By 20, I had enrolled back in Queens College and began exploring what a more meaningful or purposeful existence could look like.
My epiphany left me searching for something. I had an almost unconscious understanding that I wasn’t living my life to my fullest potential by partying constantly and not applying myself in my personal growth. I also had a vague sense that happiness could come from something else and not have to come from vices. But how should I live and apply myself to what? What would make me feel fulfilled and content in my daily life? I was completely lost but knew that I needed to actively seek deeper fulfillment.
So, the first thing I did was take as many different classes as possible. Rather than think solely about fulfilling requirements, I decided I would take any class that would interest me. I took classes in philosophy, religion, sociology, anthropology, literature and poetry. I would take any class I thought could help me make sense of this life and get to a deeper spiritual understanding.
But I felt I needed more than what college could offer. So, I looked to Eastern philosophies for answers and discipline. I started studying on my own Taoism, Confucianism and Buddhism. I found I gravitated toward Zen Buddhism as I found it to be more austere than the other Buddhist schools. And I also looked for a martial art to study. After visiting several schools, I ended up in one school that immediately caught my attention.
When I met the man who would become my Sifu (Master), I was struck by the fact that we spoke for nearly 2 hours. It felt more like he was interviewing me rather than me interviewing him. A scientist and chemical engineer by trade, he wanted to really understand why I was interested in studying Kung Fu. I was aware enough to sense that he was thoughtful and analytical. That was enough for me to think I could learn something about this existence from him. Later, I’ll discover just how much of a genius he really is. As a scientist and chemical engineer, he applied his scientific background and analytical mindset toward the study of martial arts. It gave him the unique ability to develop his own kung fu beyond what was handed down to him by his master.
So, when my soon to be master, Sifu Mickey, asked why I was interested in learning Kung Fu, I probably didn’t fully understand what I was actually seeking. I said something to the effect that I was looking for a traditional martial art because I knew I needed more discipline. But, what I was actually seeking was transformation.
Back in the 90’s, Kung Fu films were very popular, probably popularized by the music of Wu Tang and rap culture in general. And as a teen I had watched kung fu films from the 70’s and 80’s. You may recall the ones on VHS tape with terrible English dubs, which made watching the films even more fun. When people think of those films, I imagine most will think of the big artists such as Jackie Chan, Jet Li and of course Bruce Lee.
But I was more enthralled by the films starring Gordon Lui or early Jackie Chan films. These films always showcased a young, naive protagonist who had some injustice committed against them causing them to seek out martial arts training to get revenge. Over the course of the film, through a great deal of effort, pain and perseverance, the protagonist would inevitably transform into something invincible, almost beyond human. I didn’t understand it then, but those films spoke to my true desire and was probably a large part of the reason why I sought Kung Fu.
In those years I trained relentlessly. I’d wrack up close to 40 hours of training a week between kung fu classes and my own work outs. I also worked part time for my parents in their shoe stores while attending undergrad full time. In my free time I studied Buddhism and would visit monasteries. Eventually I started working as a personal trainer and started a video production company with my close friends. I rarely deviated from my work or training schedule. And I strictly maintained my abstinence, only allowing myself to have a drink on New Year’s Eve. In those years, I was incredibly strict with my diet and exposure to any vices.
I was on a mission. Back then, when people my age asked why I didn’t drink or party, I would say I am choosing to live a “straight edge” life. But in fact, this period of relentless work was a 180-degree flip from the hedonistic existence I was living in my teens to one of asceticism. And for the most part, I would say it was a positive behavioral change except for one thing. The reasoning behind what motivated my actions was not healthy.
While I thought what I was doing was developing the discipline I lacked in my teens and seeking a deeper happiness by working toward enlightenment. What I was actually seeking was transformation. And the reason for that transformation is what drove my punitive behavior.
In part 1, I described how I was embarrassed of my conditions. As my conditions evolved from arthritis and psoriasis to Crohn’s, my embarrassment grew to hatred. I had grown to hate what I saw to be my defectiveness. And that hatred of self, spurred me to pursue training and work to the point of being punitive.
I had a very wise and kind Kung Fu uncle, Sibak Moy Yee (Henry). He was my Sifu’s older brother in the family and so I would call him Sibak. Sibak Henry, was a very jovial and a brilliant martial artist. He was like an encyclopedia of martial arts, studying as many martial as he could. He would often look at me, shake his head and say; “Training as much as you do, will not get you to master Kung Fu faster. You are human. You are not a robot. Unless you give your body rest you will get hurt and your training will slow or stop.” He was right. I did get several injuries which caused me to slow my development, and which still haunt me today. But what he didn’t have quite right was that I wasn’t really interested in mastering Kung Fu.
What I was after was transforming myself from the sickly, “weak” version of myself to a healthy and “strong” individual. I was seeking to cure my afflictions. Given that western medicine had no solutions for me other than taking prednisone from time to time to stave off the worst of the flare ups, I felt I had no choice but to find a cure on my own. I had convinced myself that if I worked really hard, if I trained relentlessly and maintained a strict, healthy lifestyle, that I could purge myself of my defects.
And so, my obsessive work ethic tipped toward self-punishment. I would strike trees to harden my bones, I would hike mountains with 80 pounds of weights strapped to my body, and every Saturday train Kung fu for 7 – 8 hours. While I thought what I was doing was developing self-discipline and seeking a deeper happiness, I was actually being driven by my ego. I wanted to be stronger, smarter and healthier. In and of itself, those are not bad goals to have, but motivated by self-hatred is psychologically unhealthy. What I didn’t understand then was that happiness could never be attained unless you can show yourself grace and come to love oneself for the unique individual you are. And these afflictions or “defects” are part of what made me unique. Rather than seeing them as limitations, I needed to see the advantages they offer.
But those revelations would not come until much later.
Through my 20’s, I maintained my ascetic lifestyle. I went to martial art competitions winning several 1st and 2nd place metals. I became a personal trainer. And started moonlighting as a cinematographer. The first short film I wrote and directed went to festivals and got me into the graduate film program at Columbia. That is when the next change in me occurred. It didn’t feel like the almost spiritual epiphany I experienced at 19 in the shower. But the change in mindset practically did occur overnight again and in retrospect was a spiritual encounter.
I was 29, when my life outlook got upended once again.