My Time as a Human

Everyone likes the idea of punishment. Punishment makes the world simple, safe, and under our control. Religious extremists make great use of this. If the people who just died in a terrible hurricane were doing something “wrong”, and are being punished, then it means that the same thing won’t happen to you because you are doing what is “good” or “right” according to your group’s belief system. One action leads to another. The outcome is in your hands.

The problems with this system are obvious. It doesn’t matter that a child is eight years old when it happened; when a child’s parents die the child often takes on a lifetime of guilt, wondering what they did to cause or deserve this. When the seeming impossibility of someone so young being to blame is too much, some systems of belief incorporate a series of former yous that are to blame. (Past lives.) This means that you can feel all of the guilt of having done something terrible without actually having any known history of doing something terrible. At eight years old you’ve already been a brutal dictator who must be punished. In Christianity, there is even the idea that you are “born into sin” and never had a chance to begin with.

My current situation certainly gives me plenty of leverage to get cranky. I came to China fired up to work hard. I pushed myself and trained every day, doing what was “good” in the system that I understood: if you work hard without fail, you will be rewarded. Instead I overdid it and injured my knees so badly that it will now take more than six months to heal. Most of my time in China so far has been spent unable to freely walk and explore.

If I look at this as a punishment, it’s miserable to deal with. I’m being punished for knowledge I didn’t have at the time. It doesn’t seem fair. If I had known that the particular type of pain I was feeling was a clue to stop training for a while instead of pushing on I would be strong and healthy today. But I didn’t know.

Many years ago I also did what I thought was right and invested my money instead of letting it sit in a bank, and if I’d just diversified or pulled it out I’d still have money today. But the younger me didn’t and couldn’t have known these things and so I lost it all.

Now instead of guilt I’d like to introduce another concept, a concept that I’ve also seen used by religious people that are not so extreme. Everything that happens has a result. I can’t walk while I’m in an exciting new country and I don’t have any money left from all of my hard work. Those sound like pretty crappy outcomes. But one of the things that, say, a monotheist might say is that, “all things happen for a reason as part of God’s plan.” Atheists and others sometimes refer to the, “will of the universe” or things, “being as they should be”. This is radically different from looking for blame. In fact, because things happened the way they were supposed to, and always do, there is neither blame nor praise for anything you did to cause it. It just was. In fact, you don’t even have to look for a way it fits into someone else’s plan, be they god or universe. You can find ways it’s offered new opportunities for you or those you love. With this new pair of spectacles to see the world it’s time to reframe the results.

If I hadn’t lost all of my money I might have followed my plan at the time and been quicker to rush out into the world. Having not stayed in Austin I would never have moved into the fantastic Pink Palace and learned and taught so much there. I would never have met so many incredible people who are lifelong friends. I would never have experienced so many incredible loves. I might not have taken a class where I learned the word, “reframe”. You might not be reading this blog post right now, because I might have been traveling and not have started a blog and, even then, if I was still able to train kung fu here I wouldn’t have time to write right now.

So, there you have it. The universe/God/Goddess/the Great Spirt/any way you like it has willed that I write this blog post and that you read it. I have suffered a lot so that you can have this before you. I hope it was worth it!

Addendum

There seems to be some confusion, so to clarify: the last line is a joke. Otherwise it would negate the whole point! Of course it’s worth it, even if it sometimes takes looking from the right angle to see how. It’s something I’ve made a habit, and while I’m not perfect it continually transforms my life “setbacks” into a constant source of amusement and new challenges. As I mentioned in the comments, I wouldn’t even be able to speak Chinese now if I hadn’t been injured and given enough time, let alone met so many fun Chinese students from all over the world!

I just woke up on a little wooden couch at my kung fu brother Andy’s apartment. I crawled out of my warm new sleeping bag and filled a little part of China with the sound of clattering keys. I’m here! Outside people are laughing and shouting in a so very familiar but not yet understood tongue. They’re waiting for me to come out and play, to begin building a life of rooms to rent and cell phones. Soon. Very soon. But first I have to tell my people back home that I’m alive. Ah, it looks like that’s done!

My shoulders cry in a low wail along with the baby behind me as straps from fifty pound bags cut deep into muscle. The line stretches back through the airport behind me and forward into a coiled snake that has sat in wait for quite some time. The Chinese boy in front of me is still turning at regular intervals to see if his waiting mother is still visible, then removing his huge glasses to wipe the tears from his eyes once more. Visible or not, her shouts of encouragement and, likely, advice continue to make their way from the barrier far behind us.

This is it. After more than twelve years I’m going back to China. After two months of the constant burning stress of unloading a mountain of physical things that make up a life, the last week in LA was crucial. I woke up each day in Eric Peterson’s home by the beach, looking out over the ocean I would soon cross. I watched the sun set each night, traveling before me, warming my new home with a rich glow.
The timing couldn’t have been more perfect. I needed to recover and reflect and Eric was going through a time of transition and quiet. We biked down the beach each day to strech and move in yoga classes that were continual reminders of our environment. “Now reaching long towards the beach…”

Returning home, Eric made use of his profound new raw food cooking skills to dazzle me with spreads of nut pates, hummus mixes with tiny arrays of carefully placed nuts, bright red slices of cabbage dipping leaves and delightful fractal vegetables. Every morning began with a deep green liquid so vitamin rich and alive that it woke up my spirit and left me light.

We sat with the door open and let the day’s light illuminate our ongoing analysis and contemplation of life and love. I took long walks down the beach using up the last of my cell phone sharing time with some of the beloved people I’d missed in the rapid exit. I sat and watched the ocean caress the beach. I let me mind gently touch and then retreat from memories of my last days in Austin. I allowed tiny glimpses of the sadness and little smiles for the sweet moments and then returned to the ocean, the future, the mysterious, beautiful, huge shifting place before me.

This morning we arrived at LAX just in time to slip in under the very plane that was going to carry my guitar and sleepy sleeping self to the next phase of life. It drifted just over our heads and, crossing our path, floated away to prepare itself for me.

As it turned out, he had plenty of time. The thing about air travel is that it’s much like giving birth in that somehow, no matter how many times I do it, I somehow forget the pain and remember only the wriggling wonder that emerges on the other side. Now, as my brain and shoulders go numb from the pain and the waiting as I prepare to fumble through yet another stripping process, I remember. But I also know that it will all be over soon and it will be worth it. A longtime dream has been stirring quietly in my belly, waiting to emerge. Tomorrow I will see it born into the world before me and, smiling, I will reach forward to embrace it.

When I first signed up for this ride, I was looking for a launch into my next phase of life. But as I tear down all of my physical possessions a pattern emerges in the distribution of memorabilia. The framed photographs of the Chinese countryside. The paintings of Huan Xian. The Chinese sword. The Go set with flat bottomed stones. The Chinese coins. At last I pulled out the photo album sent me by my Chinese girlfriend of 12 years ago with the tiny handful of the only photographs I have from that time. There are six of our two and a half weeks in China. Six photographs. Two and a half weeks.

Even given my four year relationship with Weishi, that time seems so short compared to the lifelong sense of connection it established in me. The craving to return stayed with me ever since, and that journey has been delayed repeatedly over the years for one recurring reason.

The first big documentary film project I worked on was the story of an eccentric Austin songwriter that was shot and killed many years ago protecting an old man from his son. My friend Kevin Triplett started following the story and then built a small team including Mike Nicholson, Chris Ohlsen and myself. We interviewed hundreds of people over the years, traveling from Colorado to Georgia. Four dudes in a little van crossing the country picking up the pieces of a dead man’s story, looking through the tears and laughter and smiles of those who loved and hated him, many of whom were both, trying to get a glimpse of the man known as Blaze Foley.

Every time a relationship ended, it was time to move, and my ties were loose I would swear I was off to China. But this film, this epic project of so many years, kept creeping along. New discoveries. That one more great interview. Just plain getting it edited. At one point, after I had spent months doing early edits, all of the hard drives and computers were stolen and we had to start again from scratch.

Tonight, at 10:20pm at the Alamo Drafthouse in Austin Texas, I am going to see the finished film. Exactly two and a half weeks before my flight leaves for China.

Thanks Blaze. It turns out that, now, I can fly.