A friend of mine came to me the other day and said “I don’t want to be angry today.” Now, anyone who knew me prior to, oh, maybe four years ago, they know that I used to be really, really good at being angry. I could get angry at all sorts of things. My wife. My kids. Perceived slights. The misdeeds of others. The misdeeds, especially, of myself. Oh, I was an expert at being angry with myself.
Full disclosure time: I struggled with being a good, attentive father with my first son. Anyone who knew be back then will be nodding. I was so out of touch with his mother, and with myself, and it was easy to lock myself away. I even went so far as to move away, to an entirely different state.
When I came back, two years later, I was a very different person. My walls had been shattered, my emotional center reborn, and my entire perspective of life changed. None of which I entirely knew, but I was, fundamentally, a different person on the inside. All I needed to do was learn how to effect that change on the outside.
Well, here’s the thing. I’ve gotten a lot less angry. But what I didn’t get was a lot less guilty. And so that didn’t really unburden me at all, it just shifted things. Being less angry was good for me. Being guilt-ridden wasn’t.
Guilt brings a different kind of burden than anger. Anger gets you going. It has a charge to it. It makes you jump out of your seat, shaking your fist, spittle flying. There’s a victory condition. But guilt has none of that. Guilt is depressing. It’s crushing. It’s a layer of dirt that coats everything that you can never quite get clean. It carries depression, self loathing, and desolation.
Now, I’m not going to suggest that it was easy to stop being angry. But I will suggest that, in general, it’s easier to stop doing something than it is to start doing something. It’s an effort to stop, but you hold your breath, and grab on to the railing, and… don’t take that step.
But to release the guilt, I had to start. Start forgiving myself. That’s not as easy as starting to play a new computer game. Or starting a new diet. Or starting a new career. . Because before you can forgive yourself, you have to believe that you’re worthy of forgiveness.
It’s a long journey, self-forgiveness. It’s full of fits and starts, and a lot of giving up. It’s taken many years, and more than a few pep talks from friends and confidants to get there. But I can say that once it happens, it’s an amazing feeling of relief and peace.
So how does this all tie together?
Before you can stop being angry — really stop being angry — you need to forgive yourself for the anger. It’s ok to be angry. It’s ok to be upset. It’s ok to be upset. But you have to let it go.
I struggled to let go of my guilt. I struggled to let go of my anger. I struggled to let go of my fear.
They were all the same thing.
Now, I still get frustrated. Traffic. The kids. Homework. Work work.
My trick is to be a duck. Not the part about looking all serene on top and paddling like mad to stay afloat below. No. Be a duck as in “like water off a duck’s back.”
Take your anger, your guilt, and your fear. Experience them. Validate them. And then release them. Let them flow away.
Learn to let things go. Be a duck.
One thing I’ve started doing in my ongoing quest to be a duck is I go to this site three or four times a day. I sit and listen to the waves, and think about the things that bother me, and try to let them roll off my back like water. I ease them into the ocean and watch them drift away.
I forgive myself my own trespasses, as I have trespassed against myself.
Not a single one of the peers who I respect and love and seek to emulate is a more-than-human person who never fails. Every single one of them has made mistakes. They have all offended people, they’ve all screwed up, they’ve all been angry at other people and themselves. I know that they have all found ways to forgive themselves. And so I seek to emulate them in this as I do in other things.
Today is a happy day Not a birthday But the day after We make important The birthing day An achievement done to you Not by you And yet we don’t thank Our mothers Who, in sweat and pain, Labor through the labor To shove us Blind and dumb Into the world To experience all the clichés For ourselves.
But today is a day where you will do Instead of being done A day like any other Special Happy or sad Sameness in the unique Blurring with the latest new And the tears Of achievement And pain And joy.
So celebrate this day! This average series of moments That tomorrow will mean nothing But in the aggregate of years Will be everything For what we did yester Was not to pedestal Was not to praise Was not to uphold mothering (except in the practice of making you one)
A cycle of days A circle of sun This day no more important And no less Than the one that came before Save our noting
Shall I love you less On this day than on that? I shall not. For all days are precious On the walk Together.
So, Known World Cooks and Bards was held this past weekend in the Wisconsin Dells, in the Kingdom of Northshield, a place very near and deal to my heart. And I went up there with people very near and dear to my heart. And I met people who, had I only known it before now, were near and dear to my heart.
I could run through the conventional day by day recounting of the event, but I won’t. What I’ll do instead is lazily drift from moment to epiphany to performance.
Aneleda Falconbridge is a revelation. Zsof and I convinced her to come to the event, and she travelled with just a little bag — and an enormous heart. She was kind and friendly and courteous with everyone, fun to watch moving through the event, and a joy to sing with. It was like meeting up with a friend I hadn’t seen in years, and we just picked right back up where we left off.
Zsof, of course, continues to be my rock in the SCA. Supportive, she’s always got my back, and we’re starting to find ways to sing and perform and write together. Yes, be afraid.
Kari… what can I say about Kari that isn’t summed up with o/ ? The hairband comes off, the locks flow free, and the Rock God is among us, leading the way and showing us how we are all Epic in His Eyes.
Finnguala is funny, and sweet, and supportive. Her drinking song that she sang in the car on the way home is going to be a great hit, and an awesome singalong.
Lasair is really coming into her own. Her new valkyrie song is haunting and tight, a look at the world of men through the eyes of their Judgement. And her boyfriend Charlie is a good liberal lad. Their intellectual discussions in the car (interspersed with fart jokes) were really quite interesting.
Shava and Kudrun and Eliane and the rest of the KWCB staff were astounding in their attention to detail and service and assistance. The coordination, the food, the loaner bedding, the freakin’ taxi that never stopped running… well, I’m sure that there were issues, but I never saw one. Feast was… astounding. Even when the eels were staring at me.
I got to reconnect with Wyndreth, which was awesome, and even more awesome is having the opportunity to work on a project with her. Her Voice is as powerful as ever. She’s a font of information. She makes you think in ways you didn’t think you could brain. I love being around her.
And of course, my Laurel Amelie, who I didn’t get to spend much time with, but is always a cheerful and supportive presence. She brought one of her amazing 800-stringed instruments to the event (I think it’s called a Delruba) and completely cut short a group of bards aggressively discussing… something, I don’t even remember… and played for us. No moss on her, my Laurel.
I took Wyndreth’s “Finding Your Inner Norse Voice” class Saturday morning — and then proceeded to make up kennings for the rest of the event. (Althought silky mushroom is NOT MINE.) Key takeaway: it’s not enough to understand a poetic form. You have to understand the culture to truly be able to speak with an authentic voice. For example, what did the vikings use for money? (Answer: Other people’s money.)
Then I attended Lisa Theriot’s bardic keynote. She’s an excellent speaker, and I enjoyed it. Key takeaway: In the SCA, we’re playing at it. We take some aspects seriously, but the concept of fealty, and the obligations it carries were far far different in period than they are in the SCA. If you break your fealty oath in the SCA, people will talk about you. You’ll lose status. But if you broke your fealty oath in period, frequently you ended up dead.
Sunday started off with Robyyan’s Cantigas for Contrefait class, and I’m really excited about working with some of the material on a particular project I want to try. Then I taught my Sestinas, Ballades and Triolets class, which I really enjoyed doing, because I had nine really interested students, and almost all of them tried writing a poem themselves when the lecture portion of the class was over. I love these forms, and I wish more people would do them. In the afternoon, I co-taught a sparsely attended Boasts class with Zsof, an then a pretty well attended class on being Kingdom Bard that, uh, got a little political. But we worked through that.
Sunday night feast was made especially nice by the conspirators of my wife Laura, Finnguala, and Zsof who worked with Shava to deliver a very nice personalized birthday cake for Lasair and I, who both had birthdays at the event.
And of course there was “Weight of the Chain.”
And how did such stout MidRealm Royalists come to be singing with the War Bard of the East? Go find her blog and she’ll tell you. (psst: find it here.)
It was a… transforming experience, this event. I experienced something very personal and very fundamental here, one that lifted a great weight I’ve burdened myself with for years, and one that puts me on a new path to new aspirations and new deeds of honor. I’ve struggled for years now, trying to find my way back to the SCA, to my muse, to my friends. No one’s fault but my own, but it’s nice to finally, for once and for all, get there. I’m not leaving again.
So there you go. An awesome event, lessened only by the lack of my wife and kids. Amazing classes, tasty food, good friends, formative experiences.
Word-wielders, weary, as homeward they hasten. Cunning Cooks clean food-blades and drink daggers Brewers beam brightly at mead scabbards all empty And Shava, world wrangler, dreams deeply in sleep.
Full friendships flower, sun facing, long waking. East linden walks softly with dragon-bards bold Word-bindings strain under snow-leaves, a blizzard Grain-singers boiling, mind-wort and milling
Heart-pluckers standing, tune-gifting the people Passing the light round song-circle once more Life-speakers, feeders and story-distillers Our wagons bear kennings and dream drivings.
I am the Premiere Warder of the Company of the Bronze Ring, what is now the Grant Level (and terminal) Order for Rapier Combat in the Middle Kingdom. Because I’m the premiere, there are a lot of things that never happened to me that have happened to many other members of the Bronze Ring.
I was never a cadet
I was never officially evaluated by other Bronze Rings
I was never voted on
I was never given a gorget worn by someone else
I wasn’t even originally called “warder”. The title was assigned two years after the award was created.
But perhaps most visibly… I never wore the Ring Bling.
The Ring Bling is a five pound brass washer about a foot in diameter. It’s been worn by many new Bronze Rings, usually after having been dropped on their neck by the King or Queen upon their elevation. But it didn’t get instituted as a Bronze Ring Tradition for years after I was made the first Warder.
This year was the fifteenth anniversary of my recognition as the premiere Warder of the Bronze Ring. So at Pennsic, I approached the man who possessed it at the time, Warder Darius, and asked him if I could wear the Ring Bling for a day. He agreed, pending approval from Their Majesties, and soon after, They had approved as well.
So at Pennsic, on the middle Saturday, I wore the Ring Bling. Darius dropped it around my neck before the beginning of La Rochelle, and I didn’t take it off except to sleep until the middle of Opening Ceremonies the next morning. I marshaled wearing it, I fenced pickups wearing it, I eat wearing it, I sang wearing it. In fact, I did just about everything in it except for… take a picture in it.
The slow burn in my neck muscles grew and grew over the course of the day, along with numbers of people either congratulating me as the newest Warder (because of my hiatus, I guess people don’t recognize me) or asking me what the hell I was doing wearing the thing. Mostly what I was doing was being reminded every second of the time I wore it of my responsibilities and the burdens of being a Warder of the Bronze Ring.
Being a Warder is kind of like being a fish riding a bicycle. We don’t quite fit anywhere. We’re not a peerage, but sometimes we’re treated like one. We’re not the White Scarf, but we’re “equivalent” — depending on the white scarf. Once derisively referred to as the “Brown Ring of Quality” we Warders have struggled for over fifteen years to find our place within the MidRealm, and then within the larger SCA community. To add to that, I’ve often felt not “part” of the CBR myself. A wholly personal problem, I assure you, readers, but still something that made me feel excluded.
But in recent years, much of that has gone away. After a hiatus from the SCA, I returned, and was welcomed back like the Prodigal Son. The CBR has matured and grown into a respected group of individual leaders respected both inside and outside the MidRealm. I ruminated on these thoughts as I wore the ring around my neck, and I thought even more deeply on my responsibilities; to the Order, my Cadet, and the Kingdom in general. Like the five pounds of brass washer around my neck, they weigh on me. I frequently feel like I’m failing at least one, if not two or all of those entities as I continue to walk my path. I’m conflicted with various directions. Am I balancing my love of heavy combat with my rapier commitments? Can I skip that CBR meeting to go to the Bardic class? Should I be home late from practice to get in one more set of pickup fights? Do I make the trip south of Indianapolis to see my cadet at the expense of a local event?
The next morning, I handed the Ring Bling back to Darius, but while the physical weight left my shoulders (and my neck, ow), my burdens of oath and promise and duty did not. I still worry if I’m doing the right things. I still worry that I’m doing the wrong things. As far as I can tell, this makes me just like everyone else, so I’m not terribly worried about it. But I still carry them with me.
Being a Warder is a responsibility. It’s a job that you do, an ideal you uphold, a relationship you build and an example you are. All of the rules of peerage bind it, yet it carries few of the privileges. It’s carried twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year. Everyone does it a little bit differently, no one does it perfectly.
Four months ago, I wrote a cycle of ballades in honor of my good friend, Robert Downey’s elevation to the SCA Chivalry. Originally a quest to write about the virtue of Franchise, it grew to a series of eight poems in the ballade format, a medieval form that was appropriate to the time-frame and location of Sir Robert’s persona. It details a series of conversations between a Squire and the Duke, his Knight about the Squire’s path to the Chivalry, focusing on the virtues of Courage, Largesse, Noblesse, Courtesy, Humility, Prowess, and Franchise.
Now, I’ve been in the SCA for a very long time, and I’ve got some experience with the Knightly Virtues, with varying degrees of success. Courage and Largesse I’ve got. Courtesy and Humility, well. We all struggle.
But when I wrote the poems, I was not a dependent. I was not Mistress Amelie’s apprentice, and I was not Sir Thoma’s squire. I became her apprentice a few weeks later, and became Sir Thomas’ man at arms at Pennsic 43.
So now I read these poems and I have a different viewpoint. As someone who has openly stated my desire to be worthy of peerage, poems about Knightly Virtues read differently, even when I wrote them. And so as I reread them, I come back to the same conclusion I had before, only deeper:
It’s all about Franchise.
At Pennsic this year, I was pulled aside by someone who knew me Before, someone who meant well, and this person said to me, “Purple you’re a jerk, but you can’t change who you are. Tell the truth. Be yourself.” And I sort of nodded and went along with it because, well, I was tired, and it was raining, and someone had given me a beer and I was tired. And they meant well. I truly believe that.
But I also believe that they’re wrong. Because what they’re saying, essentially, is “be a jerk,” and I’ve worked real hard to stop being a jerk. A lot of the time, I feel like I’m succeeding. But Franchise. It’s about Franchise.
The Franchise poem in the Virtues cycle is the seventh of eight, the eighth poem being the one where (SPOILERS) the Squire is called to be Knighted. Originally, there was no eighth poem, and Franchise was the last. That’s not because Franchise is the hardest virtue to write about (although it’s not easy). That’s not because it was random selection.
It’s because Franchise is the most important of the Knightly Virtues.
That’s my opinion, of course. But look at it this way:
Courage is something you can learn. Fear is not an obstacle to being brave.
Largesse is something you do — give to the poor and those who need help, and in recognition of fealty.
Noblesse is something you do — inspiring others to elevate themselves.
Courtesy is something you do — being polite, forgiving others, offering kindness.
Humility is something you do, praising the deeds of others (Knightly Humility is different from “normal” humility, and I could write a whole blog-post on it.)
Prowess… oh, Prowess. Prowess is the foundation of Knighthood, but it is the one virtue you can get better at without ever getting better as a person. Prowess the smallest and the largest of obstacles to Peerage. But it’s something you can learn.
But not Franchise. Franchise isn’t about doing something. Franchise isn’t something you can learn. Franchise is about being who you are. But not the schlub you are when you take five or six years to get through college and end up with a 2.5 GPA. Not the cubicle drone you are in your 9-5 job. Franchise is about being the KNIGHTLY YOU. It’s about being the best, most Chivalrous, Knightly You that you can be. It’s about being the Knight you know you Are.
So that’s why it’s not enough for me to just be myself. I have to be my Knightly self. And that’s a better self than who I was Before.
So I think I’ve come to a realization. Life is like being a piece of a puzzle. Every section of life is a different puzzle. S when you’re in it, active and everything, you fit.
But when you stop doing someone for a while, your shape changes. Some edges wear down. New cracks or edges appear. And when you try to come back to a part of your life that you’ve not been in for a while, your puzzle piece doesn’t fit the same way in the space that you left behind, because not only are you a different shape, but the hole you left is shaped differently too.
And it takes TIME to fit back in again. That’s the mistake I made 18 months ago, it’s the mistake I made three years ago. It’s a mistake I will try to avoid this time. I miss the SCA, and I want to be back in it, but I can’t be the piece I was ten years ago. I don’t WANT to be the piece I was ten years ago. That piece was an asshole.
So I have to ease back into the puzzle, find my new place, and make sure I fit. I hope what friends I have left in the SCA will help me do that.