"Gimme Your Wallet, Man!"

Hi, Steve Barnes here with life riding, live once again, and only a few days till Christmas. And I just thought I'd tell one of my best stories, the best martial arts story that I have, and I call it give me your wallet, man. So I was a coward, standing on a deserted Oakland street. And he was huge, hulking, looming over me. He had appeared out of nowhere, two o' clock in the morning. He went in my wallet. And it seemed to me that every moment in my life had led up to this instant. This was the test that I knew would come one day. Let me give you some backstory. I've been a small, gentle, vulnerable kid with no father, no brothers, no uncles. I was a poet, a reader, a loner. I didn't understand male energy at all. I really didn't. I was beaten up by the other guys and mocked by the girls. I was so confused. But I was determined to live a happy life anyway. Most of my teachers were female as well. This is Turner, my sixth grade teacher, who had me write science on the blackboard 500 times. Or this is Elaine Otterness, just an angel. God. She was my English teacher and I think eighth grade. And she was probably the first adult who told me that my writing was something that was worth pursuing. But I didn't know what a guy was. What was it to be a guy? I just didn't get it. You know, I lined my bedroom with stories of masculine heroes. Conan the Barbarian, the Saint, James Bond, Mike Hammer, you know, all those guys that could beat up the guys and, you know, get the girls. But on some level, I knew that this wasn't real either. They were archetypes, not human beings. You can only go so far in modeling archetypes. So I made a crucial decision. I would ask a different question. Not what is a man? But what's a human being? And who am I? I reckoned that if I could answer those, if I could focus there, that whatever it was to be a man would automatically arise from the matrix of what is it to be? Human. But trust me, it's not like I wanted to be an Alpha, whatever the heck that is. But I sure as hell wanted to know how to deal with alphas. Because that male scramble for hierarchical positioning, it hurt. I was. I was hurt by that stuff. And, you know, I wanted the admiration of men and the respect of women. You know, back. We're back. Vice versa. What is that game? Well, martial arts seemed to be a natural attraction for me. It seemed to be a place where that energy existed and they understood what that energy was. I've been fascinated with the martial arts. I was seeing Peter Lorre as Mr. Moto in danger island, throwing bigger guys with jujitsu flips. And you know, that like, wow, that's for me, man. I really, really want that. So I used to draw cartoons, you know, when I was a kid, we're talking about eight years old, nine years old, I would draw cartoons, little stick figures of guys with YMCA baseball caps. It's the only way I could differentiate them, you know, not being much of an artist and I never have flipping bigger guys back and forth and you know, it was just, you know, it was my fantasy, just beating up the bullies, being safe, you know. And the next 10 years of my life, all the way through high school, I craved this. What I didn't realize is that the beatings I was taking before I finally managed to find karate were burrowing themselves deep into my psyche. I mean, really, really deep down to where I couldn't even see him. I studied taekwondo and Zendoryu and Hopkido and all sorts of martial arts stuff and eventually got pretty good at it. I was at one time, let's see, what was it? 1972 National Korean Karate Championships. I did fine and I was learning and I was getting better. What I didn't realize is that I was building the castle of my life on shifting sand, or even more vividly, on top of a cesspool. Because I'd never cleaned out those earlier pains and insecurities. And one day when I was about 25, I was at the best karate school I'd ever seen. And I got my butt whipped by a 13 year old kid. I mean 13. He strutted around the school, rather understandably crowing. I beat a man and as they all laughed at me and high fived him and I crumbled inside. I just crumbled. It felt like all my years of practice and then about six years at that point were nothing, were nothing. I was still weak and vulnerable as I'd been when I was 13. On the outside I had all these skills and trophies and stuff, but on the inside, I was nothing. Now, here's a little aside. It's a little bit of truth for you. That kid. Kid's name was Alvin Prouder, if you don't recognize that name. He grew up to be the professional Karate association welterweight champion of the world. He was a prodigy. In other words, it was like dueling pianos with Baby Mozart. I never stood a chance. But it didn't matter. Logic had nothing to do with it, I was crushed. See, the gap between who you are, where you think you should be, will kill you. I mean that literally. Many years later, a fine, young black belt would ask me, when will I stop being afraid? I had no answer for him. And about six months later, he blew his brains out. I swore I'd never be caught flat without an answer again. I spent decades with different martial arts instructors, therapists, gurus, biofeedback experts, hypnotists, neuro linguistic programming folks, reflexology and energy workers. I mean, everything I could find and nothing helped. I developed a phobic response to sparring in the martial arts which had zero to do with my actual skills or any actual danger. I was never hurt. I was good at it. But I had to force myself to go to class sometimes with tears streaming down my face. I remember one of those days driving down La Brea Avenue in Los Angeles, just sobbing. God, will you either take away my urge to practice this stuff or just let me do it? God didn't answer. Why couldn't I quit? Why couldn't I move forward? I felt like emotional roadkill. Time passed. I never quit. And I also never found peace. Every time I went to class, I prayed that there wouldn't be any sparring, that I'd be able to just enjoy the movement. The only exception to this was at the Filipino Kali Academy under Danny Innosanto. There, all the sparring was actual contact. And I kind of dug that, to be honest. But point karate, where we agreed to only touch each other. You know, come close but not touch, that was terrifying. It just utterly sickening. Every time I got hit, even. Even if it was just a pet, I always wondered, was this person trying to hurt me? Are they a bully? Should I hurt them back? What's appropriate? What's going on? What's this? What's that? That uncertainty did something to my hind brain. It was just dreadful. It was just dreadful. It was a trap I could not find a way out of at all. It wasn't the sparring. It was the waiting to spar. It was wondering what was going to happen. It was driving to the school on sparring day. Oh, God, it was just a horror. I felt like a coward, a nothing. I feared I'd never be strong, never be a man. That I missed that bus somehow. That if people could see beyond the flash, beyond the belts, the skills and accomplishments, they would mock, belittle, and despise me. This was my inner truth. And I prayed that no one would ever find out that truth because it would Destroy me. And one night, as I knew would happen eventually, I found out who I really was. I was coming out of a friend's apartment in Oakland, heading to my car. It was, you know, the dead of night and a huge guy stepped out in front of me. Give me your wallet, man, he said. Everything that had ever happened in my life seemed like it had just been leading up to that one moment. I'd always wondered how I'd respond. Even as I said, even waiting for a non contact match made me want to vomit. And in that moment, I felt completely calm. I felt nothing but cool wind blowing through my bones. And I looked at him and I said, what do you really want? Those shocked at how calm my voice was, he said, huh? I said, what do you really want? I'm a human being. You're a human being. If there's something I can do for you, maybe I'd be happy to do it. And if I could, we could both walk away happy. Nothing would have happened here except two human beings sharing a moment with each other. So what do you really want? He looked at me. Made me wondering if I was crazy. I mean, was I high, did I have a gun? Because he was looking down at me, you know what I'm saying? Was I messing with him? It was one of those moments that seemed to last forever. I honestly could not tell you. Were we standing there for 10 seconds? We standing there for five minutes? I don't know. Time didn't exist in that place. And I watched him and I was thinking to myself, please make the right decision. Because if you don't, if you make the wrong decision, I'm going to hit you in the throat so fast you won't even see me move. So please, please make the right decision. He looked at me at least half a head taller and at least 30 pounds heavier, maybe 40. And I looked at him. I think there was a very small smile on my face. Everything was so clear. I felt no emotion at all. I was just waiting to see what happened. And it was as if his face cracked. That's the only way I could put it. Cracked. Is it? He'd been wearing an angry mask and it just split. And under it was the face of a frightened child. In a very small voice, he said, $5. I said, sure, and opened my wallet, pulled out $5 and handed it to him, being sure to maintain a careful distance, of course. And I said, take care of yourself, man. He mumbled some response and he went his way and I went mine. Into our separate lives and for $5. A mere $5. Not only did I not have to hurt another human being or risk being hurt, because the truth is, in any actual street confrontation, either person can be killed. I mean, that's just the truth. You can slip and hit your head on the curb, and that's all, folks. So I not only got to not hurt him or risk being hurt, but I got a great story I've been able to tell for 30 years now for five bucks. What a bargain, huh? I drove back to my hotel, calm, smiling, thinking that was the human being that I wanted to be. That was who I really was. That was him. That was the guy standing right there on the street. Didn't matter if I freaked out playing baby games when it was real. I was just there. No past, no future, just the moment. Total commitment to protect myself, get home alive. Total clarity. No questions at all. But I also had a commitment, if at all possible, to protect the other person. Because that guy was me. And if you can understand this, my commitment to protect myself produced a calm and certainty that allowed me to see into his heart more deeply than I possibly could. Had I been afraid? I saw his anger, sure, but I knew that anger was fear. What was he afraid of? I don't know. Disrespect, perhaps, or. Or lack. But I had dealt with him respectfully and also compassionately. There'd been no negativity within me for him to push against. None. I've been real with him, and so he was real with me. We were just two human beings who'd never see each other again, who'd shared a moment. He changed my life. And, God willing, I changed his as well. If I could go back to that young man driving down La Brea, tears streaming down his face, wondering why he couldn't just enjoy the martial arts. Quit the math. What I'd say to him is, why can't you quit? Because if you do, you will forever be controlled by the ghosts of your past. You'll never be complete. You'll never know who you are. Why can't you enjoy it? Because you see to the heart of what it is. Martial arts are not about punching and kicking. They're about living and dying. It's too real to you. You see through the games. You know that one day you will meet a frightened, angry man. And you will need the clarity that comes when you step beyond personal concerns or fear or intimidation. Then you can step into the eye of the storm and bring him with you. One day, you will learn to step beyond that damage. Learn to find the eye of the storm, to touch the core of what you were meant to be as a human being. And from there, from that peace, you'll be able to extend that peace to others. Maybe someone who needs it desperately at a critical junction of his life. You know, there are ways in which I still don't know what being a man is, but I know who I am. And I do have that respect and that admiration that I was looking for. So maybe. Maybe that's what it is. Maybe that's what it is. I'll settle for that, I can promise you. Because just being who you really are, miracle of miracles, turns out to be enough. There is this path, being an awake, aware adult human being. And I'm struggling along like everybody else. And I like to offer the tools that I found along the way. If you'd like the most basic of those, just go to www.the ancient child.com. get your own free copy. Take care, guys. Thanks for listening. I leave you with a question. What if who you are is enough? Take care.