Intentions | Survival

“The theme of the white belt is survival, nothing more and nothing less. After all, this is what the white belt has to do from the first day of class. He is not going to arrive in class and beat the best. He has no one to whom he can compare himself because he is still an empty vessel. Although one often takes up jiu-jitsu to learn submissions, the first lesson for the beginner is survival. Before he moves on, the white belt must become a survivor.”

— Jiu-Jitsu University, by Saulo Ribeiro

After a week-and-a-half hiatus from the mats, I'm back to practicing Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. It amazes me how a new practice can become so integral to my routine that being away for a short period of time is enough to get me down. But that affirms how beneficial BJJ is.

It felt great to be back at the Sunday morning white belt fundamentals class. The lesson was a good reinforcement on lapel chokes. I rolled three or four times, once with a brown belt and once with a blue belt. I had no answers for what they were throwing at me, and did my best to avoid situations that would result in me having to tap out.

But I was able to surprise a few of the higher-ranking white belts. Inevitably, though, I'd overextend myself, make a mistake, and get caught in some kind of submission. Tap. Repeat. Just like the sparring sessions with the higher ranks.

Later in the day, I was at home nursing my wounds when I came across the passage at the top of the post. It brought me back to earth. I've taken the first few steps of what will be a long journey. Reaching for submissions, overextending myself and making mistakes amount to trying to sprint before I can crawl.

There's also something liberating about being "an empty vessel," as Ribeiro says. It takes ego out of the equation. He writes, "Practice jiu-jitsu with a childlike mind. Have you ever considered why children have such an accelerated learning curve? Part of the reason is that they are more concerned with enjoyment than ego. Try to envelop yourself in a child's naivety."

Intentions | Growth

I took a Brazilian Jiu Jitsu class yesterday. This was my first time rolling, but not my first martial arts experience. I practiced Koei-Kan Karate for about three years as a kid. The experience was beneficial, but ultimately, I had other interests -- football, chief among them. I climbed only as high as some degree of green belt.

Martial arts appeal to me for the same reason that football did. I'm about as un-athletic, uncoordinated and goofy as a guy can get (see the image above). To compensate, I focused -- in football and karate -- on mental discipline instead. I couldn't outrun our out muscle anybody, but I could push myself further and keep a clearer head under pressure.

Level-headedness abandoned me yesterday. Running through the first lesson with my coworker, Joe, my heart rate spiked. I was pouring sweat by about ten minutes in. I had opened the bottomless pit of energy that only adrenaline can supply. It was like the fight was real. I knew I was going to crash out when the well of energy ran dry.

Over the course of the class, Joe pointed out a few of the black belts. They had been rolling for about 45 minutes at that point and were just beginning to break a sweat. Their breathing was even and measured. To me, they weren't reacting to what their opponent was doing so much as they were observing, analyzing and responding.

I was definitely reacting. At one point, I caught myself flailing and closing my eyes as I tried to break out of Joe's guard, only to be swept onto my back. I laughed at how little I knew.

I'm banged up this morning. The tops of my feet are short some skin. My forearms look like a martian landscape. A few vertebrae in my neck seem to have fused in my sleep. But I feel amazing. I'm building something new.

Intentions | Efficiency.

There was a phrase in a recent episode of The Tim Ferriss Show in which Ferriss described "searching for the lead domino" when tackling a series of problems or tasks. The strategy: Identify the one problem that when solved, takes out all or some of the others. 

Its simplicity is beautiful. What has made this concept so difficult to embrace in the past is my inability to start anywhere but the beginning. I blame it on OCD. But now I don't have much of a choice. I have to be more efficient.

I recently moved back to the burbs again (more on that later in the week), and as a result, my commute doubled. I didn't take a vacation from the blog last week. There was no time to post. Or was there? Was that just Resistance talking?

Consider this week a living experiment in searching for that lead domino. I still intend to get eight hours of sleep, five workouts in during the week and 1,000 words of the book written each night. Can I also update this blog five times? To be determined. But I think it can be done.

Intentions | Confidence.

Self-doubt is insidious. We've all seen it sabotage what should be easy. You have that two-foot putt lined up, then, that nagging voice in the back of your head asks, what would happen if you missed? How would that feel? Bet it would feel pretty awful. And the ball cuts wide, rolling downhill off the green and into the rough.

I'm in no way athletic. And I suck at golf. But one of the few things I'm good at is archery. As an archer, I'm at my best when I'm not thinking. The bow is an extension of my left arm, the release and the arrow an extension of my right. Together, we are just a machine that shoots arrows. The world begins at the tip of the broad head. It ends at the target.

I miss often when I get in my own way, when something breaks that contiguous plain of consciousness of arrow, bow and limbs. That voice is there, asking what would happen if I missed. In truth, if I missed, I'd knock  another arrow and shoot again. As simple as that sounds, it took me a while to figure out.

On a recent episode of the Joe Rogan experience, Vinny Shoreman, a mind coach for fighters, talked about how so many of his clients have the same problem. They get in their own way. Shoreman's main objective is to have the fighter's inner confidence trump their self-doubt.

He does not instill them with confidence. He brings what's already there to the surface. 

Intentions | Smile. It won't kill you.

It's December 19, 1914. You're in West Orange, New Jersey. Before you burns the most spectacular blaze you've  ever seen. Columns of technicolor smoke and fire climb skyward. The air smells like burning cotton candy. Glass is shattering in the heat. Walls that were supposed to be fireproof are crumbling. You're watching one of Thomas Edison's laboratories -- full of decades of innovations -- burn.

Edison arrives. And he's smiling. The Wizard of Menlo Park is actually smiling.

This was the recent subject of a podcast by Tim Ferriss. You can listen to it here to find out why, exactly, Edison was smiling. This episode had a big impact on me.

I'm not stranger to setbacks, though mine are minor in comparison. If Edison could smile at his burning factory, I could have done with a lot less pissing and moaning about the cracked rim you see above. 

Regardless of my reaction, the rim was still broken. Acknowledging it with a smile rather than the bird makes moving forward much easier.