Holiday leniency has ended—not least of which for this silly blog, if at the very least, for my own benefit. I’ve always been more apt to be creative and productive in a frenetic, spontaneous way, but the inevitably long stretches between periods of inspiration have left me longing for more discipline in artistic pursuits. So even if it’s a push, I’m going to make myself do this.
It goes beyond creativity too, though. It would be easy for me to blame the time of year, as a perennial hater of the cold, with all sorts of naturalistic metaphors about the “dead” of winter, and how this is less a time of year for growth than for rest, for my lack of productivity, or I guess, general lack. But I’m not a plant, and so often, metaphors like that just feel like excuses to me. My ability to finish much of anything lately (be it songs, these journal entries, or even anything beyond a basic thought) has been lackluster at best.
I took a month off of jiu jitsu, that thing I do but never write about, in December. There was a gap in my health insurance (happy 26th birthday, deadbeat), and even though Brazilian jiu jitsu is about as non-combative as a combat sport can get and relatively lower-impact than something like MMA, it felt unwise getting on the mats without the umbrella of, at the very least, shitty insurance.
With my luck, I would’ve blown my knee out or something and either gone bankrupt from the bills or waited to get it fixed until bureaucracy caught up.
Reasonable enough. But again, something about it smells vaguely of excuses to me. Maybe the health insurance thing was partially a cover for some necessary time off, because I went back last night for the first time and felt much more invigorated about doing it, found myself enjoying rolling (what you might call “sparring”), and discovered that the dread I was feeling in November about it had dissipated. But there’s always the possibility that I was just being lazy. Whatever—now I’m back.
Good timing, too. I think my diet was like 60% cheese from Thanksgiving to New Year’s. My arteries will certainly welcome some renewed higher-intensity movement.
Most of the people who quit jiu jitsu do so when they reach the level I’m currently at, which is blue belt. I’m an early, overweight, hobbyist blue belt, which is to say, not the worst on the mats but also not very good, relative to everyone there.
The more sensitive parts of me have been concerned over the past year that consistently training a combat sport that sees the body as a mechanical system of leverage and breaking points has made me less kind, in some vague, intangible way. The thought that maybe the sport isn’t for me has certainly crossed my mind. It makes you look at people out in the world differently and, for me, has made me feel even more physically vulnerable in some ways.
One thing about myself that I consider a strength though, even if it isn’t always a fun one, is that I hate quitting things. When I start doing things, I want to see them through, and historically have gone to great mental and physical detriment to do so. That isn’t to brag, because I don’t think it’s necessarily something to be proud of—if anything it speaks to the presence, size, and insistence of my own ego, and a pathological inability to let go. The sunk cost fallacy made manifest in man, looked at another way, if you will.
But simultaneously, another part of me loves to make excuses, which isn’t to say there aren’t times when they’re valid, but I’m sensitive to any explanation I give myself that tells me I can’t do something.
When was the last time you gave yourself an excuse to do something you should do, as opposed to giving one to not do something? You get my point.
So I went back. And it was fun. And if New Year’s is good for anything, it’s reflection, and when I think back on who I was before I started doing it, I see someone entirely out of balance, drinking like a fish, lacking the unique community that can be offered by things like sports, and, really, lacking male friendship.
Balance. There’s such a thing as too sensitive.
An arguably more controversial opinion of mine has to do with kindness, and whether universal kindness is a virtue. I’m inclined to think that kindness that comes from desperation for approval and acceptance, and not from a place of self-confidence, doesn’t have any moral value because it doesn’t involve choice. It’s motivated by an ulterior motive, even if it’s a subconscious or hardwired one.
Sure, it’s nice. And I don’t mean to adopt a cynical capitalistic outlook on human relationships (i.e., a scarcity mindset), but I do believe that human friendship has value at least in part because of the exercise of choice. I try to be a good friend, but I’m also somewhat skittish around new people, and I think genuine kindness, like trust, is best earned.
Yet again, maybe I’m making excuses again. I play lots of open mics and try to be active in the local scene, so I come across plenty of eccentric people, some of whom I like, plenty of whom I do not. Maybe this whole line of thinking is just a way for my brain to let me be lazy, to not strive to meet people where they’re at, to stay within a narrow band of selfhood unaltered by the influence of new people. An excuse to withhold kindness. An excuse to project the unfair standards I hold myself to on to other people.
But then again, who are you? What do we really owe each other?
It’s tricky, at least partially because the guy sitting here writing this is much more confident and physically capable because of things like jiu jitsu than he was two years ago. It’s hard to see that as anything other than positive. So maybe I don’t think that grappling a couple nights a week has made me less kind—maybe it’s more that it’s made me more confident, which has dissolved some desperation for approval, which has just made me more selective with expressions of kindness. Which, one could argue I guess, is less kind.
Necessary caveat: kindness is not the same as basic decency or politeness, which I think should be strived for until someone gives you a reason to withhold it. By kindness, I guess I’m referring to the intangible “work” of friendship: labors either emotional or physical, intimate conversations, expressions of vulnerability, stuff like that. We’ve all found ourselves in the unenviable position of listening to someone spill their guts about deeply personal things when you really don’t feel comfortable being the recipient of all that, either because you aren’t that close with the person, or the timing is completely wrong. I’m sure I’ve been on the other side of that one, too.
I think, at least, being selectively kind feels more honest. I’m hesitant to make a grand statement about it, but generally, honesty is far more important to me than kindness. Yet again, maybe kindness can’t exist without honesty—one without the other would be something entirely different.
But what’s the virtue in being honest in unkindness? A hollow one, I suppose.
And what does that really look like, anyway? Making short, terse responses intended to communicate discomfort, in the hopes that this hypothetical social punisher will realize you’re not into it and move on? Seems harsh– rude even. But I’ve done it. I’ll probably do it again.
At the heart of this is an idea akin to something like, not all growth is necessarily good. Once again, we aren’t plants—we don’t necessarily grow towards the light. All you can do is your best to keep growth that suits you, and prune whatever doesn’t. And hope your internal “good” meter is calibrated right, which probably has something to do with having good friends who will call you on your bullshit, which I am lucky to have.
I try to avoid being didactic, but in this case it makes for a pithy closing:
Go forth, be kind, but more importantly, be intentional when you do.
matt nilsen 