Be water.
This was the advice given me by a good friend, if by good friend you understand that while we share a half dozen Linked In connections and comment on each others kids’ pictures on Facebook, we haven’t actually spoken in five years. He is a second-degree black belt in Aikido. “Be water” was his Sensei’s motto. My friend had it tattooed down the back of his neck.
Back when we shared a workout plan (but different visions), every time I would struggle in the gym, get frustrated, lose my temper, and even cry ocassionally, he would point to his neck. His version of Talk To The Hand. Then I would get irritated and accuse him of getting things too easily, of never having to struggle. Because I never saw him struggle. At least in the gym things did seem to come naturally to him. And in my narrow vision, that I charitably attribute to the follies of youth, I assumed that meant he didn’t know pain. In spite of the fact that he immigrated here from a country known for its human-rights abuses. A country in which he still had a child. A country to which he would one day return to, not out of compulsion but because he thought he could do more good for his people there than from here.
I remember one day as he watched me fail early on a weight set that I could usually do easily. I tried over and over again, each time more determined to meet my weight. Each time failing earlier and faster. Finally it was apparent to even my sweat-stung eyes that I was achieving nothing. I whined. He stopped me with, “Why do you keep hitting the rocks? Just flow around them. Be water.”
I did not learn how to be water then.
Aikido, of which I took exactly one semester of in college and then quit because rolling endlessly across the floor made me dizzy (official reason) and because I wasn’t progressing very quickly despite trying very hard (real reason), is a martial art defined by its passivity. It is an almost entirely defensive practice. Where Karate kicks and Tae Kwon Do blocks, Aikido just… flows. Like water. The key, so my Sensei told me, was to use your opponent’s energy against him. To keep as much of your own energy in reserve as possible. Which is why it hardly looked like his tiny 5’7″ form was moving while his 6′ opponent was flying across the room.
One evening, against his advice, I tried to copy him. Encouraging my reluctant (and much larger) opponent to come at me, I attempted to throw him, only to throw myself to the mat instead. It knocked the wind out of me. When I regained my senses, it was to the laughter of my classmates as my Sensei pointed out my critical mistake: I was still holding the hand of my opponent. “Charlotte,” he chided gently, “you have to learn to let go.”
I did not learn how to let go then.
My father tried to teach me this lesson one night as he held my hand, my body convulsing in pain. I was in my last semester of graduate school, had just had a miscarriage and then out of the blue was laid flat by unpredictable attacks of horrible pain. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I was sure it was something horrible like stomach cancer. My doctors thought it was heartburn. The answer was more psychological than either of us thought. We finally named it Irritable Bowel Syndrome – a label which gave me no comfort because while the pain was real, the treatment wasn’t. It was just a syndrome after all, one probably brought on by too much stress. They gave me some pain pills to take when it got really bad that I avoided because the narcotics made me loopy (official reason). And they were suppositories (real reason).
Instead I would crouch in a darkened bathroom, my intestines turning on themselves with worry, the peristalsis working against itself until the pain culminated in diarrhea, vomiting or both. And then I could go to sleep. It got to be a vicious cycle: the fear of having “an attack” would bring one on and then the pain would plant the seed of fear for the next time. Truly, those talking stomach commercials you see for Zelnorm are to IBS what elves are to Mordor.
It was during one of those cryingshaking moments when my dad sat on the floor and held my hand telling me, “If you can just stop thrashing… all your life you’ve been a thrasher. But it just muddies the water. If you could just hold still, all the silt would settle down and you’d be able to see the bottom clearly.”
I did not learn how to be still then.
There were too many unknowns. Would I graduate? If I did, what would I do without the comforting confines of academia? Would I ever have a child? Get a job? Would I have to move? Where? But despite the giant unaswered question that was my life, now I knew that if I didn’t learn this lesson, then the pain would hit and hit hard. It’s incredibly motivating, pain. Slowly I learned to make environmental changes to help my IBS; I limited fatty foods, I practiced yoga regularly with an emphasis on the yogic breathing cycle, but I still believed that there wasn’t a problem out there that couldn’t be solved by just trying harder.
Honestly, I’ve never been good at being mellow. I’m high strung. Tightly wound. Over eager. Passionate. I try too hard. I overcompensate. I flail. I kick against the pricks. The problem with being a control freak though is that eventually the pressure becomes too immense and you crack under the weight of all the expectations you heap on yourself. When this happens to me I go down hard. I fight and fight (or run and run) and then when I have no energy left, I cry and cry. When that is over and I’m completely spent, I experience one of those rare moments of thoughtful stillness. And so it was tonight. Life has a way of reteaching you important lessons until you learn them.
Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to do nothing at all. Be water.
Your last sentence says it perfectly. It’s so true.
Hope you are OK!!!! Take care of yourself!
I have been reading you for awhile…you are one of the best writers around…you are much better at putting down on paper, what I cannot…I often think on the same path as you…take care…and listen to yourself. I did not for years and am now paying the price…
Just came home from a retreat to read this post. It’s interesting. I can relate to this high strung thing. It used to drive me nuts when my groovy yoga counterparts would tell me to relax. Water isn’t always calm. In fact, water can be pretty stirred up. Water can kill things and destroy things, but not with intent, that is just the nature of water. Just like being hot is the nature of fire. So to really be water is to maybe just be able to see the thrashing without labeling it bad and to know that – just like water – even the stormiest seas have a way of calming without any need for outside intervention.
Ooh ooh what Recess said!! That’s smart.
I have a very similar problem with my anxious over-achieving self-punishing self.
I often think “I wish I could be calm” and then I think “WHY can’t I be calm??” and then I think “I NEED TO BE CALM NOW GODDAMNIT!!” and then I cry because clearly I suck at being calm and am therefore a failure.
Don’t forget that your ability to strive and push yourself is actually great, and what makes you who you are, and a lot of people will envy you this and wish they could be more like it themselves. And that you CAN be all that and still be water. Because water is all things.
TA x
wow. we must be realted. that is exactly what I do. Thanks for the great lesson. and your dad is wonderful. A great man.
thinking about you. and the fact that you and I are perfect. TOGETHER. that what you have I lack (and it isnt always a bad thing to be a bit of a thrasher…is that too pollyannaish?).
just to say that happy medium is such an elusive thing. the being water…
A timely and inspired reminder. Thank you, Charlotte.
it’s a beautiful sentiment, Be Water. Unfort., all too often I am ice – rigid, stubbord, and unforgiving (of myself, I mean.) I love the concept here.
It’s hard when we are a certain way, and we want to change things about ourselves but we just don’t know how. There are so many things I’d like to change about myself…but some of the “bad” stuff can also be “good” at times. I think it’s this way for a lot of people. Unless your “bad” stuff is being a serial killer. Then that’s just bad.
We all like you the way you are! (*Cue the sappy music)
Really beautifully written!
It’s all about the voyage, no? Everyone has areas where life comes easily, and areas where we are challenged.
Maybe “Chop wood, Carry water,” would be a better tattoo for you 🙂
Sometimes we need to take a step back from our lives and evaluate. Am I just treading water here? Meaning working so hard but completing nothing? If so, figure out how to make it more productive. Am I sinking? What things can wait and what are my priorities? Am I floating? If so, you have found a groove that is working for you at the moment.
We all sink, tread and float at different times. It’s knowing when to evaluate and make those changes that is important!
Good luck!
>There were too many unknowns. Would I graduate? If I did, what would I do without the comforting confines of academia? Would I ever have a child? Get a job? Would I have to move? Where?
I ask myself these questions every day. But I take the opposite approach from you. I gravitate toward apathy and laziness. Which means it takes even longer to accomplish things, and I get even more apathetic as the months wear on. Neither approach is a good one, and we could all use some centering and balance in our lives.
I love what Darcy Franklin said – and everyone else! And might I add – there’s no use in trying to be water if that’s not where you’re at in life. Everyone’s journey is different.
I hope you’re okay?
Hey there,
It’s amazing how people can be in so much pain and yet articulate it so well. Sometimes it’s almost cruelly ironic. I hope writing this post brought you some relief, Charlotte. I don’t know you, but that current of self-flagellation does seem to hover, if only under the surface, in some of your posts. You are very good at showing that tension. All of my instincts tell me you are a truly good person who runs herself to the point of exhaustion more often than not.
Thrashing… I’m a former perfectionist and current underachiever with a long-standing and toxic relationship with major depression, so I related to many things you wrote here. Although I gave up on thinking I could ever do anything the best, I still beat myself up mentally, even though I know I’m not going anywhere. It is sad and frustrating, just one part of the dark pit. I hope that being water doesn’t mean giving in so much as opening our minds to other ways of doing and perceiving things.
Thanks for making me think about this.
Such excellent advice. Really important lesson.
Also aikido is the martial art that I REALLY want to learn. I love how anybody can do it, no matter their size or age.
It was like this post fell into my lap at the exact moment that I needed to read it. Thank you.
I always thought I was water. I thought that I could flow easily with anything, take anything in stride. Then all of a sudden, I couldn’t breathe and I realized that really, while I flow with stuff and don’t get too visibly uptight, I do internalize a lot of stuff, and I play things over and over (and over) in my head until it just makes me crazy.
I’m working on it with meditation, and I need to get back to yoga. Just calm myself down a little bit, that daydreaming fiend in my head.
This was fantastic, Charlotte. I think learning to let go of things is one of the hardest things for anyone to learn.
(And like you, my stress generally manifests itself in my body – I hope you feel better soon! I know first-hand how miserable it is.)
And if you can’t be water. Be beer. That helps sometimes.
Beautiful post! Being a control freak myself, I know where you’re coming from.
I learned from teaching children is that sometime if you let go of some control that you get more control in return.
Tim Rosanelli
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Wow Charlotte, that was an amazing post. Your writing skills never fail to impress me and you always say the difficult stuff so eloquently.
I am also loving all the insightful comments here and especially relate to Recess and Tokaiangel’s responses. I see myself as a Go-Go-Go-Go person and sometimes I should prolly just slow down a little…gives me something to think about on this sunny, warm(ish) fall day here in BC. Thanks again and I hope that through writing about it, the ‘thrashing’ settles down for a while for you.
WOW! Charlotte, your post brought me to tears this morning.
Powerful words. Thanks for sharing.
I don’t like being the last to comment because everyone says all the things I want to say. Thanks recess and darcy for such insightful uplifting comments. Charlotte, i think maybe you have learned from all those experiences and even though you are not there yet, look at what you know about yourself. You’ll get there. Don’t forget that you can’t live as water alone, you also need the Bread of Life. Great post!!
Hope everything’s ok, or is at least on it’s way to getting ok-er. Your post today was very poetic – thank you for that. I’m dealing with a touch of this myself. I’m so frustrated when things don’t progress, and right now it feels like everything in my life is stagnant, or it’s taking all my effort to bail the water out of the sinking ship. Like before, I was paddling towards the shore effortlessly, and now I’m struggling to stay above water.
In times like this, it’s a triumph to keep the boat afloat, even if it’s no longer moving forward. Us overachievers have to remember that or we go bonkers.
i love the phrase. bruce lee used to say this and boy can drop some knowledge! spiritually and physically.
For some reason, I get your posts late at night. I could have really used this one this morning because I too have had one of those days.
thank you so much for this, it honestly brought tears to my eyes.
As geeky as I am, I am writing this on an index card to carry around with me.
I love your blog!
lisa
PS: I hope you are doing okay!
Love your blog! It has been good inspiration for me starting my own fitness blog! So thanks! And stay on the positive track! Things will come around. Take care!
Wow, I’m catching up on your blog (long story) and I’ve read several posts in a row and your writing is on fire! Hot. Really hot. Do me a favor and make this an essay. This needs to be published somewhere. Seriously. Be water. i won’t forget it, because I too need to learn/live this.
timely… you’re not alone 🙂
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