Perception

Someone did me the courtesy tonight of telling me about an odd little story that was circulating about me. A fellow had gotten himself a new gi, and it seems that I was somehow angry about this. That’s it. That’s the rumor. Someone must have misinterpreted a look on my admittedly austere face, perhaps as I was staring off into space in a certain direction. It just makes my head twist, like a puppy’s. Huh?

There’s only one thing that I care about, that bothers me there, and that’s not getting to roll. I don’t need to win. I just need to work. Last week I finally spoke to K about it. Not a confrontation -- not my style -- but it was direct. I said, “So K, are you never going to roll with me again?” “Oh, no, I’ll roll with you.” “Really? It sort of seems like you made a rule for yourself.” “No, no.” “Well, when? Cuz it’s been since winter.” “Oh, I will. It’s just that I’m too busy...” It isn’t my purpose to shame anyone, so I ignored that. “…It's not personal. There are lots of guys I won’t roll with.” “Yeah, that’s understandable. Some guys aren’t safe. I’m safe. I could not be more careful. How am I going to get better if I don’t roll with higher belts?” “I understand. I’m just too busy.” Ah. He repeated it. “Yes, too busy. There I am just sitting around waiting, and there you are sitting around, doing calculus in your head. Too busy.” What he meant was that he wouldn’t get over the soreness of rolling with me, before he had to compete.

And today he came up to me and said, “So you’re not crying now about my not rolling with you tonight.” “But you didn’t roll with me tonight.” “Oh, Jack was all crying last week about how I don’t roll with him.” I let it pass.

So. Was it humor? A sort of social lubrication to ease some imagined tension? Was it his perception that I was distraught as I spoke with him last week? It seems unlikely, but people don’t always read motives and demeanor accurately. Like today. A new guy asked K what his name was. Well, it’s an unusual name, pronounced with an initial “h” sound. K said it, and the fellow stumbled over mispronouncing it. I butted in by saying it, broken into clear syllables. Simplify. Later K and some of the fellas were commenting on the aggressive and unpleasant attitude of this new guy, and this name business was adduced as corroboration.

Perceptions. My perception was that he was trying to get the name right. Theirs appears to have been that he was making some hostile or nasty point by asking about it. Somebody said this guy was mad-dogging him -- staring him down. I didn’t see. But while I assume the worst about the world, I try not to extend that discourtesy to individuals. We all have attitudes, and get judged for them, or for the way they are perceived. In my book, it’s okay to be aggressive, as long as you’re polite about it. No, it is possible. Try to win, and be careful not to hurt anyone doing it. That’s honorable. I can’t say, about this fellow. I’ve rolled with him, and he is intense. That’s a good thing. I didn’t notice he was dangerous. If someone else has noticed that, they’re entitled to their opinion. It should be stated, and held, only as an opinion.

Because perceptions can be distorted.

Then out of the blue someone said to me tonight, “I don’t want you to be like Orson Wells.” “What, monstrously talented and ending up doing wine commercials?” “Yeah, starring on Hollywood Squares.” I don't know that I've given much evidence there of having any extraordinary talent. Of course I do, but I'm very modest, and I've become far less the exhibitionist than once I was. Time has mellowed me, like a fine wine which will not be served before its time. If anything, I perceive myself as being pretty low-key. Perhaps that's just a false impression I make on myself.

Earlier that same someone asked a question about my "strict" childhood. Ah. I am my favorite subject. I replied whatever I replied -- "I don't know that it was all that strict." Did I ever say it was strict? The word that comes to mind is oppressive. That got me thinking about the distinction. Strict is about behavior. Be home as six o'clock sharp. Oppression is about what thoughts and feelings are allowed. My childhood wasn't about acting a certain way, it was about being a certain way. I've already said too much about all that, though. It's relevant here because, well, because perceptions matter. The way a parent thinks of a child, and wants him to be, and tries to get him to be -- there's such a confused knot of motives and desires here, it's like multiplying infinites. If there's no validity to the initial perceptions or any wisdom behind the guiding principles, what hope can there be for a sane outcome?

Well, that's it. Nothing profound. Just seemed like there was a theme, tonight, that I'd gab about. If there's a Jerry Springer Final Thought to the matter -- where utterly worthless noise somehow provides the inspiration for sententious sociological observations -- it must be something about being careful. The only way we can come to any understanding about reality is through our senses. If this were the end of it, we'd be set. But between sensation and understanding there lies a vast and wild wilderness of interpretation, populated by unconscious motives and unexamined biases and false associations, by irrational fears and secret rages, all of which stand as perilous pitfalls and ravening beasts along the way. So what? Nothing. Only if truth matters. If it does, a little less confidence might be in order. A little more patience. Because not all rumors are silly, and not all gossip is harmless.

To be direct without being harsh is a good thing. To come to someone and ask about a rumor shows integrity. To gather a fuller set of data points before pronouncing some judgment is wise. To question yourself, not into immobility, but simply as a systems check -- well, it just seems like a prudent thing to do.

That's all. I know. I'm rambling. Or maybe it just seems that way.


J