Part 2: Taking a 180-Degree Turn and Living an Aescetic Life
In my previous post, I described my teenage years and how they were defined by hedonistic behavior. At the end of that post, I describe how, at the age of 19, I had an epiphany that led me to instantly change my life overnight, giving up all vices and immediate gratification. This is the next installment of a series exploring how my life experiences have informed my current way of being.
By age 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 almost unconsciously understood that I wasn’t living my life to my fullest potential by constantly partying and not applying myself to 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 utterly lost, but I knew I needed to actively seek deeper fulfillment.
The first thing I did was take as many different classes as possible. Rather than thinking solely about fulfilling requirements, I decided to take any class that interested me. I took philosophy, religion, sociology, anthropology, literature, and poetry classes. I would take any class that could help me make sense of this life and gain 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 Taoism, Confucianism, and Buddhism. I gravitated toward Zen Buddhism because 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 understand why I was interested in studying Kung Fu. I was aware enough to sense that he was thoughtful and analytical. That conversation was enough for me to believe that I could learn something about myself and this existence from him. Later, I’ll discover just how much of a genius he truly is. As a scientist and chemical engineer, he applied his scientific background and analytical mindset to studying martial arts. It gave him the unique ability to develop his own Kung Fu beyond what was handed down to him by his master.
When my soon-to-be master, Sifu Mickey, asked why I was interested in learning kung fu, I didn’t truly understand what I was seeking. At the time, I said and believed that what I was looking for from a traditional martial art was to teach myself discipline. But on looking back, what I was actually seeking was transformation.
Kung Fu films were very popular in the 1990s, probably popularized by the music of Wu-Tang and pop culture. As a teen, I loved watching Kung Fu films from the 1970s and 1980s. You may recall the ones on VHS tape with terrible English dubs, which made watching the movies even more fun. When people think of those films, most will likely think of the most famous 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 inevitably transforms into something invincible, almost beyond human. I didn’t understand it then, but those films spoke to my underlying desire and were probably a large part of why I sought Kung Fu.
In those years, I trained relentlessly. I’d rack up close to 40 hours of training a week between kung fu classes and my workouts. 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 was 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. 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.
I thought what I was doing was developing the discipline I lacked in my teens and seeking 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 by my condition. As my condition 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 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. Not a robot. You will get hurt unless you rest your body, and your training will slow or stop.” He was right. I did get several injuries that 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 entirely interested in mastering Kung Fu.
What I was pursuing was transforming myself from what I perceived to be 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, trained relentlessly, and maintained a strict, healthy lifestyle, 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, I would train in Kung Fu for 7–8 hours. While I thought what I was doing was developing self-discipline and seeking more profound 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, but being 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 yourself 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 attended martial arts competitions, winning several 1st and 2nd place medals. 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 following change in me occurred. It didn’t feel like the almost spiritual epiphany I experienced at 19 in the shower. But the shift in mindset practically did occur overnight again and, in retrospect, was undoubtedly a spiritual encounter.
I was 29 when my life outlook got upended once again.