Red Foot Garden

Ugh… not very deeply into this new venture into blogging, and already I have begun to slack. I am constantly thinking of what I can write about, and my thoughts are far too disjointed to include it in my blog – but then again, who cares?

Unfortunately I don’t have very much free time in my life. I don’t know too many people that have free time at all these days. 5 days a week I drive an hour and a half in each direction to get to work, where I spend 8 – 9 hours. I sleep anywhere from 6 – 8 hours (usually closer to 6). This leaves about 4 – 6 hours to eat, enjoy my gardens, my wife, and my dogs. This is no way to live a life, yet I am sure that I am not the only one that has such little time that is not allocated to some sort of obligation. In fact, I took the job that I am working now so that I can spend more time at home. I actually DO have more time at home, but I obviously still don’t have much time.

My mind is full of chaos and disorder, and my blog will begin to reflect this. I will no longer filter my nonsensical banter from this blog. Readers beware.

While driving to work I pass through some lower-income areas and I see a different world from the world in which I inhabit. The expressions that I see on the faces of people walking down the road show a struggle that does not exist in my life. It is not that there is no struggle in my life, it is just that their struggle is different.  Many of the opportunities and luxuries that I enjoy will never present themselves to these people.  I make a conscious effort to appreciate these opportunities, but seeing these folks every day makes me humble.

What I noticed this morning was that two people were walking down the sidewalk together, each holding a plastic shopping bag in their hand. I first thought that they were holding each other’s hand, and I took a double-take before realizing that they were not.

I immediately questioned why I did a double-take when it appeared to be a couple happily walking down the road and holding hands.  I realize that I did a double-take because this is not something that I normally see.

When I see people holding hands, it warms me up. This shows that people care about each other, and that they have no problem displaying their affection.  Why is this almost a thing of the past?  Are our lives so preoccupied with our woes that we cannot revel in the comfort of our companions?

I know that I will be sure to reach out and hold my wife’s hand the next time we find ourselves strolling down the street together.

Painful whines and screams emanate from a small child.  The mother, standing nearby, attempts to ease the suffering of the boy.

“What’s the matter Johnny?  Why are you crying?”

“My tummy hurts mommy!  It hurts!”

“Well, let me see what I can do to help. ”

The mother walks into the other room and grabs a pink bottle of medicine.

“Here you go Johnny, this will help ease your stomach pain so that you can be more comfortable.  All you need to do is take a spoonful or two.”

“I don’t want to take the medicine.  My tummy hurts!”

“I know that your tummy hurts Johnny, that’s why you have to take the medicine.  Don’t worry about the taste, it will go down quickly.”

“But, what is that bright pink stuff going to do for me.  How can something that is so bright pink do anything to help me.”

“You can’t judge something by how it looks.  It may be a big, pink bottle of medicine, but all you need is a tiny bit and you will start feeling better really soon. ”

“I don’t want to drink that stuff instead of juice, I like juice.  Why do I have to stop drinking juice?  Apple juice is my favorite.  Can’t I just have a little bit of juice?”

“You don’t have to stop drinking juice.  All you have to do is take a little bit of this and when you start feeling better you can have some juice, apple juice if you want”

“No I can’t.  You will make me drink some disgusting tasting pink stuff instead.”

After a long back-and-forth conversation of innocently uninformed arguments against sensible reason, clarity prevailed and the mother was able to pretend the medicine was an airplane, and provide incentives for the child to suck it up and take the medicine that he so desperately needed.  A moment later the medicine was ingested, the child was given a cup of apple juice, and the tears quickly dried on the puffy cheeks of little Johnny.

Tonight I have another Kung Fu class.  So far I have started out skeptical, then I grew to like it a bit, and finally this past Tuesday I realized that it may not be something that I can continue.  Tuesday’s class really bothered me.  At one point I had an internal explosion of frustration, and I had to take a short walk and breathe deeply.  Since then I have been wrestling with myself to try and understand why I became so frustrated.  I try to be objective in my consideration.

My first impression is that the problem exists due to perception.  I thought of the class as a good way to get a workout, and a good way to become balanced and relaxed.  The class will certainly allow for a good workout, and will also provide balance and relaxation.  However, there is also the discipline of learning the forms and techniques of Kung Fu.  Since the learning of the form and technique is so central to the class, my perception of the class as exercise and mental relaxation completely ignores a fundamental aspect of the course. My perceptual neglect for the necessity of perfect form demands that my experience be negative.

While I am in the middle of practicing I am exercising and relaxing my mind.  If I am constantly interrupted and told that I am doing it wrong, that I need to relax more, the exercise is cut short and the relaxation is ruined.  It is not the Kung Fu class that is the problem, it is my perception of the class which must change if I am to continue.

There is a lot of truth behind the paragraph above, but I’m convinced that there could be other factors.  I can’t leave this explanation without diving further into my subconscious to find all of the reasons for my frustration.

I do not like to be touched by strangers.  I am a very solitary person.  I often think of myself as a hermit, and as a potential recluse.  Practicing forms with strangers and being in constant contact with their sweaty flesh is not something that I enjoy in the least.  I thrive on the physical activity, but I can get that from punching a bag, running, lifting weights, and doing other exercises that do not involve a partner.  This is what I truly need, but I was drawn to the discipline of working out with a class.

If I was looking for discipline, why do I dislike being corrected so much?  Is it really just because my relaxation and exercise is interrupted by the correction, or is it the corrections themselves that bother me so much.  I do not take failure well.  Do I not like the class because I am not yet proficient?

I still have not decided whether or not I will continue to attend class.  The next class is tonight, so I will have to make a decision at some point.  Hopefully I can organize my feelings and make an informed decision.

A question that I have to answer of myself is – am I a coward if I do not attend class, or am I a fool if I do attend class.  Funny that I force myself to decide between being a coward and a fool, but such is the nature of my mind.