Season One Finale Part One: When the Chips Are Down.

When I was in middle school and high school, I was tormented by bullies. I was beat up and spit on. One instance in particular I remember well, being cornered and threatened by the leader of a group of boys, and sitting silently, hopelessly outnumbered and alone as this kid stuck his finger in my eye. It was miserable, but it taught me a very valuable lesson.

If you want to know why I enlisted in the Marine Corps at 17, or if you want to know why I sought out formal combatives training,  earned my black belt and competed regularly, or if you want to know why I own a gun, and trained and educated myself in psychology and sociology, the answer lies back in that dimly lit high school one morning long ago, with that finger in my eye. Nobody was coming to help. It was just me and the six or seven guys who didn't like me.

It was something that was reinforced a few years later in the dark city streets near a bus stop in Oceanside, California. There was no one to help me then either, and this time it was more than pride at stake. That day saw a significant change in how I viewed personal safety. I walked away that day, and the other guy didn't . Because I knew no one was going to rescue me, and no one was going to scare this bully away.

At the end of the day, when the chips are  down, the only person responsible for the safety of you and your loved ones... Is you.

In those critical moments between 911 and the arrival of police, fire or EMS, you have to keep you alive. No one else will do it. No one else can.

The purpose of this week's brief entry is not to sound paranoid, but to give you all an idea on where my mind lies when we return next week. I have offended several people with my views on recent events, and I will go into them next week in the final installment of this "season."

We are all the product of our life's experience. Today, you have seen some of mine.

The next time you find yourself alone, or uncomfortable I hope you won't have to experience what I have experienced... 

That we are still savages.

Worth every ounce of effort.

"Staying married was the only way to work your problems out."--Miranda Lambert

I have been lucky enough to have stayed married to my best friend for over seventeen years.

Me an' the "Chief" back in the beginning

No. That isn't right.

Luck may have caused us to find each other, but hard work, perseverance combined with lots of respect and love are the reasons we have stayed together so long.

We have survived things that most marriages in the United States have not. Financial troubles, difficult employment situations and the death of a child to name a few. Yet here we are, going strong and not even hinting at slowing down.

There are a lot of reasons we could quit and go our separate ways.
There is never enough money.
There are significant limits on the time we can spend together.
Medical issues.
Out interests are night and day sometimes.
I am on the road more often than I like.
She likes to be around people, I like to be alone.
She likes the beach, I like the mountains.

There are a lot of better reasons we stay.
Two teenagers.
A sixth grader.
A fourth grader.
A second grader.
A first grader.
A house on an island with coconut trees.
A past we have shared together, and a future we are building the same way.

Neither of us have ever been unfaithful. There is simply nobody else that is important.

In spite of my travels for work, the destinations I find myself in and the company I keep, I always find myself on the phone at least once a day to talk to my best friend and the love of my life. It is always her that I miss. I can't wait to go home to her, and to them.

We have little in common sometimes it seems, different music, different movies, sometimes different politics, but in the end what we have is more than enough to compensate for those differences. Like any man, I do stupid things, she puts up with them. We discuss things rather than avoid them, even though many times we avoid them for quite a while before we discuss them. We don't always agree, but more often than not we compromise in the end. She is her own person. I am mine. She is the brains, I am the brawn. She is the Yin, and I am the Yang.

It sounds corny, but she completes me.
It sounds crazy, how lucky did I get?

In this day and age of automated checkout lanes, IMAX theaters, international space stations and instant everything, it is often easiest to simply throw up your hands and walk away. No fuss, no hard feelings, its just business. Slow to hire and quick to fire. We are now raised to believe that if something doesn't work in our lives we should change it.

Think about your relationship as a classic 1963 split window Corvette. You are out driving it the way it was meant to be driven. It looks great to everyone, and it is running like a champ. Its a hell of a lot of fun, too. But then, you throw a rod right through the oil pan. Smoking and sputtering, you pull to the side of the road and call AAA...

You wouldn't dream of just scrapping this beautiful car, would you?
You would have to sink a lot of time and hard work into rebuilding the engine, but in the end it is totally worth the effort isn't it?

It may sound silly, but it's true. Relationships require work. You can't always just walk away from an issue or ignore it an hope it will go away. I should know. Ignoring things has always been my favorite method. I don't always work as hard as I could for my marriage, but there have been times that I have had to work harder than I ever thought possible. I look at my friends and even some of my family who have been married two or even three times, and wonder how they do it! How--or for that matter why they would want to subject themselves to that kind of misery over and over again is a mystery to me. 

Perhaps its the Marine in me?

The "chief" and me fifteen years later!

The whole "honor, courage, commitment" thing? When I make a promise, I intend to keep it. I made a vow to love, honor and cherish my best friend until one of us dies. We are both still breathing. We are both still together.

You also have to work on seeing the person you fell in love with in the first place. No matter how much time has gone by, I look into my wife's eyes and I still see the willowy 24 year old beauty that caught my attention all those years ago. No matter what she thinks of herself, I can't see anything but the most beautiful woman in the world. There may be an ocean of "tens" out there, but I have my "eleven" waiting for me at home.

I love my wife. But it takes work.
Not because she isn't worthy or anything of that sort, but because anything worth having is hard work. 

And trust me, it has only gotten better. Every year. Every week. Every moment is better than the last.

Miranda Lambert is right, you know. "It's only worth the time you put in."

The longer it takes for couples to realize that it is more "blood, sweat and tears" sometimes than it is "happily ever after," the longer we will have to admit that...

We are still savages.

The Ghosts of New Orleans

The French Quarter

I had always wanted to go to New Orleans. Something about the city is so alluring, the history, the mystery and the magic (which is alive and well in the dark alleys) has beckoned me for years. Now I had the opportunity to spend a week in the French Quarter, where everything happens. This is where The excitement was, and the mystery. This is where the beautiful people congregated and the music never stopped.

I was eager to sit and listen to some good ole' Delta Blues, and I scrolled through venues on my iphone as the bus whisked me from Lois Armstrong to the French Quarter. I marveled at the cemetery as the shuttle carried me deeper into "Nawlins." The colossal mausoleums of polished marble and glass stood in the green fields as beautiful reminders of the delta's unusual perspective on death, and dying. I t was easy to see why ghosts and spirits are so much a part of the New Orleans culture. I commented to the woman seated next to me that it must cost a fortune to die in New Orleans, some of those tombs must have cost more than my first house.

Eventually the bus pulled to it's stop on Bourbon Street. The hotel The door squeaked open and I stepped off with my luggage in the heavy summer air. The street was crawling with people, many of whom had gathered to watch several young men painted white performing a dance in front of my hotel door.

The string of "Gentlemen's Clubs" on
Bourbon Street

But amidst the never ending party, amidst the amazing jazz and dixieland music and incredible food were people lurking and existing invisibly in plain sight. Skeletons peeked at me from dimly lit doorways, and skulls grinned at me from atop of shelves and brass based displays, reminding me again of the preoccupation with death and the spirits.

In the dark, I passed by one of the numerous "gentlemen's" establishments. A scrawny, pony tailed young man in a suit that was much too large for him stood out front, arms folded in front of him and calling out something that was supposed to entice and tantalize passers by (such as myself)to enter his dimly lit hall and experience the fulfillment of their fantasies. His demeanor could not be any more indifferent. As repulsed as I was by him, what I saw next made me feel even worse. I cast a passing glance into the door and my gaze was met by a slender young blonde woman wearing nearly nothing at all. She smiled at me sweetly, but that smile couldn't quite reach her eyes. The same was the case on my way back from the fabulous Redfish Grille, where the calls of two women in fishnets and leather beckoned me with "Hey baby, come play with us," in an enthusiastic tone that their body language simply could not match. I realized then that I had seen my first ghosts in New Orleans.

The Cafe Du Monde

The following day, I had taken a break from the company training I was in town for. I stood at the window of the conference room that looked directly onto Bourbon Street. Two surly looking homeless men, one shirtless and carrying a pit bull draped over his tanned shoulders was arguing with another man who appeared to be in his late forties to early fifties. This man was wearing a bite restraint mask, similar to the one Anthony Hopkins wore as Hannibal Lecter, a leather vest, black furry boy shorts and fishnet stockings. Later that evening I saw a young woman wearing only a bikini bottom and silver body paint. I walked the streets for almost an hour, witnessing the dozens of other assorted "performers," with no skills to appreciate wandering back and forth along Bourbon Street scavenging for tips, all part of the ambiance. All part of the electric atmosphere of this perpetual celebration. 

How had they ended up here? I wondered. How did it come to this for so many?

As I made my way to the incredible Cafe Du Monde I was halted by one of the most beautiful girls I had seen since my arrival. It was impossible to tell her age or nationality. Her skin was as dirty as her dreadlocked hair. She sat alone in a recess on the side of one of the busy streets, her little dog in her lap and a small cardboard sign that read, "Homeless and Hungry. Anything Helps."  I couldn't help staring at this child, whose pierced and dirty face brought out the stunning blue of her eyes, and wonder; "How did so much potential end up here?"

That my friends is the real mystery that I found in the City of New Orleans.

Homeless girl on Bourbon Street

When I looked at the once beautiful women who sold their souls for the entertainment of others who do not even see them as human beings, I grew sad. When I watched men humiliate themselves for a few dollars, I became uncomfortable. When I stared at the young homeless children--many of whom had audacity to match their apathy, my heart broke.

As I have stated, New Orleans is supposed to be full of ghosts and spirits. The city is the final resting place of the famous Voodoo Queen, Marie Laveau, and the age and history of the streets hold energy from generations. In spite of the Hoodoo, Voodoo and Conjure, the real ghosts of the City are these invisible souls that people pass by without a second glance, or worse still, look directly at and don't recognize at all as a person.

I wonder how many people who drop dollar bills for women that take their clothes off realize, that those girls were once somebody's baby? They are someone's daughter. Maybe someone's sister. Possibly someone's mother. That guy out on the corner dressing in fishnets and furry shorts was someone's kid. Those punks sitting in the middle of the sidewalk asking for your change or even your cigar... They belonged to someone.

Every one of those characters, strippers, or urchins have needs. They all have wants. It would do many of us to remember that if it may only take one act of misfortune before we ourselves find ourselves there. A good question for all of to ask, is how far would we be willing to go to make ends meet? What would be the price to sell our soul, our dignity?

Remembering how close my family was to losing everything while my oldest child was alive is very real to me. I do not find myself able to pass judgement on those who live in the shadows. I know how close I was to becoming like these men and women. I know that circumstance as much as choice have lead them here.  

On the opposite side of that coin, there is a beauty in New Orleans in that anyone can be anything that they want. Cast your inhibitions aside and start your life over as one of these characters! If that truly makes you happy, then by all means. While I may not respect your choice, I can absolutely respect you for making it. I remember the eyes of the ghosts in the alleys and realize that those who choose freely are the exception, not the rule.

By Friday, I was on a plane with the gentle, hypnotic hum of the jet engines was putting me to sleep. It was difficult to put this week's installment together sitting there on the Tarmac waiting to return to the sunshine state, and my family. 

My family.

How many of those ghosts I left in New Orleans had families?

How many of those families wondered what had ever become of their loved ones?

It isn't just the Big Easy that these specters can be found. They are everywhere, towns big and small. I have seen them in Detroit, Tallahassee, Chicago, San Antonio, Flint and Grand Rapids. I have seen them in Seattle, Orlando and in Los Angeles. I have seen them in Myrtle Beach, Tampa, San Diego and in Reno. They are everywhere.They may not be as "in-your-face" as they are in the town where the party never stops, but they are there. In the same recessed corners of the streets, the shelters, and the bars. What did it take for them to lose their self respect? More importantly, what would it take to get it back? 

The next time you happen to see one of these ghosts, try looking into their eyes. What do you see? If you see anything else but a human being, it simply reinforces the fact that... 

We are still savages. 

All Good Things...

"Not too long after Diane and I moved to Mount Pleasant, I got a call from a farmer named Don Hatfield. Don and his brother had just taken over their uncle's dairy farm in Mecosta County, and they needed help with a calving. 'We're having trouble getting the calf out of the cow, " he said in his wonderfully deep voice I got to know so well. When we started talking, Don admitted he didn't know much about dairying because his uncle, who had recently died, had taken care of the cows. So I spent quite a bit of time with at the farm, helping them out, teaching them how to care or their livestock. Don's family had been on the land a long time; that barn was just about one hundred years old. He was a wonderful man whose real passion was the history of this part of central Michigan. He interviewed all the old-timers and then compiled thick books telling the story of this area. Don did okay on the farm for a long time, then he more or less retired and sold the cows. When Don quit the barn I went over there and picked up some things I found lying around that I still have, like porcelain mineral cups for the cows. 'Take whatever you want,' Don told me. I still hear that beautiful grumble of his voice in my head. 

The next thing I know, the farm was sold to a potato farmer, who dug a big hole and pushed the beautiful old stone house and the barn into it and covered them up. I drove by the place once and stopped to take a good look, and I couldn't even tell where the house and barn had been. All that was let standing was the electrical pole with a transformer. I just sat there for a little while staring sadly at that field and remembering the people who had once been there. A hundred years of farming history pushed into a hole."

Nat Geo Wild's "Incredible" Dr. Jan Pol

From his book, Never Turn Your Back on an Angus Cow

So, about "the people who had once been there..."

As I will remember it.

It has been a year now since the man with the "beautiful grumble of a voice" has passed. Since then his wife Edna has also moved on. Today, I want to share with you my thoughts on the "people who had once been there," that the star of Nat Geo Wild's flagship series, the Incredible Dr. Pol, mentions so kindly in the opening pages of his delightful book. You see those "people who used to be there" were my people. That hundred years of farming history, was my history. The man with the "wonderful deep voce," was my grandfather.

In the grand scheme of things, it was seven years of my life. But in that seven years, I learned more about life, than I did in the Marine Corps, and college combined. In those fields I learned about working hard, being honest and respecting others--about respecting life. Everything on that farm had to do with life. The cattle were the revenue, the beef and the milk for your cereal. To lose a cow meant money out of my grandfather's pocket, money that they didn't have. We cared for the cattle and and they provided for us. The same with the crops. It was never said out loud, it was just the natural understanding of the land and the way of life. It was simple, but not easy. 

The Centennial Farm Sign

The old barn in 2011

And there was family. Every noon the men (and boys) would gather for dinner that grandma had spent the morning working on. Every Christmas, Thanksgiving or birthday, the vehicles would start rolling into the driveways of the uncles or the cousins. On some occasions, our cousins from Plainwell would actually fly in, landing their little aircraft in the hay field to the south of my grandparent's house. They would bring in crockpots filled with "sunday potatoes," "hot fudge pudding," and meat for the grill. Every year the whole family would gather and roast a pig, enjoying good food and each other. 

As these words are written, an offer has been accepted for the sale of the farmhouse Don and Edna shared. In the old grey house with the dirt cellar, I spent many nights, and ate many meals at the small kitchen table. With that it is all gone, and it won't be coming back. It is bittersweet to be certain, but like all things in life, it had to move on.

My grandfather meant the world to many. It was not just me who loved and respected him. All of his six children, his many grand children and great grand children were there with him at one point or another, until the end. Including me.

When I arrived at the Grand Rapids international airport, I was greeted by my father, and we climbed into his bog diesel GMC truck and began the hour and a half drive to Isabella County. I received a phone call along the way, telling us to hurry--my grandfather was fading fast. I knew my grandfather was unconscious at this point, but asked my mother to pass along a message to him.

"Tell him I'm coming," I said. I was the last grandchild to pay my respect to the patriarch of this wonderful family. "Tell him, it's okay if he can't wait any more. I know it must be hard," I told her, "but tell him I'm coming."

I hung up.

My grandfather, Donald Hatfield, one of the most
honorable men I have ever known

We pulled into the driveway forty five minutes later. I saw my uncle standing outside, and greeted him. I walked up the ramp to the front door that had not been there when I was a kid (but then they were younger and stronger then, too), and into the "mud room," I continued through the laundry and kitchen which still looked and smelled the same way that they always had. I embraced my grandmother and kissed her gently, and moved into the dining room where my grandfather lay in the hospital bed provided for him by hospice.

Even in his final moments he was huge. His ribs stood out like a whiskey barrel, and his hands that had loved to tinker and fiddle that could fix anything that was broken (albeit not always the best way), were still enormous mallets. I kissed his forehead and remember saying "Look at you, old man."

I sat down next to him on his left side, and my grandmother on his right, holding his hand. I whispered to him what I needed him to know, but was certain that he already did; That I loved him and honored him, and thanked him for everything that he ever did for me, and ever taught me--and I thanked him for waiting for me. I sat their holding his wrist, feeling his pulse still so strong gradually weaken and finally stop.

Not long after I stood in front of the old garage with my uncle and cousins. I had brought with me a bottle of bourbon, and we passed it around between us. We shared some words, and some memories. I looked around the old shop, found a hammer and gently removed the old horseshoe that hung above the small room that I had spent so many a cold winter day sorting thousands of nuts, bolts and screws. That horseshoe had been there longer than anyone could remember, and best guess was that it had belonged to my great, great grandfather. It was September in Michigan, and while it wasn't cold yet, there was the beginning of that distinct smell of fall in the air. 

I wasn't sad.

I tell people to this day, that my grandfather died like a boss. His way. Surrounded by the people and things that were most important to him.

It was less than a year later that my grandmother joined him. Unfortunately, I could not be there. 

My grandmother, Edna at her 80th Birthday

Whereas my grandfather was the quiet, patient one everyone respected, my grandmother was his polar opposite. She was the loud one, she was the one who barked. She was stubborn and I believe that she was proud of that. She was and will always be to a degree, remembered as just that--a stubborn old woman. She could make her grandchildren stop misbehaving and start crying merely by saying their name, but in spite of the harshness that many attributed to my grandmother, she could love like nobody else. She was "ornry" to be sure, but she was silly, and kind, and devoted to those that she cared for. When my grandfather died, I thanked her as well for all she had done for me growing up.

"Well," she said "Twasn't nuthin'. Your'e one of us." she said. Those may be the last words my grandmother said to me.

The first Christmas I was home from the Marine Corps, I went to the farm to pay my respects to my grandparents. I walked into the kitchen and there she was, alone cooking away, "making supper for the men," she told me.

"Got any world famous Christmas cookies?" I had asked her.

"I ain't got time for no cookies this year," she said. Edna Hatfield possibly used the word "ain't" more than any other person in America, and double negatives were her speciality.

"But Grandma," I said "It just isn't Christmas without your cookies." I meant it too.

I spent some time with her that morning, and after a while decided to go visit some other family members, go see the dairy barn and just have a look around. Eventually I went home to my parent's house and kind of forgot about the conversation with my grandmother.

The next day I was back, and again, she was in the kitchen preparing food. Cookies. The kitchen was filled with them. All kinds. She looked so pleased when I said hello, that she would likely burst. It meant the world to her that her adult grandson still came home for her cookies at Christmas time.

I may not be able to say that I am "an ole' country boy" anymore. The world for me, has moved on. I now have my own family and we are building our own traditions. I will not be able to take my children back to the family farm anymore, and they will not spend any nights in the upstairs bedroom filled with old boxes and ancient books like I did. They won't spend all morning raking hay or loading bales or picking stones. They won't know the experience of having to take a dip in the pool before lunch, not just to cool off, but to rinse they layers of dust from the field off of you before you could eat. What they will know is that they come from good, hardworking people who loved each other and loved and respected the land that was as much a part of them as anything.

One of my tribe, enjoying the simple life on the farm around 2011

Today the farm is officially gone, "a hundred years of farming history pushed into a hole," and I am closing the door on my childhood. That mere "seven years." As it clicks shut, I know that it is my wife's time, and my children's time, and that the old times are gone forever. But I also know that when I need to, I can open that door and take a peek back. I can hold my grandfathers tools that I have kept, or I can make my kids some old fashioned "milk gravy" and tell them "When I was your age..."

It's okay.

Like I have said previously, it is how you are remembered that is important. It is what you have left behind that really counts. Thank you Don and Edna Hatfield for all that you have left behind, even though...

We are still savages.

The Bully Bandwagon

"Difficulties are meant to rouse, not discourage. The human spirit is to grow strong by conflict."  

~William Ellery Channing 

 My daughter was in middle school when a boy (who may have liked her or may not have) began picking on her in Physical Education class. He tormented her and to a lesser degree her friends, for some time. The bullying, if that is what you want to call it, escalated, and ultimately my child was being assaulted by this boy who would throw basketballs that hit in the face. 

I never knew this was happening. She held it all in when I was around. I don't know if it was not wanting to let me down or if she was really more afraid of what I might do if I found out, but eventually it was too much to bear, and the dam burst.

She cried when she told me she was being picked on, when she told me she was being hurt. She didn't want to tell me, she had been afraid I would be loud and make a scene at her school, embarrass her and make it worse. She thought I would march her down to the school and yell at her teachers and principal, or the parents of the boy who was hurting her. She was very surprised by my response.

"What are you going to do about it?" I had asked without even making eye contact. Even though I was boiling inside, I made a concentrated effort to show no emotion.

She was stunned. She stopped crying and looked at me. 

"What are you going to do?" I repeated.

Speechless, she sat next to me and stared. So I went on. 
"I'm not going to do anything. You have to do this. You have my full support, but this is on you."

After a few minutes, she collected her thoughts and respended. 

"Well,"" she said, we have the 'Bully Box.'"

I was intrigued. 

"What is the Bully Box?" I asked. 

"It is a box," she answered, "where we can fill out information about what is happening. We can report a bully annonymously, and then the school will investigate it."

"Is that what you want to do?"

"Yes." There was a confidence in her voice that was not there before.

I was impressed. She had a plan, and she felt confident in herself to carry it out. Even though I was proud of her for making it this far, I was careful not to let that show.

" Okay great, we have a plan." I said. "Now I need to show you something." 

I led her out to the garage, where I told her;"This boy, he is bigger than you. He is stronger than you."

She nodded, confused.

I pointed to my heavy bag and I told her "This is his nose," then I pointed lower and told her, "these are his pills. You understand?"

My daughter nodded. Her eyes wide. She could not believe I was saying what I was.

"If this boy hurts you again, you are going to hit him in these two places." I began. "You will hit him hard as you can, and you will hit him over, and over. You will not stop hitting him until grownups come and pull you apart." My eyes were locked on my daughter's "Do not let him think. Do not let him breathe." I finished, "Or he will hurt you." 

Her already wide eyes widened even further.
"But I will get in trouble!"she exclaimed. "I'll get kicked out of school!"

I took her hands and looked into her eyes, and with my most reassuring look I said; "Remember I told you that I supported you fully." 

She nodded as I went on, "You do things your way, the right way. Use your 'Bully Box' and use the system the way it is supposed to be used." I squeezed her hands gently, "But if this boy hurts you after that, then the system failed--not you. You will not be kicked out. You will not be in trouble. That is when I will go to the school. That is when I will make a scene. That is when I will fight." 

I looked at her and smiled, "But not until then. Now hit."

We spent a good deal of time in the garage working on jab/cross combonations. Keeping things simple, and focusing on pressing the attack, and taking the boy's space before he could react. We could go into the tactics and techniques we practiced, but they aren't important. 

You see, I could have gone to the school. I could have involved myself in the process, but instead I chose to allow my child to fend for herself--with my support.

In this case, the system worked. The offending child was segregated during their PE and there were no more problems. This all happened because my daughter did the right thing in her mind, and she did it on her own. The result was a stronger, more confident kid.


I am not one to jump on board this "Bully Bandwagon." I was the victim of bully's as a child, and it was horrible. I was abused physically and emotionally for years, but I survived. Being bullied is not fun, and it can be dangerous, but it is also part of growing up.

Conflict is how we learn.

It is not about winning or losing, but about growth.

My daughter grew exponentially that day.

I grew from my experiences. 

When we fight our children's battles for them, we rob them of the opportunity to experience that conflict. We fight these battles for our children through our interventions, through our zero tolerance policies, and our legal reactions. It is one of the most difficult things we as parents can do, watch our children suffer and struggle. We can coach them, and guide them, but we should not protect them from the trials of childhood. They have to learn to fend for--and defend themselves. This is what makes strong, confident adults, and teaches them valuable lessons for working with others who are not so agreeable in the future. Maybe a coworker or even a boss.

Please do not mistake this notion as dismissing the dangerous and sometimes deadly hazing that takes place in this country every day. It is especially important in this day and age, where young people like to solve temporary conflicts, feelings, situations and emotions with the very permanent solution of a bullet. I just do not believe that every conflict is bullying, and every time a child is picked on, that the offender needs to be crucified by the school system. 

So how would I react if my kid was the bully instead of the victim? That is a post for another time. This one was just on my mind, and I had to get it out before I went out of town and away from regular internet access.

Kids are going to be cruel to each other. Its kind of what they do, but it is how we support and guide our children through those experiences that really helps them. As long as there are kids there will be bullies. After all...

We are still savages.

Just Serve Tea.

"Never Stray from the Way."

We are still savages.

The Way to be Followed Alone

Miyamoto Musashi
(1584-1645)

“There is nothing outside of yourself that can ever enable you to get better, stronger, richer, quicker, or smarter. Everything is within. Everything exists. Seek nothing outside of yourself.”― Miyamoto Musashi

This week is devoted to the warrior, or more accurately the lessons we can learn from the warrior. The inspiration comes from the great Japanese swordsman and Ronin (浪人)Miyamoto Musashi (宮本 武蔵) who lived from approximately 1584 to 1645 CE. Musashi, whose above quote embodies much of what I believe to be true about human beings, and how they live their lives, and the reason he is such an inspiration to me in this regard, is entirely due to his ability to "walk the walk." 

Musashi, as I mentioned was a "Ronin," a masterless samurai, living in a time when Bushido  (武士道) or martial code was the heart and soul of the Samurai caste. The reason this is so significant to me is because at it's core, Bushido had seven main principals or "virtues," which guided the Samurai in their daily living. These seven virtues were:

1. Rectitude, or Moral Justice(義)
2. Heroic Courage(勇気)
3. Benevolence and Compassion(仁)
4. Respect and Courtesy(礼 )
5. Honesty and Integrity(誠 )
6. Honor(名誉)
7. Duty, Loyalty and Devotion(忠義) 

While all of these continue to be admirable traits in the modern world, perhaps the most practiced of these seven virtues was honor--meiyo. You see, honor was so integrated into the life of the Samurai, that not even death could get in the way. A Samurai would gladly lay down his life to preserve the honor of his name or that of his master. In fact, the reason that the works of Musashi are so relevant today, is because of the significance of honor.

The code of Bushido dictates that a Samurai should commit ritual suicide upon the loss of his master. This ritual suicide called seppuku (切腹), was intended to preserve the honor of the Samurai who was now "masterless." Musashi lived an undefeated swordsman until his death at age 61. That is a long time to live "without honor," and is a huge testament on how little a (insert four letter expletive) Miyamoto Musashi gave for the establishment of his time. 

The following is Musahsi's "Way to be Followed Alone." It was written just prior to the author's death and is said to contain his very soul. It is twenty-one lines, and has a message that I believe each of us, regardless of our faith, race, creed, social standing or ability can learn from and aspire to.

1. Accept Everything Just the Way it Is.

Often times, we as human beings worry about things beyond our control or understanding. We become impatient waiting on something to happen, a turn of events in our lives does not work out the way we would have liked it to, or perhaps we linger on the loss of a loved one.  The time we spend worrying about our circumstances could be better spent improving ourselves. In the West, we often say "It is what it is." There is a lot to be said in those five words. 

2. Do not Seek Pleasure for it's Own Sake.

The world has long made a profit on the vices of men. Gambling, sex, drugs and alcohol. In my decade of working with the underprivileged and "at-risk" populations of the United States, I have seen the results of these things firsthand. Broken homes, ruined marriages and relationships, financial destitution, addiction and health issues.  Pleasure is there for us to enjoy, as long as we keep things in perspective. As long as we keep things in balance.

3. Do Not, Under any Circumstances, Depend on a Partial Feeling. 

We have a saying where I come from. "Don't go off half-cocked." Do not attempt something without proper consideration and preparation. Make sure that when you act on something only when you are certain of your actions. 

4. Think Lightly of Yourself and Deeply of the World.
Some weeks ago, I discussed "the ripple effect" our actions have on the world. This rule pertains to our actions and out ability to be humble. The old story of the teacup comes to mind:

"A young man aspiring to be the disciple of a great master went to the home of the master in hope of being accepted as a student. After being granted admission to the master's home the two chatted away for some time--more accurately the young man went on and on, while the old master listened. After a while the master offered his guest some tea. The master began pouring the hot tea into the cup of his guest. He poured until the cup was full, and then kept on pouring. The young man watched the overflow as it ran over the saucer, onto the table, and then onto the floor. Seeing the mess, the youth could no longer restrain himself. “It is too full! No more will go in!” The master replied "Just like this cup,  you are full of opinions, beliefs and speculations. How can I teach you anything unless you first empty your cup?"

Be Detached from Desire Your Whole Life Long. 

Happiness is overrated I often tell my students. Too much of a let down when you lose something or someone. Strive to be content. Contentment is good. Morris West said "If you spend your life waiting for the storm, you will never enjoy the sunshine." In other words, do not focus so much on obtaining things, feelings, and relationships that you fail to appreciate that which you already have!

6. Do Not Regret What You Have Done. 

Live your whole life with an understanding of your actions. We all make good choices as well as bad ones, but even those bad choices make us who we are today. Even if you are not happy with where you are in life, do not regret what you have done, because you are but at one of many transitions in life with many paths ahead of you. Choose to be the person you wish to be.

7. Never be Jealous.

Wishing you have something or someone that belongs to someone else is not productive. Stop wasting your time on that which you do not have, and use it to go out and get something good for yourself!

8. Never let Yourself be Saddened by a Separation.
People and relationships come and go in our lives. This is the nature of relationships. Sometimes it is distance, sometimes it is death, sometimes it is just growing apart. Like I said in my previous post, it is how we remember people that keeps them alive and with us, even when miles or the grave are keeping us apart. 

9. Resentment and Complaint are Appropriate Neither for Oneself nor Others.
When the coach is giving a pep talk to his team who is losing at halftime, does it do that team any good to listen to him complain? Is that speech going to be effective if all he does is dog on their performance and how much he detests the other team for being ahead? The more effective thing to do, would be to rally his team and focus on improving by identifying the weaknesses in their opponent's strategy. Wasting time is all resentment and complaining are. And as we see, this time is always best used in the bettering of oneself and others!

10. Do not let Yourself be Guided by the Feeling of Lust or Love.
A continuing theme of mine in "Savages" is that of respect. Everything good in our relationships begins with respect for yourself. I tell my young women all the time--"You don't need a man to complete you. Take care of yourself first, respect yourself first, then the right guy will come along who respects you.

11. In All Things Have no Preferences.
Be open minded. Don't let others influence your opinions. Make up your own mind based on your own experiences, and never ever be afraid to try something new!

12. Be Indifferent to Where You Live.
How you live your life is so much more important than where you are living it.

13. Do not Pursue the Taste of Good Food.
Nowhere in the world needs this more than the United States. Eat for your health and nourishment, not for pleasure. Enjoying a good meal is fine--in moderation. Like the saying goes; "Garbage in, garbage out."

14. Do not Hold on to Possessions You no Longer Need.
I have had the honor of being present in the passing of several people important to me or to those who are important to me in the past year. I have on a couple of occasions been asked to assist in their respective estates. One thing I have learned is that in life, we accumulate a lot of stuff. In our house, if we have something we have not used in over a year, we probably don't need it. If we have clothing or toys the kids no longer fit into we give it away. My late friend Terry was known to give people the money out of his wallet without question or need for it to be returned. If he had no use for something and someone else could use it, it was theirs. Even if he still had some use for an item he may just give it to a person anyway. He died a happy man with many, many friends.

15. Do not Act Following Customary Beliefs.
Do not succumb to "peer pressure," or doing something that does not feel right. Think for yourself! If something goes against the respecting of yourself and others, if it does not match your values or sense of morality, don't do it. Lead, don't follow.

16. Do not Collect Weapons or Practice With Weapons Beyond What is Useful. 
The expression goes, "Jack of all trades, master of none." Try not to be "Jack." Bruce Lee is famous for saying "I fear not the man who has practiced 10,000 kicks once, but I fear the man who has practiced one kick 10,000 times."

17. Do Not Fear Death.
Face your fears. All of them. Not just your fear of death or dying. Death is the natural and inevitable conclusion for all of our stories. It is not something to be feared--regardless of your belief system or lack thereof. I do not fear death any longer, though I do not foolishly seek it. Everyone must come to their peace with death in their own way. Do not let your fears control you.

18. Do not Seek to Possess Either Goods or Fiefs For Your Old Age.
You know how they say "you can't take it with you?" Well, you can't. If you have collected wealth or properties at the end of your life, give them to those who will use them. Live your life and collect only that which you will use. Accumulating "stuff" only means that you are perfecting attachment, and not perfecting yourself!

19. Respect Buddha and the Gods Without Counting on Their Help.
Another way of saying this is that "God can move mountains, but He has given you the shovel." Have faith that things will work out the way they are supposed to, but by no means is this permission to not perform at your best or work as hard as you can to achieve the honorable outcome. Don't trust in luck. Trust in yourself

20. You May Abandon Your Own Body but You Must Preserve Your Honor.
When you are gone, how will others remember you? Even when you are gone, the actions you took in life should reflect your respect for yourself and for others. 

21. Never Stray From The Way.
If you are going to do something, do it with all of your heart, your soul, your physical efforts and skill or don't do it at all. After all, if you don't believe in yourself why should others? Be a man or woman who is willing to stand by his or her convictions. Respect yourself, and respect others.

The Samurai code, is one that all of us can learn from and grow from. How do you see yourself in this process? Do you respect others? Do you respect yourself? If we can't make it past ourselves how can we ever expect to respect others? What we can take from Musashi's "Way to be Followed Alone" is that only we can dictate the person we are going to be. Only we have the power to control the outcome of our lives--even when we cannot control the circumstances. I believe in being the person that Musashi was, and encouraged others to be. Until we can all strive to attain that state of self-worth...

We are still savages.