13:22 
Grasp the bird by the tail
T'ai Chi last night was really good, actually. I came very close to going straight home from work, mainly because of the thought of riding through Heavitree up East Wonford Hill in the evening traffic with a migraine. But I went anyway. There were a lot of absentees this week and the few who did go all seemed to be feeling down or poorly, including our instructor. Strange how it hit us all like that. So we had a very gentle session. Well, I say gentle, but we did spend an awful lot of time in horse stance, which didn't really help my poor quads. Esepcially the exercise called 'Breathing Clouds' (I think) which involves going up on tip toe while in horse stance. That exercise was fun, really. It made me feel very thin and insubstantial, and yet very strong, like a steel ribbon. We did a bit more of the form, as well, called 'Grasp the Bird by the Tail' - of course, it's not a bird at all. What one is really doing is grabbing a fistful of an opponent's neck flesh, smashing their face in with one hand, smacking them down to the ground, then delivering a concealed strike to another opponent to one side. And yet it looks so graceful and delicate when Ian does it. Then again, he is an international judge (apparently he's going to be judging when it enters the Olympics, which explains why he's such a perfectionist and insists on us getting our knees and hips right all the time).
It certainly helped my migraine, and even my legs felt somewhat better at the end of it. Despite the fatigue, I felt really quite perky after the ride home (quite slow at 46 mins compared to my normal 37). T'ai Chi usually does perk me up. It's our last week of introductory lessons next week, and a couple of us are waiting with baited breath to find out what's going to happen next, as the standard class hasn't been run for a while due to lack of attendees. I really don't want to stop. I've been every week without fail, even when I've felt really dreadful and I don't want to stop now.
13:02
Largely rhetorical
Sometimes it's really difficult to know what to do, and how much of the blame lies at your own doorstep. Sometimes it's difficult to decide what actions one can take to remedy a situation, and which are the things that must be changed but which are out of one's control. Sometimes it's almost impossible to determine that which it is reasonable to expect to alter and that which is and always will be, and for which the only strategy is to adapt.
I'm struggling with a dilemma of this nature right now. All is not entirely rosy and peachy in the household at the moment, in fact it hasn't been for quite some time. The issue, as I see it, is this:
I come from a family in which one was expected to develop robustness and thick-skin. We have one of those easy-going, bantering cultures going on, whereby people give as good as they get and enjoy it. The insults fly, we tease and taunt, and everyone knows that there's no malice in it. That's not to say that the things said are not truthful, simply that they are not said with the intention of hurting. Frood and I have a similar sort of relationship and tease each other mercilessly a lot of the time. Needless to say, he gets on just fine with my parents. I suppose it's a matter of self-confidence, and one of the things for which I shall always be profoundly grateful is the self-confidence instilled in me by my mother and father.
Frood and I are not the only ones in the household at present. There is one other, and he just hasn't been given the opportunity to develop that degree of self-confidence and robustness. Perhaps he's just not the type, I don't really know. We've been living together for about 9 months now, and I'm still having to learn where the line is, beyond which he takes the bantering to heart and gets hurt. I'm not always accurate in my assessment.
The big problem here is that, when I'm having a particularly bad day because I'm feeling poorly, or the pain is bad, or I've been operating without much sleep for a long time, I get crabby and irritable and rather more blunt in saying what I think. Not only do I get more blunt, but I also have this tendency to get very intolerant.
The intolerance is a problem, you see, because while lots of people tell me I have a rather unique way of looking at the world, and I'm very perceptive, plus I've trained myself to have a pretty good memory, I don't consider myself to be fundamentally any better than anyone else at anything (except for archery, because I'm bloody marvellous at that). So, especially on my bad days, I immediately assume that anything I can do everyone else can do as well. This isn't a particularly intelligent assumption to make, but it's more to do with feelings than it is to do with analysis. I don't feel as if I'm different from anyone else - I'm certainly not one of these people who run around claiming to be different and special (both physically and mentally?), despite what my brain scan seems to suggest. I operate with this fundamental assumption that I can't shake - that everyone else in the world is just as capable as I am, and if they don't seem to be, then it's just that they haven't really tried.
I'm told that this is very wrong. But I can't shake it because to believe anything else would be arrogant. Yes, I am arrogant, but this is a kind of arrogance that goes beyond the usual 'I'm really good'. The arrogance that says 'I'm really good' is self-referential. It says nothing about those around you. There is no judgement of others involved - only of yourself. Everyone is entitled to believe what he likes about himself. The arrogance that can allow one to say 'I am better than others' is a kind of arrogance that makes me really uncomfortable. It doesn't seem true. It can't be true, because there will always be someone better than oneself.
I know the argument that uses the sporting capability metaphor. I know that there is nothing arrogant in Carl Lewis or Ben Johnson claiming to be better at running than anyone else, because they are. At least until someone faster comes along. But again, that's context driven, that's running. That's a specific form of fitness. It's not that they are physically better than others - I could probably outpace either of them in a 20 mile time trial and I'm not terribly fit - it's just that they can sprint faster. It's a natural predisposition coupled with a lot of hard work.
When it comes to things like perception, organising things, being mindful, I can't really see these as context-specific skills or abilities. They seem to have far more ties to what someone is and is capable of as a person, and so to say that a person is better than others at these things is to say that he is better as a person and that's just not right. It really isn't.
Unfortunately my unwillingness to believe that others can be less capable than me when it comes to remembering trivia about the people with whom they live, organising get-togethers for family and friends, and just being attentive to a loved one without being smothering is getting me into some pretty sticky situations. It seems I am expecting too much of the third member of our household - only I don't expect it. I assume it (I know, I know, I've read Silence of the Lambs as well). It's not an expectation, it's this fundamental preconception about the way the world works and the way people work. It's one of my few a priori beliefs and it's not one that I have been able to shake because of this overwhelming rejection of the arrogance that seems necessary to do so.
The question with which I am faced is this: Is my fundamental assumption completely mistaken, even though really I only apply it to my close friends (a very Raven brat trait), or is it that the third member of our household is so lacking in self-confidence as a result of nature or nurture or both, that he can't believe he has the capabilities that I assume him to have?
Is it better for me to believe him capable of all of these things, and so perhaps that belief will rub off on him, or should I work really hard to ditch that assumption in the hope that this will take away any pressure that my attitude exerts on him?
I've been pondering this for a while now because when I get intolerant I get angry with people for not matching up to this basic assumption, which is terribly unfair. I don't really understand why people can't see the things I see, but most of the time I just accept that apparently a lot of the time they can't and get on with it. When I'm sick or in a lot of pain, when the intolerance fires up, that lack of understanding becomes this massive stumbling block that I can't get past. I can't do the acceptance and get on with it thing because I really don't understand why this is the case. I get caught in this loop of assumption, disappointment, anger, bewilderment, frustration.
This is all made worse by the fact that the poor sod who has to put up with me has a coping strategy that doesn't really do him any good.
So. I believe that he can be all these things, he says he can't and doesn't know how to change even if he could. What do I do? And what do I do when I get irrational and can't control my tongue (or fingers, when it comes to email) enough to keep some of what I feel to myself until I can broach it in a less confrontational manner? Is this all down to me to fix, or should I not have to deal with this sort of lack of emotional freedom, in which I can't speak my mind for fear of the effect it will have? Should this be a two-way street or am I just an intolerant, irrational bitch with a sharp tongue and a cruel streak?
Frood, of course, would say 'all of the above', bless his little ottery whiskers. That doesn't really help.
Wednesday, March 13, 2002
