of similes formality. Such students will rarely pass a belt test, if they just go through the motions without putting in the will and determination to push through. Senseis will usually see that and deem the student unready to step into the next belt level. Vanity and entitlement have no place in the dojo. And finally, some folks may simply shit the bed. After all, a test is a test is a test, right? And a person can be a ready as possible to test, have the skill and ability, practice efficiently and still walk out of that test having failed because they suddenly blanked on something, something they can’t remember, that may be integral to passing the test. Depending on the dojo you train in, of course.

At the end of the day, karatedo did not originally carry a belt system. Originally, it was a simple hierarchy; teach and student. It isn’t until later that belt grades were introduced as a way of determining someone’s seniority and skill level with a dojo. But it’s important to remember that it isn’t about the rank. It isn’t about the color of the belt around your waist. No matter what your reason for wanting to train, your time in the dojo has to be about dedication, commitment, discipline and hard work. Only then, can you truly learn the skills that are the martial arts in the manner it was intended. And only then, will you become a karateka who will carry and show actual skill, instead of puffing out your chest and acting like a tough guy because you have a black belt around your waist. That belt won’t stop a threat against you. Only diligent training and the antiseptic of actual skill will do that for you. Food for thought… ☯️

What The F$%k Am I Doing? The Odyssey‘s Aftermath…

It’s a dark, warm morning. The alarm blares loudly at 3 am, shaking me out of a fitful sleep and summons me to begin the routine I require before making my way to the airport to start the first leg of the my trip home. I shower, shave and pack my meager backpack as best I can, seeing that there are a few few snack and drink items I had purchased at my arrival on Sunday that I won’t be able to bring onto the aircraft. Always loathe to waste food to money, I hesitate as I leave the items behind, cognizant that they wouldn’t‘ make it past the security check in. My last energy drink, which I cracked open as soon as the alarm went off, will be fully consumed before I check in. I step out into the morning’s latent heat, which surprises me a little, since the sun’s not up. But it’s already 18 degrees Celsius and the local forecast promises a hot day with minimal clouds. There should be no inherent issues with my initial flight out of New Brunswick. Let the shit show begin…

Second to last name from the bottom, but it’s always nice to be recognized.

My travels of the previous day went by relatively easily. I travelled down to Bathurst to visit Sensei’s son Guillaume using the old highway, which takes a little over an hour to drive through, versus the highway which would have only taken forty minutes. But when visiting a Maritime province, part of the journey is enjoying as much of the ocean as one can. Hence, I drove along the coastal line. The houses, rolling grass hills and open ocean were sights to behold. I sang pleasantly along with the music in my car, content on the moment and trying not to dwell on the long day I would endure tomorrow. As I reached Bathurst, I wandered out to a small place called Middle River, which is where Guillaume resides. We enjoyed some good conversation, a few laughs and memories, and even discussed our recent 30-year high school reunion, which neither of us attended. Given that we chatted for almost two hours and it was already 3 o’clock in the afternoon, I got back on the road, fervently aware that I still had a couple of hours of tetanus time ahead of me.

I hammered down the highway in an attempt to make the best time to Moncton that I could. Sure, I wasn’t going anywhere once I got there and would mainly be hitting up the hotel and crashing. But I was very aware of the 40-minute detour I would encounter in Miramichi as a result of the Centennial bridge closure, which would require me to cut westward then come across a causeway bridge. This was the only other access through the area, so ALL traffic was diverted to this location. It was an absolute nightmare. I based the forty minutes delay on my arrival on Sunday, forgetting the detail that it was 9 pm when I drove through. This time, it was about 4:30 in the afternoon on a weekday, and many people were already commuting home from work. My the time I cleared the bridge and got back on the main highway, I had lost over an hour. Tired and frustrated, I stopped at gas station along the main drag and managed to find two slices of meat pizza and a bottle of soda for only $6. Unaware of when I had ever seen such a cheap meal option, I pounced. I got back on the road and ate my pizza in silence.

Moncton Airport

I got to Moncton relatively without incident and decided to get a leg up on the evening by filling the tinsel car’s gas tank now, as opposed to trying to find an open gas station at 3 in the morning. Besides an initial misunderstanding at the first gas station over requiring that I pay before I pump, which I totally understand having been a police officer, I got the tank filled and made my way to the hotel. Of, right! I should mention that the misunderstanding resulted in the police being called on me. But i cleared that up pretty damned quick. That’s a story for another post, since this one will be long enough without those details. I got into the room and laid out the clothing I would wear and organized the toiletries, which would also be left behind once I showered. At about 8:30 yesterday evening, I laid my head down for the last sleep in New Brunswick for the trip. Given the importance of being able to wake up alert and ready to move with the alarm, I opted out of my evening supplement, which usually encourages sleep, as well as the daily CBD gummy I usually take to help sleep through the vast kaleidoscope of PTSD nightmares I usually get.

Because I skipped all things that help with sleep, I only fell asleep around 10:45, which was much later than I ad planned. As a result, I barely got four hours of sleep when the alarm shook me back to consciousness. In recent years, I’ve always made a point of starting my morning off slowly, calmly, and at a relaxed pace. This has been an integral step towards maintaining my physical and mental wellbeing, and has served me well. Given the importance of not being late, this morning was different. I bolted out of bed, cracked a can of energy drink, slugged a few deep drinks and jumped into a hot shower. The warmth of the water beckoned me to return to the bed, curl back up and fly another day. But i had already been away from my family for too long and couldn’t miss this flight. Plus, given the way airlines tend to behave in recent years, I couldn’t risk losing the money on this ticket and being unable to reschedule. So, here I am.

Boarding passes? Check! In to security to get felt up…
The quiet calm of a small “International” airport

there were only a few people waiting to check in and the security line was quite short. So, I got into the secure area where my gate was located quite quickly. Looking at all the time slots for everything, I was suddenly quite glad I came in as early as I did. Despite the fact my flight only departs at 6:05 on my itinerary, my boarding pass showed a boarding time of 4:50, with departure time at 5:30. If I had slept another hour, I might have encountered long lines that may have created more stress than my fractured, sleep-deprived mind could handle. I settled in to wait for boarding with a hot Tim Horton’s coffee. Although it never really seems to happen much these days, I was praying for a reasonably empty flight. This usually makes boarding quicker, departure sooner and better odds of making my connection in Toronto.

I’d like to say I have some interesting stories but if I’m being honest, it almost felt as though the airlines and airports were making up for all the delays and issues I’ve faced in the past several days. For Canada was definitely on top of its game, with boarding and processes running smoothly and on time, with no delays, flight rescheduling or otherwise. We even landed in Regina at 8:45 this morning instead of 9:05 like my itinerary indicated. My family was waiting in the arrivals lobby to greet me as I came down the runway. It was its to get home, be among familiar streets, enter my home and have some of my own food. I was up at 3 am New Brunswick time to make my flights. Conceptually, that’s midnight in Saskatchewan and I landed just before 9 am. So I was up at midnight and have been up ever since. Around 1 o’clock, I blacked out hard and slept for about an hour and a half. The depth of that nap was as such that I haven’t felt in a long time.

All in all, it wasn’t a pleasant trip. Hey, I did say “all in all.” I had some pleasant times, visiting with friends, enjoying the Maritime ambiance, etc. But the big lesson I learned this time around is that Northern New Brunswick isn’t home anymore. While it was good to see my parents, that connection is broken. I have Minimal reasons to ever go back, unless it’s to bury my parents. Eventually, and if you’ve left to live elsewhere, you really can’t go home. Although I can safely say that every visit carries an augury of emotion, this one was harder than most. And I can’t argue the fact that I feel I’m getting too old for the long distance travel, the delays, the rushing, the cost… everything. As beautiful as Northern New Brunswick may be in the summer, my original home town really is the place where time stands still. And I’ve gotten too spoiled with living in a city where I have immediate access to everything that’s needed. And maybe that’s on me. But there may underlying reasons why everyone usually leaves the area. And perhaps that’s on them. But I digress… I’ve made it out and made it back safely, got to see my parents, enjoyed time with dear friends and accomplished my goals. Perhaps that’s all I need to focus on. Food for thought…☯️

What The F$%k Am I Doing? The Odyssey, Day 5…

Well, here we are, folks! Departure day! The trip is far from over but today is the day that I check out of the hotel and start making my way south to return to Moncton, where I will catch my return flight to Saskatchewan tomorrow morning. I COULD have spent an additional day in Campbellton and visited my folks again. The issue is that my return flight departs at about 6 am tomorrow morning, which means I would have to start driving from Campbellton around 1 o’clock in the morning in order to make boarding. In all honesty, I’m getting too old for that shit. On my last trip here, I travelled to Moncton a day early and spent a night there, allowing me to drive 30 seconds up the road to the airport. It made for a much more restful departure and I didn’t risk smacking every moose in the Province by traveling in the dark. But I digress… I’m going to do the tourist thing in this post, considering it was my last day wandering around, yesterday.

A quiet heron perched twenty feet from the shoreline

My day yesterday once again started with breakfast with a friend, followed by a slow, relaxing drive down the coastline to Dalhousie. It’s one of those things where you don’t appreciate what you have until it’s gone. After all, I spent almost thirty years in this area and drove that road more times than I could possibly count. But during in youth, I never appreciate the immense beauty of the open bay, rolling Appalachian Mountains or the wonderful views scattered all about the area. It isn’t until now, as an adult, that I’m able to look at all these sights and ask myself how/why I ever left this place. I was quickly reminded, mind you. But the thought was still there. You see, living in a bigger city has spoiled me, after all fashion. If it’s 10 o’clock at night and I decide I need a pizza, I have tons of options. If someone in our household is sick and needs something, i know of at least three 24-hour pharmacies in my city. There are no such availabilities in my home town where time has literally stood still, and the sidewalks almost literally roll up around dinner time.

The “Bon Ami” rocks

Once I reached Dalhousie, I got right down to business; visiting my folks. It’s been a difficult run this time around. My mother has become so tiny and diminutive, she’s almost the size of my 11-year son. She was semi-awake, but not responding to me in any meaningful way. She frowned and stared at me, almost as though she was wading through a very deep pool of memories, trying to determine who I was. Having learned my lesson on my last visit, I didn’t press her or try to explain that I was her son. I learned fairly quickly that it won’t help. I sat with her for a time, said my goodbyes and stepped out of her room. She didn’t even move enough to see me off or acknowledge my departure. I usually describe on these trips how strange it feels to come “home” with no home to come back to. After all, in the past, I would always go to my mother’s home. Always the steady rock of the family, she was always the one that arranged meals, gave me a place to sleep and took care of me when I visited. Now, I’m 100% a tourist in the very town I grew up in.

But this time, what I’ve realized that it’s far harder to recognize that the woman who was an absolute anvil, loud and full of life, who lifted me up and cradled me as a child, was now a tiny person the size of one of my own children and the person I knew is already forever gone. It’s a sobering thought that slaps one in the face with a dose of reality that life is short and fleeting. Things with my father weren’t much better. He’s now permanently on oxygen and doesn’t budge from his bed. He barely spoke to me, despite being awake. According to the staff, he’s also beginning to show signs of dementia, but I was able to converse a little with him. It felt like he was more focused on his television than on me. At one point, I even asked him if he wanted me to go so he could watch his show. All he did was grunt. I stepped out shortly after. The icing on the cake is the care home staff, who sit in their little alcove that covers all the entrances that one could use, who always seem to need to ask, “Leaving so soon?” Fuck off, dude. I don’t need your snide comments. Moving on.

The famous Dalhousie light house. No longer functioning (and no longer needed)

I moved through my afternoon by walking around the Inch Arran beach area, snapping the photos you’re seeing in this post and reminiscing about all the good times I’ve had when I lived here. The passage of time doesn’t change. The sea and the mountains don’t change. At least not on a scale that one perceives within their lifetime. But the one consistent change is the lack of familiar faces. No more locals that I knew or could connect with. I had the opportunity to visit with some dear friends but ironically, all of them except for my Sensei reside outside the immediate area. The biggest and headgear lesson of all is gaining the realization that despite I kept labeling this trip as “coming home,” this I any longer my home. And no longer a place that holds any purpose in coming back to. Obviously, my folks are still here and there will continue to be intermittent visits until they’ve passed on. But the charm and value of this place no longer exists for me. I miss my actual home. And my family. It will be good to get back.

Baie Des Chaleurs (Chaleur Bay). The mountains you see is the Province of Quebec.

My evening concluded with a visit to my aunt and uncle, who made a wonderful spaghetti for supper. We shared great conversation and stories, my uncle showed me their new SUV and I even had the opportunity to go on a short drive on his side-by-side. I’ve never been on one before and it was quite fun. We wandered the woods, only for about fifteen minutes but he showed me all the functions of the machine and how fast it could go. I enjoyed it. Once the sun went down and it started getting dark, I respectfully bowed out and prepped to leave, especially since both of them were yawning intently and I knew they would both be up at dawn to go to work. Once back at my hotel room, I crashed unceremoniously and enjoyed the only day this week where I managed to sleep in past 7 am. Of course, I’ll have adjusted to this time zone just in time to fly back to Saskatchewan, which is 3 hours behind the time here. That should be entertaining.

I’ve often heard the expression “You can’t go home again.” I’ve never really understood that expression before because I’ve always believed that of course you can! It’s costly and takes time and effort, but one can totally go home. The real problem is that eventually, home isn’t home anymore. THAT’s the reality that people usually fail to understand. But I’ve learned that lesson this time around. When I leave New Brunswick tomorrow morning to head back to Saskatchewan, it will likely be for the last time except for coming back to bury my mother and father. A sad reality of life that can often be hard to swallow. But such is life. It will be good to be back with my family, and even go back to work. Hopefully, the place held up in my absence. I’m on my way now, stopping in to visit Sensei’s son and my “brother,” Guillaume, on the way. It will be good to see him. Tomorrow’s post will be the last Odyssey entry for this trip, but I’m sure I’ll have plenty to bitch about regarding the flights, travel in general and all the people I’ll have to deal with. Que sera… ☯️

What The F$%k Am I Doing? The Odyssey, Day 2…

Alright, I finally made it to the North Shore of New Brunswick. It was a hell of a day, and I’m going to start by telling you all about it. First and foremost, my departure flight from Regina was delayed. Go figure. The flight was reasonable. I watched a movie on my iPad and the folks sitting next me to slept the whole way through. Perfect. Once I landed in Toronto, and reactivated my phone, I got hit with a plethora of texts and emails from Air Canada. “Your flight has being delayed to 14:20.” Then, “You’re flight has been delayed to 14:50.” FML. Every little bate later I am on the tail end of the trip delays my ability to drive the three and a half hour drive from Moncton to Campbellton where I would staying during my stay. It was almost 4 o’clock by the time I finally boarded the last flight of the trip, uncertain if my car rental would still be waiting for me when I arrived in New Brunswick and contemplating my alternatives while I flew.

When I finally arrived in Moncton, I was like most of the people who walked off the plane; I was tired, exhausted, and not quite sweaty but yet, somehow still sweaty. The kind of condition that only comes from being someone with PTSD cramped in a confined space while surrounded by hundreds of people. All I wanted to do was get my rental vehicle and get the last leg of the trip out of the way. No such luck. My vehicle was delayed. First, it was only supposed to be “10 to 15 minutes.” Says them. I used the washroom. I took a walk. I spoke to some of the locals. Can’t back to the counter and was told, “We’re still waiting on some of the vehicles to be ‘brought up.’” Oooookay… I wasn’t certain what the fuck that means, but I’m not a big fan of waiting, especially after Enoch on the go since 3 am and it was already after 7 pm, meaning I wouldn’t reach my hotel room until after 11 pm. An old man like me usually tries to hit the sack by no later than 9 pm. Not tonight, dear reader. Not tonight.

Mao of the bridge through the Miramichi River

I thought that once I had my rental vehicle, I could put all the delays behind me and just get to Campbellton. No such fuckin’ luck. I had planned on stopping in Miramichi for dollar store supplies and snacks for the hotel room. Turns out, the Centennial Bridge that crosses the Miramichi River was closed for construction. Maybe it was the delirium setting in from traveling all day, but I started to feel as though fate was conspiring against me to prevent me from reaching my destination. To add insult to injury, the detour required an additional 40 minutes of driving to get around to the next bridge. Traffic didn’t help. I shouldn’t need to tell any of you how messed up it can be, when you redirect hundreds of cars to a singular detour point. And we all know just how much I love waiting on others. Once I crossed the detour bridge and made my way back into town (or I guess they call it a “city,” now that they’ve amalgamated), I stopped at a local pharmacy chain for some travel supplies. I don’t like being civilly liable, so I won’t say which chain it was. But y’all are smart enough to figure it out.

I grabbed the basics. Soap, shampoo, antiperspirant, toothbrush and toothpaste. I grabbed some Skittles in case my blood sugars dropped and a large bag of Ruffles chips to chew me through any snacking cravings I get during in stay. What would have normally cost me about twenty dollars getting all of this stuff at a dollar store or Walmart, it cost me almost sixty dollars at this pahrmacy. Despite it being the same stuff, same size, just a different location. Great. Next, I needed food. The last I had eaten was a small tray of sushi rolls almost nine hours previous. I tried stopping at a Tim Hortons for a grilled cheese melt. I’ve been dying for one of those since they came back on the menu. But such chance. Doors were locked. I encountered the same issue with Burger King. What. In. The. Actual. Such. It’s Saturday night, folks! And two major fast food chains are closed and locked before 9 pm. I finally found success with a local McDonald’s and grabbed a coupe of sausage McMuffins.

The messed up detour in Miramichi

I finally got on the road and reached the doors of my hotel around 11:30 pm. I was checked in by a very nice young man that I was pretty convinced was outside smoking up when I arrived. While it’s no longer illegal in Canada and I have no issues with someone doing it, doing it while on the job and making me wait at the very tail end of my journey when a bed is literally feet away and waiting for me was more than my recently-found calm could manage. My veneer cracked. Luckily, I made my way into my room and unceremoniously crashed after quickly downing my evening meds. The big thing being today’s post is that travel, even domestic travel, is no longer a guaranteed and safe means of making any destination in a planned manner. It didn’t matter that I had car and hotel reservations waiting; my flights were ridiculously delayed. Didn’t matter that I was tired and still had over three hours of driving to do, roads had me detoured. None of that really mattered to any extent. I surprised myself by maintaining my calm, not yelling at anyone and not losing my cool.

This morning, I still woke up around 7 am, which is fucked up considering that’s only 4 am back in Saskatchewan. You’d think that the time difference would have seen me sleeping in at least a little bit. I tried a different hotel than my previous stays because I wanted to change things up and it was a touch cheaper. Now, I know why. After grabbing a hot shower and getting my clothes unpacked of ride next few days, I discovered that the walls are quite thin. At least everyone was quiet during the overnight hours. Now, I’m off to see what delicious, gourmet breakfast I can find in my previous home environment. Then, I hope to kick things off by visiting my folks and possibly seeing Sensei this evening. The first day on the North Shore is already planned and mapped. We’ll see if at least one thing can go according to plan.

The view of Sugarloaf Mountain through my dirty hotel window

As I wrote in yesterday’s post, a lot of mixed feelings about being here. Memories and old landmarks are pulling me back to a couple of decades ago. Many things have changed, including a number of towns and villages along the main highway that weren’t there before, even a year ago when I was here last. Old businesses have made way to new ones, some buildings that have been there my entire life have been demolished or rebuilt. I’ve often heard that you can never go home again. Well, that’s only partially correct. You can go home; it just may not be the home you remember. I’m looking forward to seeing my parents. We’ll see how well THAT visit goes. But that’ll be an update for tomorrow’s post. ☯️

There Is No Mold…

We often hear sayings like, “They sure broke the mold with this one…” It usually refers to someone who operates or behaves outside the norm or the typical social paradigm. But what’s interesting is that this can skid apply quite often to martial arts students. One of the most interesting things about training in a karate dojo is watching the progression and growth of the other students around you. Most people never take advantage of this, solely focused on developing and training themselves. But much like observing the world around you, watching how other train and progress can provide important insight, not only on how to train better but to recognize the very important aspect that everyone learns, develops and absorbs knowledge in different ways. This becomes especially important if one is to ever become the teacher. Not many do, but the practice of observing others can also be important when it comes to sparring or practicing one’s skills on the mat.

It’s also important to remember the old saying about never judging a book by its cover. This can often be learned the hard way. I have a couple of examples. I used to train with a younger man, a boy when he started, really. He was headstrong, full of the ol’ proverbial piss & vinegar. Plenty of attitude and personality, he started out being a bit of a thorn in everyone’s side. During his first couple of months of training, I remember thinking he wouldn’t progress far. While it’s normal for a student to lack discipline when first coming to the dojo, this kid exemplified everything one should NOT do while in the dojo. Farting in class, flirting with the female students and making sarcastic comments at the worst of times, I had assumed he would wash out within his first year. When he didn’t, I was absolutely certain he would wash out during the second year. However, someone started to happen during that time. He got stronger. He got faster. He began learning the skills he was being taught and putting them positively into practice.

As his training continued, he grew to become the dojo’s most senior student (second only to his instructor and myself, on the occasions I visited their dojo), beginning to teach others and even take over class when the sensei was absent. Everything that emerged was indicative that this student would grow and flourish and rank up quickly. There were discussions on the possibility that he would become an instructor and potentially have a dojo of his own someday. This is often the pipe dream of most senseis, since the idea is that eventually the student would go on to teach in a dojo of their own. But that isn’t what happened in this instance. Instead, things came to a head when the students attitude and personality took him one step too far in the wrong direction. On an unfortunate night when the students attitude was training at our main dojo, he was part of a circuit training we were doing where one of the stations involved sparring with Sensei (my instructor, not his from his own dojo).

During an unfortunate session where he was sparring with Sensei, he started to get a little cheeky and sarcastic, choosing to cross boundaries with a man who could literally wipe the floor with anyone within the dojo. Sensei kept warning him to mind his tongue and focus on the sparring. The students response was to try and take a cheap shot and make a snarky comment in the same instance. Sensei had had enough. He delivered a very precise front kick to the gut, which sent the students attitude reeling back and tumbled to the floor. He left the dojo, citing he couldn’t breathe. His own instructor, they had attended class with everyone that night, commented later that he had the breath knocked out of him and didn’t plan on coming back. What was sad to see, was that this student had a lot of promise, had progressed quite well and was on the fast-track to testing for his next belt grading. Unfortunately, instead of recognizing the lesson and the important aspect involving dojo etiquette, he chose to let his pride get to him and walked away.

The student continued to train off and on for about another year after that but soon let go of karate completely. He came to regret it, years later, as we’ve discussed the past and our training. He often wishes he had stuck with it. The parties involved, to this day, still argue who may have been at fault and who should have been the bigger person. Regardless, karate isn’t a knitting circle. There’s etiquette and protocol involved and one needs to learn these aspects as part of their training. Not always easy for someone with a “colorful” personality. There have been times throughout the years that I’ve offered to train with him. But he’s declined. Now, the student who showed promise has become an inactive lump. This is an example of how the student who shows promise ends up going down an incorrect path and leaves the art. Now, for an example that demonstrates a bit of the opposite.

Another student, whom I had the pleasure of training with and watching grow, was not what one would call a shining star. A bit on the quiet side, carrying a bit of added weight, he was the personification of the kind of student you see at the beginning of a feel-good martial arts movie; where the quiet, harassed youth becomes proficient and brings it back against his antagonists. But over his first year, it was hard to imagine there would ever be anything around his waist but white. Sloppy and inefficient, he showed aspects that the student from the other story did not. He showed up, he was disciplined, he learned the dojo etiquette and had great respect for the skills being taught to him. What he lacked in skill, he made up for with discipline, commitment and clear desire to learn. Even through some of the harshest drills I had put him through and some of the roughest sparring he dealt with, he just kept coming back. Unfortunately, I had achieved black belt and moved on to my policing career and left the area before I could have a fulsome view o said progress.

It wouldn’t be until a couple of years later, while visiting family and friends back home, that I would join a larger class and did a double take as a I realized that the student was wearing a green belt! Given my previous perceptions, I was pleasantly surprised, as much so as I was once I trained that night and saw his determination, increase in skills and discipline within the dojo. I was impressed with his growth and his ability to deliver the techniques that not so long prior, I had felt he may never master. It was humbling and impressive, all wrapped up in the student still being somewhat soft spoken and quiet. A perfect combination. Another three or four years down the road and I was further taken aback when I visited and saw a brown belt wrapped around his waist. To say I was proud and impressed is the least I could comment. The distinct irony with these two stories, is that the proficient student from the first story who quit, helped teach and coach the shy, timid student that didn’t seem to have the drive. And yet, the first one walked away while the second one stuck it out and progressed.

The lesson here, is simply what I noted at the start of the second paragraph. One should never judge a book by its cover. The same can be said of people. Did I imagine the first student would grow and progress to become a black belt and subsequently an instructor? Absolutely. Did that happen? No, an unfortunate byproduct of many different spawned, challenges, etc. Did I assume the second student would progress? I’m ashamed to say that I judged quite harshly in the beginning and assumed he would become one of the many hundred who joined, trained for a time then moved on. But he proved me wrong and climbed the grading system. It’s unclear to me where he’s at today or whether he still trains. But he reached a point where he could conceivably keep training on his own. This is particularly important, since Sensei has closed his dojo. But as I mentioned before, one of the most interesting things about the dojo environment is that you can simply never tell. Every person is different, with their own paths ahead. Not everyone is meant to be karateka. And some whom you believe may not be suited will often surprise you. That’s why it is so important, as part of your dojo training, to observe. Watch. Learn from others. This is just one small piece of the million-piece puzzle that is karate. Good for thought… ☯️

Slow And Steady Isn’t JUST For The Race…

As one gets older and life carries on, one may begin to contemplate life, how it’s lived and how perspective changes over time. As a child, I wasn’t exactly what one might call energetic. Being afflicted with Type-1 Diabetes, which back then was referred to as “Juvenile Diabetes,” I was often lethargic and lacking in energy, mostly a byproduct of rampantly uncontrolled blood sugars. I’ve written about this before; I don’t begrudge my parents any damage that may have been done when I was a child. After all, I WAS a child and had minimal understanding of what had happened to me and it was the early 80’s in a small, rural Northern New Brunswick town with limited medical resources. I’m lucky I survived into adulthood. But that’s a story for another day. The point is, despite the lethargy and lack of energy, I was like most children and usually insisted on running, climbing and jumping on absolutely everything in my path. This was a sore point for my mother, with whom I spent extended time when my father was at work.

It irked her because of her concerns that I could injure myself. Unbeknownst to her, one of her most annoying (at the time) habits was irking me as well; her walking speed. Now, at the time, I simply couldn’t comprehend why my mother would always walk so damn slowly. It drove me nuts and I often tried to urge her along. This carried on well into my teens and into adulthood when I finally left home. In retrospect, I recognize that she was actually several years younger than I am now when I started to notice this trend, meaning that it couldn’t be attributed to old age. As I got older and started to raise this with her more as a conversation than a comment, her only response was, “I don’t have a reason to hurry or rush. So, why would I? This is the speed I walk. If you don’t like it, then don’t walk with me.” At the time, it seemed dismissive and ignorant. The perspective of a young teenager on the cusp of adulthood. But as I’ve grown to my current stage of this life, I recognize it as something more important.

Since I grew into adulthood and took control of my own health and wellbeing, I’ve been what many might refer to as a dynamo of energy. Every job, every karateh class and every workout I’ve ever done has been carried out with maximum effort, maximum speed and no time wasted. This habit carried on into my personal life, where chores, errands and getting things done involved hammering through them with no room or time to delay or move slowly. Certainly, my career in law enforcement has benefited from this perspective, since time and urgency can be very important elements of a police officer’s daily life. But in the past few years and since retiring from law enforcement, my views and perspectives have changed. And some of it happened without my even noticing it. It was quiet, sneaky and insidious, even. A perspective on daily life and one’s own mental health that I had never really come to appreciate or recognize before.

Some of this realization came from earlier this week when I travelled to a neighboring city for a work function. The hotel it was being held at was completely booked and I found myself staying at a different venue. For to parking availability, I found myself having to walk from the venue to my hotel. While this is no big deal, I found myself with some free time during the afternoon and decided to “dry run” the walk so that I could effectively time how long it would take me to get from one point to the other. This was so that I would risk being late for the event. I left point “A” and walked towards point “B” with the chronometer on my phone running to keep time. As I walked, I realized it was more of a casual saunter. I wasn’t rushing, I wasn’t hurrying, and I wasn’t just trying to get from point A to point B as quickly as possible. I was taking my time. I was walking casually. All in all, the walk took less than ten minutes at a leisurely pace, so I was in good shape. But this realization awoke… well, realization…

So much of modern life is rooted in rushing around, or what’s otherwise known as the “rat race.” This is a terrible way to live, considering this rat race is often one of the main contributors of stress, mental health issues and even physical ailments like high blood pressure and cardiac issues. While hurrying and carrying a sense of urgency can be important in some instances, finding the means to move casually and without rushing can help alleviate many of the things I named in this paragraph. It doesn’t mean I’ve grown slow, or age is catching up to me. I’ve simply begun to realize that setting the tone for oneself early on in the day can determine how one’s day will go over all. Slow and steady can allow oneself to remain calm, relaxed, maintain lower blood pressure and reduce stress. This is something I realized about two years ago when my morning routine was drastically changed.

About two years ago, I changed up how my morning routines have run. Prior to this change, I would wake to an early alarm, hit the ground running and could shit, shave and shower and be out the door tub under fifteen minutes. Looking back, I was actually proud of my ability to “launch” this effectively, first thing in the morning and more importantly, often without caffeine in my system yet. But I began to correct this process when I began to realize two very important details. One, this method of starting my day meant that I was stressed and harassed before even setting foot in my office. And two, I didn’t NEED to rush. I was in a position where I could actually take some time, first thing in the morning, to allow my mind to start absorbing the day and make my way to work calmly. The result has been getting to work much more relaxed and prepared to tackle the tasks of the day, as opposed to being a pent up ball of rage without even having started work yet

The point is, there is suffered in life. And with that suffering comes stress. At some point, we all come to realize that doing whatever we can with the tools we have available to reduce that stress goes a long way towards reducing our respective suffering. When it comes to my everyday life, I’ve come to realize that when I don’t need to rush, I SHOULDN’T rush. Will it be life changing? Probably not. Will it potentially revive some stress and help make me somewhat happier? Without a doubt. And in the end, that can make a great world of difference. Ask yourself, what is your slow walk? What can you do or what can you change, that will help you to reduce the stress in your life. And less stress means a happier, healthier life. And ultimately, that’s all one can truly hope for. Food for thought… ☯️

It’s Not All About Me, or A Review: The Incredibles (Possible Spoilers)

Film and mainstream television can be great at making you feel like you relate to what you see on the screen. For the most part, finding a way to make characters or situations relatable to the folks watching can be an effective way to increase/ensure viewership and can often spell the success of a series or film. None of this is quite as prominent as with the superhero mythos. Generally speaking, watching Superman or the Flash swoop in and save those who can’t save themselves or thwarting the bad guys gives people something to cling to, an ideology to aspire to, and can lead to changes within the viewers life. For myself, I’m a firm believer in simply enjoying the ride; not necessarily relating to any particular aspect but accepting that a film is just a film and enjoying it for what it is. But I can’t deny that there are often aspects of myself that I see in some of these films. And light knows my wife will often point out how some characters we see are reflective of my own beliefs or personality. That’s where “The Incredibles” comes in…

The Incredibles is an animated, Disney Pixar film that was released in 2004. I remember that at the time, I was a bit reluctant to give this film any time. Especially since Spider-man 2 also came out that year, which is something a little more my speed. But once I watched it, it resonated with me in a way that an animated movie normally wouldn’t. In summary, The Incredibles follows the life of Bob Parr, a man with superhero-level strength who fights crime as part of his daily life under the name “Mr. Incredible.” When society begins to turn against the “Supers,” Bob and his family are forced into hiding and living a quiet, “suburban” life. Bob is unhappy with this, realizing that he’s living a life he never planned on, doing something he doesn’t want to do. This resonated with me, considering that I was in a quasi-similar situation, where I used to fight crime and save lives. Eventually, when certain specific parties turned against me and my career was jeopardized, I stepped away and went into proverbial hiding; choosing a different job and career path that took me away from what I had previously felt I was born to do.

Eventually, Bob is contacted by unknown parties to solicit his help in defeating and capturing an experimental robot before it gets out to the public. Behind the scenes, the robots are being designed by an evil genius hellbent on revenge against Mr. Incredibles for being shunned by him when he was a kid looking to become a sidekick. The result is Mr. Incredible is brought back into action, along with his wife Helen Parr (Elastigirl) and their children, who antelopes powers as well. While campy and entertaining, the film provides a darker look at a man’s attempt to be strong enough to protect his family and acknowledging that no level of strength will make him strong enough to deal with their loss. I may be speaking strictly for myself but that’s something that most fathers and husbands that I now would feel and experience. In the end, Bob comes to realize that he’s stronger with his family than on his own and they team up to ultimately win the day and take out the bad guys, like any good superhero movie should.

I wanted to link a few stock photos for reference, for those of you reading who may not have seen the movie. But it stands to reason that there wouldn’t be any free, stock images for this film. The film stars Craig T. Nelson as the voice of Bob Parr, which is interesting because until that point, I had only seen him in the sitcom “Coach,” or as the dad in “Troop Beverly Hills” (Don’t judge, it was a good film). The film spoke to me in a number of areas. Fatherhood and settling down with a family, not getting to pursue your chosen career and how to consolidate one’s family life with work life, being the most prominent aspects. I usually find an aspect that I can connect to. For example, I’m streaming the American medical drama “House.” I find that Dr. House’s approach and general sarcasm often matches how I interact with people. I’ll notice little things like this in most shows I watch but in this case, The Incredibles touched on enough different points I could relate to, that it prompted this post.

This is the kind of singular I have when I’m sitting quietly and left to my own devices. Y’all get a review post about a film that came out twenty-two years ago, Man, time flies. The film also resulted in a sequel, with a third apparently on the way. But the original is definitely worth a watch and given all the different aspects the film covers. And it’s fun. That’s kind of an important part. I’m still of the belief that a film is just a film and should usually be enjoyed for what it is; something created for entertainment purposes. But once in a while, some aspects or scenarios will touch your subconscious, and bring focus to aspects of your own life that you may have slowly forgotten. This is how one connects to film, how one relates, and how people end up watching in the first place. As you may have guessed, there’s no deep, philosophical point to today’s post. It’s just food for thought in an otherwise hungry society. Do with it what you will (and watch the movie)! ☯️

Letting The Hate Flow Through You…

Okay, maybe “hate” is a bit of s strong word but I couldn’t help to have a small play on words from Star Wars. But the focus of today’s post is negative emotion, more specifically, anger. We all get angry sometimes. The best example of anger in action is in toddlers. Think about it, when a toddler doesn’t get what they want or can’t vocalize what they need, they tend to let their internal anger grow and bubble up to the surface. As adults, we tend to identify these emotional outbursts as “tantrums” and usually do our best to stop them from occurring. Sometimes, punitive discipline, such as being relegated to one’s room or having a favorite toy away, is used as a means of not only stopping these angry outbursts but to also prevent future outbursts from happening. But is that the right approach? Just to be clear, folks, this post isn’t an attempt at telling folks how they should parent their child. In fact, with the exception of this particular example, the post will be about anger in general and not focused on children. It’s just an extremely good example.

I need to confess that I’ve probably re-written this post about three times, followed by deleting the content and starting from scratch. Why? Because anger, and really, most emotion in general, has always been a bit of a difficult concept to me. As a child, I was usually timid, withdrawn and never really displayed huge outbursts of visible emotion. During my formative years, I was what most Trekkies would consider to be a proverbial Vulcan, perhaps experiencing the emotions inside but keeping them internalized so that all you see is the creepy, unsettling calm of a young child showing you nothing that you could gauge. As I got older, I was victim of bullying all throughout my school career. While this has a measurable effect on anyone it would happen to, for me, it had the effect of encouraging my martial arts training and to begin using some of my emotion as a valuable tool for growth. Some of the after effects surrounding anger didn’t work out for me so well. By the time I had graduated high school and made my way through college, anger started to become a very real part of my reality. And I externalized it likely far more than I probably should have.

It wouldn’t be until I reached the young stage of adulthood that I would begin to embrace martial arts, not only as a fighting art and means of self-defense, but as a focusing tool to allow me to channel and move my anger in a constructive way, instead of constantly losing my shit over the smallest things. Soon after, I began studying Zen Buddhist concepts, immersing myself in meditation, breathing exercises and finding ways to center myself. You would be amazed at how simple, deep-breathing exercises and clearing one’s mind can help focus and eliminate the anger in your heart. But the combination of both the martial arts and Buddhist concepts have allowed me to work through the past couple of decades in rather stressful and dangerous circles, all the while keeping my cool and controlling my anger. It doesn’t mean I don’t experience that anger; I’ve simply found a way to channel it. I often quip that I’m not calm because I study Buddhism; I study Buddhism to ensure I maintain that calm. To the average person, there likely doesn’t appear to be a difference. To the one working through, the difference is palpable.

So, what is anger? hell, what is emotion in general? Well, on the not-so-physical front, there’s a reason why people refer to emotions as “feelings.” Because it’s something you often end up feeling. Or your emotion elicits some physiological reaction in the body. If you’re sad, you’ll begin to weep. If you’re attracted to someone and begin to develop amorous feelings, your pulse and heart rate increases, you may sweat a bit and if this happens when you’re unfortunately in your teenage years, you may experience some embarrassing visible effects, which usually happen to you right around the time the teacher calls you up to the board to solve a math problem. Such is life. But because of this, and the physiological reaction they cause, most people throughout the ages have believed that emotion comes from the heart. My 11-year old son wisely commented to his mother recently that according to him, the heart only pumps blood. It doesn’t house feelings such as love. Smart kid. I may get to retire early yet…

So, where do emotions like anger actually come from, if not the actual heart? Well, that’s a complicated question and bearing in mind that I’m not a doctor, proceed at your own risk and take what I’m writing with grain of salt. For the most part, emotion stems from a number of systems within the body working together. Starting with the amygdala, which processes everything and tells your brain what emotion you should be feeling, this is coupled with the systems in the body that release key hormones and cause the physiological responses one feels. Then, your body generally pairs that with memory to connect the feeling with the thought, which elicits whatever response you may have. Some of that is primal and genetic and can’t be avoided, such as freezing in place when one hears a hissing snake. Evolution has given us certain genetic memories of when we should feel fear. There’s a whole mess of other moving parts mixed in there but as I said, I’m not a doctor and I certainly don’t understand some of it.

I found an interesting article in Psychology Today, which was posted in September of 2024, that says “(Charles) Darwin assumed a universality of emotional expressions – that they are expressed the same way across cultures and many species. He proposed that emotions are evolutionary adaptations that have helped humans and animals survive and reproduce, and argued that certain emotional expressions are linked to particular physiological responses and behaviors. Influenced by Darwin’s assumptions about emotional expression, in the second half of the twentieth century a theory developed that postulated that there are several basic hardwired emotions arising from deep, ancient, subcortical parts of the brain and that these basic emotions are universally expressed by all humans and shared by many animal species.”

Some of this makes a lot of sense. After all, people across the world who speak different languages and live in different cultures all feel the same happiness, the same anger, the same sadness… Emotion is almost a universal language. This is why people know what a smile is, even from infancy, and use it to express happiness. But some of Darwin’s thoughts focus on the fact that emotions are hard-wired as a result of evolution. If you have ten minutes for a constructive read, click on the hyperlink above and work through the article. It has some great insights into different emotional models. I’m slowly working my way off topic here and going down a bit of a rabbit hole, since my initial intention had been to discuss anger. But it’s difficult to look at a singular emotion without recognizing some o the generalized processes that occur in all of them. So here we are. And we should get back on topic. Before I get angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry… (see what I did there).

This raises the very basic question of, is anger a bad thing? The easy, high-level answer is no. All emotion one feels is not only perfectly normal and part of who you are as a human being, but experiencing them and expressing them is not only healthy, it’s necessary. The key point is HOW you express them. That’s what can make the difference between acknowledging that the asshole in the next lane didn’t MEAN to cut you off and you should get on with your day, or following them aggressively, while honking your horn and nearly causing a collision, just so they can see you flip them off at the next red light. And no, I’m not necessarily speaking from experience. But I have had a lot of experience. And I’ve existed in various states of anger and how I’ve dealt with it. In my teens and early 20’s, I didn’t experience or feel much anger. I’m always reminded of a time when I was out to coffee with a friend. He had always had a bit of an anger issue, and we were sitting at a corner table that had windows around it. Three youngsters stood outside one of these windows and began smoking. They were laughing and occasionally looking inside at us. My friend felt they were laughing at us and felt it was his obligation to step outside and teach them respect. I felt nothing.

Not feeling anger is not necessarily a good thing. In certain circumstances, it can signal that a person is suppressing or repressing them, perhaps as a result of an earlier trauma in life or because you were raised to believe anger was bad and would be punished. That being said, those feelings often surface as something else, such as anxiety or depression. During my younger years, I never looked at myself deeply enough to understand any of that but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized the importance of anger. Most people don’t take the opportunity to realize that anger can signal some very important things, like knowing that a personal boundary or belief has been crossed, that something is unfair to you or requires you to step up, emotionally. Anger is also important to help one with self-reflection; looking deep within themselves to potentially understand the source of this anger and why it was triggered. Last but not least, anger can be an incredible motivator. I’ve channeled my anger into workouts, karate sessions and as a tool to properly assert myself and re-examine situations I find myself in.

So, in closing, the important key aspect to note is to acknowledge that anger isn’t inherently a bad thing. Like most emotions on the spectrum, it’s how you process and deal with it that will make the difference. If you allow your anger to control you and drive your decisions, you can find yourself in compromising and even dangerous situations before you know it. But if you can learn to understand your anger and channel it appropriately, it can serve as an important tool that not only teaches you a few things along the way but can also be a powerful motivator for the adversity of life. The important thing is to find what works for you. Meditation and karate has been absolute life changers for me. But that may not work for someone else. After all, we’re all different people. So, the next time you get a craving for your favorite salt & vinegar chips and some wretched bastard ahead of you grabs the last bag, don’t grab them and put them through a window in rage. Instead, stop, take a deep breath and look within yourself. Don’t try to suppress your anger. Simply channel it and learn from it. You’ll be all the better for it. Food for thought… ☯️

Proper Etiquette, Or False Entitlement?

It’s a clam, quiet Saturday morning. After waking up and getting dressed, you decide it might be nice to bring your child to a local coffee shop for a breakfast pastry of a muffin. You take the opportunity to avail yourself of your favorite breakfast sandwich and a dark roast coffee, intent on watching the world around you as your 6-year old enjoys a rare outing combined with a treat. You walk into the popular coffee chain and as one could expect, the place is what the kids would call “jumpin’.” Just about every table is occupied with at least one person. You begin to consider that maybe you’ll have to take your treats to go, when you spot one remaining table with no occupants. It happens to be a 5-seater with plush chairs and a round table. Your kid excitedly runs to the table and takes a seat. you take the one next to him. You settle in and begin to relax, letting the hot caffeine course through your system. Your kid does some people watching, and stares out the window at the sunny scenery of the world.

Just about then, a group of four loud, laughing individuals come walking in to the coffee shop. They appear to be happy in their entourage, smiling and seemingly enjoying their own company and environment. They order from the coffee shop staff with an almost intentional detachment., essentially ignoring the human beings serving them coffee outside of mumbling their drink order. As they receive their drinks, they scan the room for a place to sit. Their eyes fall on you and your child and they begin to walk over. You feel your sense of relaxation shatter and already know what’s coming. As they approach, the first one speaks, “Excuse me… Would mind freeing up the table? You and your kid are taking up the only space we can sit…” You casually remind this person that there are several 4-seater tables with only one occupant that they could ask, or wait until one of them departs but this is a rare weekend outing for you and your child and you won’t be moving until you’re both done. The group become indignant and begin raising their voices and making a scene, claiming you need to move for them and have no right to take up the space when they need it. You sigh heavily and look to your child, who watches you, wondering what your reaction will be…

It raises an important question, and one that you should ask yourself: What would you do in this situation? Would you cede your table to this loud, rude group? Or would you stand firm on the basis that as a paying customer, you have just as much right to the table, since you got there first? It’s a much more common occurrence than you might think. The world seems to have evolved to a place where people carry an undeserved sense of entitlement and expectations from others, instead of recognizing that the world does not revolve around them. They lack the understanding that respect, especially as it relates to strangers in the surrounding world, if very much earned from both sides. And the moment you step out of the door, the outside world owes you nothing. But people don’t seem to understand that. Modern society seems to think they can simply demand and expect, and the world will kowtow to their demands.

I’ve seen this in dozens of stories and posts where people expect others to give up certain seats on airline flights and pitch a fit when the occupants don’t comply. It’s right up there, with expressions like “the customer is always right” and “do you know who I am?” It can make it difficult to navigate the world unmolested or without being harassed, or even enjoy the word, as it sits. The scenario in the coffee shop is just one of many things that society throws at the reasonable people when all they’re trying to do is relax and enjoy their environment. Those entitled people don’t acknowledge the world around them and when they do, they only do so when they need something from them. It reminds me of a situation I ran into at the grocery store a short time ago. I was walking through the grocery store, picking up a couple of items before going home.

As I was making my way through the far back corner of the supermarket to start heading towards the front, a lady was walking along, idly thumbing on her cell phone. She appeared to have what I assumed were two sons with her; one about six or seven years old and one in his late teens. The teen son was pushing the cart. The first problem came as the lady casually cut in front of me to walk past, nearly colliding with me. I cleared my throat but she never noticed. Then, in a display of oblivious ignorance, the older son parked his cart diagonally across the aisle, effectively blocking anyone’s ability to walk through. Then, he sat there, waiting for his mother who had gone down the adjacent aisle. I coughed once. He didn’t move. Then, I said, “Excuse me?” The boy turned and saw me and said, “Oh, my bad, man…” and stepped away from the cart.

I felt my patience waning as I saw the scene play out and considered that I may be on film, perhaps for some reality show, that I wasn’t aware of. After all, how can rational people be that oblivious, right? I said, “Could you move your cart? You’re blocking the aisle, no one can get through.” The boy grabbed the cart and pulled it away. I barely got ten felt away when I was approached from behind by the mother, who had now hung up her phone and was acting as though I had just punched a puppy. Her puppy. “How dare you speak to my son that way…?” I almost laughed at her anger. I hadn’t raised my voice, I hadn’t been rude and all I did was ask him to move his cart so that people, myself included, could get through. Despite explaining this to her, she was acting like I had kicked her kid into the gutter and spat on him. She was indignant at the fact that I had the audacity to speak up or try to get by. This is also a common occurrence that I often see within the world.

Folks, life is short. Your time on this world is fleeting. And light knows that there’s enough suffering in the world. It’s important to remember not to intentionally cause more. The world owes you nothing. And the important thing is the energy you put out into the world is what will eventually come back to you. So, if all you do is live with an inflated sense of entitlement and you think the world owes you a living, you may be in for a rude awakening. No one owes you a damn thing. And respect is earned. So, if this is you, and you can relate to the scenarios outlined in this post, put your phone down, keep your eyes up and pay attention to the world around you. And focus on putting good out into the world. Important food for thought… ☯️