Anti-fragility

The Maine coast

The strangest place I ever did a tai chi set was out on Chebeague Island, off Portland, Maine. My sister Naomi and I had taken a ferry there and spent the day picnicking and sunning ourselves on rocks which were at a 30 to 45 degree slant. It was bright summer, the breeze somewhat stiff off the Atlantic. The large, flat rocks were a pleasant place to lie, but you could not get horizontal.

At the end of the day, we went into the woods to look for a flat spot to do tai chi. Naomi had camped on the island and we did find a small space between the trees. But by this time, the liquid in my ears was at 30-45 degrees off the horizon and I felt like a drunken sailor! Naomi’s Yang-style tai chi set (from an East coast teacher) is a little different than mine, but we could do them together, each in our own way. It was an exercise in being anti-fragile.

Tai chi is wonderful in that you need nothing except your training. Special clothes, shoes, mats, even special weather, are unnecessary. You simply choose a space, salute, and begin. For at least ten years most of my personal time and resources were spent training, two or three classes a week and often workshops as well. I remember bounding up the stairs at a San Francisco metro station, my legs like springs, ready for another class after work on Monday, when I had just spent a week at an intensive tai chi camp.

How I loved swinging through set after set, some with weapons, with a big troop of people. It was a motley crew from all over the United States and Europe, all similarly joyful and obsessed. Often classes ended with a Chinese meal. Our teacher had said you could only do five things well in life and must choose. Mine were tai chi, writing, cooking, gardening and family, not necessarily in that order.

Don joined the group in subsequent years and we still, almost every afternoon, step outside and do some of the many sets we know. My legs are no longer strong, but, deep into my seventh decade, I believe the stretches and movement of tai chi have kept me from arthritis and back pain. And it is still a way to keep one’s feet on the ground, staving off fragility and accepting reality.

In times of uncertainty, and I think we must admit that these are, it is helpful not to be too demanding, not to expect too much. Growing up in the upper Midwest, especially in North Dakota, most people were prepared for blizzards in winter, tornados in the summer. In Los Angeles, earthquakes and fires threaten. Any one of us might find ourselves evacuated and sleeping on a gym floor with our family and few remaining possessions ranged around us. Have we become too fragile or entitled to imagine this?

Modern life has dedicated itself to providing comfort and communication for all. Prosthetic devices abound, many of them necessary. Hearing aides, hip and joint replacements, tooth implants and interocular lenses in our eyes (mine included) have helped so many people. The stories of the paralympian athletes and participants in the Invictus Games are nothing short of miraculous.

In addition to extending our physical abilities with prosthetics, all of us have cell phones! Would any of us be willing to give them up? These little computers in our hands keep us in touch with each other, orient us to where we are and where we are going, remind us of what comes next, and allow us to answer any question we can think of with only a few gestures. Heat and air conditioning are other comfort zones modern life has accustomed us to, as well as thousands of choices of foods to eat and entertainment to enjoy. 

Nevertheless, this modern dedication to our every whim makes us fragile. And we are dangerously far from our ancestors of only two or three generations back who had real-life capabilities and much less need for entertainment! While accepting what modern life offers, it seems to me it is also helpful to have some defenses against it!

Long before I began to study tai chi, John Blofeld’s delightful introduction to Taoism gave me glimpses of how I could defend myself. In Taoism: The Road to Immortality [published 1978], he writes: “When nature is taken as a guide, a friend, living becomes almost effortless, tranquil, joyous even … By being content with little and not giving a rap for what the neighbors think, one can attain a very large measure of freedom, shedding care and worry in a trice.” I believed him, and I already had had teachings along these lines from my nature-loving parents.

In my case, since words are my jam, I early amused myself by writing. I have notebooks and collections of quotations I kept in high school. A couple of major purges destroyed much interim emotionally-charged material, but I do have my recent writing. Notebook and pen in hand, you can leave me almost anywhere for hours without much complaint. What am I writing? Just what I see or sense around me, random thoughts. No one cares. Insouciance rules. Or, given a little space, I might stand up and do some tai chi or qigong.

Cooking, gardening, family? They are just a matter of living in reality, the only place to stand. These are uncertain times, and the closer we are to the roots and trunk of reality, the better off we are. The branches of the tree will be sacrificed first. Let’s not get too far out on the limbs.