Fear of Falling

Unbeknownst to many, on my fiftieth birthday I experienced my first "shugyo". What the heck is a "shugyo", you might be asking. Although it sounds like a maki roll, it means so much more.

In feudal Japan when samurai ruled that space in time, a samurai would venture out from time to time on a "shugyo"..... a time of extreme austere training. It would have been on a day of personal importance such an anniversary of a meaningful event. On that day, without notice or fan fare, he would leave his home and family to test his skills as a warrior. Those skills would obviously involve wielding a katana (aka samurai sword) but also this was a test of his spirituality, mental toughness and physical strength. They would endure many trials and hardships, pushing their limits and ultimately discovering what they were truly made of. If they made it back, they were pretty darn good!

Anyway .... In modern times, we too test our selves (or should). We don't go around picking fights with the guy in the next cubical or abandoning our day job without notice to wander off into the wilderness. As tempting both might be, we instead do more time appropriate and socially acceptable challenges like running a marathon, climbing a peak, changing careers, moving across country, etc.

My shugyo, exactly five years ago, was to jump out of a perfectly good airplane. I had the opportunity to learn about skydiving from a friend who trumpeted the euphoric feeling of free falling and then floating thousands of feet above ground. It certainly sparked my spirit of adventure and at the same time created an incredibly queasy feeling in my stomach. A rational person would say .... "Sounds like fun but no way". To me ..... it was to be my perfect shugyo. What an ideal way to face my fears, muster courage and test my limits!

So on the morning of July 21, 2006, my fiftieth birthday ... I left my house early in the morning without fan fare and notice, went off to a small grass covered airfield in rural Illinois. After a brief lesson and two or three trips to the bathroom, I was strapped tightly into a harness, introduced to my tandem partner, and entered a small plane with it's two propellers whirling. The deafening engine noise was masking the pounding of my heart.

Off we went into an extremely steep climb, quickly flattening out after reaching proper altitude. I was among experiences skydivers and a few other tandems. The pro's were joking around but us fledgling baby birds were just a little bit nervous about leaving our nests for the first time. My tandem skydiver joined in the kidding torelieve a little of my stress but even in his clowning there was a clear serious nature about checking harnesses andgoing over Safety instructions. We were ready.

As we reached 14,000 feet, the signal was given to stand and approach the now opened door. Just like in those WWII movies, we lined up like paratroopers, ready to jump into battle. The experienced skydivers couldn’t wait and, with ear-to-ear grins and carefree abandon, quickly jumped one after another shrinking in size as they fell. For me, it was an eerie feeling ..... wind blowing, staring out at the patchwork fields below, feeling the vast nothingness of space and knowing that the only thing between me and thehard ground was that open door ..... but there I was ...... toes over the edge.

In a tandem jump, you are securely fastened toan experienced skydiver on your back. My guy was a scrappy Brit named Jacko. Besides being there for your survival, he was there to "help" you take that first step into thin air.

Out we went. Remembering my instructions of arching my back, legs bent at the knee and arms out .. I was in free-fall. Oddly enough the fear was totally gone, replaced by an incredible sense of freedom and serenity. The only hint of falling was the images on the ground quickly getting bigger. It was an incredible feeling. With the cool wind noisily rushing all around me, I was screaming with excitement and exhilaration. We dropped 4,000 feet in one minute. At 10,000 feet, I was too distracted to pull the ripcord so my partner did, thankfully. We gracefully floated in contrasting silence to the ground where I made an albatross-like landing. My "shugyo" was over and concluded with high fives and a manly hug from Jacko.

I was reflecting upon my experience over a cold beer at a nearby bar that offered discounts to us skydivers. The realization was that all the fear and anxiety I felt was driving to the airfield, strapping on the harness, enduring the steep accent in that noisy, prop plane and, most of all, standing at the open door with my toes overthe edge, gazing into the unknown.

Once I was out, there was no feeling of falling but only the joy of facing my fears and knowing that I successfully completed my first "shugyo". I felt alive... in many ways.

The moral of the story? ........ You can figure it out.

Snap out of it!!

In Moonstruck (a must see), there is an extremely entertaining and poignant scene when Ronny Cammareri (played by Nicolas Cage) declares to Loretta Castorini (played by Cher) , “I love you” to which Loretta responds with two hard slaps and a sharp “Snap out of it”.

Let’s put things in perspective, shall we, and not be so damn dramatic. Although I have a “degenerative disease”, it is not life threatening. I don’t have the hideous big “C’. Nor do I have Lou Gehrigs disease or MS. So what’s a few aches and pains that vicodin and a hip replacement can’t cure!! The reality is, as a dear friend once said, I am loved, fed and safe. So, Joey ….. “Snap out of it!”

To make me feel more ashamed of my “woe is me” fatalism, I happened to see a Sunday morning program weeks ago that left a huge imprint on me. Prophetically enough, I watched it before my diagnosis. Maybe my inner “Joe” knew it would come in handy one day … perhaps this day. The story was about Dennis Walters. His story began as a young aspiring and gifted golfer on his way to winning many professional trophies. Nothing but promise lay ahead of him. His dreams were on track to be reality until one day on the course, he suffered a freak golf cart accident that left him paralyzed from his waist down. He couldn’t walk much less golf. To make a wonderful story way too short, he turned his passion for golf and his innate skill into an awesome display of courage and tenacity. He became a renown trick golf artist making incredible shots thrilling thousands all over the US. He triumphed because many told him he couldn’t. Now that is chutzpah!! “Chutzpah” according to me Yiddish friend, Webster, means “supreme self confidence” and in Dennis’ case, it was.

Another take away from the story was a beautiful tagline he uses ….. “If your dream doesn’t work out, find another one!” Hhmmm …maybe that is where I am on the State of “Be”ing cycle. Maybe I need to find another “be” to “wanna be” …. Do you think?

For more information about Dennis, see http://denniswalters.com

My "Wanna Be" Journey started in High School

My “wanna be” started during the 1970's in high school on Long Island. I took boxing lessons with my buddies, Robby, Johnny and Johnny (now aka Jack) through a park district program. (Funny how in New York, guy's nick names always ended in "Y". I was Joey, of course). Anyway, I would have been pretty good if it wasn’t for the fact that I couldn’t see a punch coming without my glasses and had a keen aptitude for nose bleeding. Not a very good combination for a fighter. Blur and blood …. that was my combination. Even with this career limiting handicap, I still imagined fighting in a ring, crowds cheering and “Bloody Nose Joe” knocking out the champ in a Rocky-esq kind of way.

Many years later when my wife nagged me about not spending enough "quality time" with my five year old daughter, I enrolled in parent/child karate. The dream lived on! Maybe for me it did. Alas, my five year old didn’t quite like the hitting part very much even though she was incredibly adorable with a pony tale in a white gi with pink barrettes. In her defense, It is hard to be both cute and vicious. Over time, she dropped karate to pursue her girly ice skating. I kept going, the brute I was. Oh well, it’s a man’s sport anyway. Move over kid!!

I always wanted to be a fighter like my dad, Joseph Anthony Pulichene. He started out to be boxer on the East side of Manhattan in Little Italy in the late 1930's. He was a pretty good feather weight with a lot of potential, until his immigrant father, stopped him in his tracks. You see, in those days in Little Italy, you either learned to fight and joined the mob or you grew straight and narrow. Legend has it, my dad's father hid his gym shoes the night of a big fight. He couldn't box in his sox and there were no Sportsmart on the East side of Manhattan he could run to. It never made perfect sense to me but legends never do. None-the-less … A career nipped for lack of footwear. Go figure. Maybe that’s why karate seemed to take hold. You can do it in bare feet! I found the answer. No one was going to try that old trick again by hiding my shoes and make me a perpetual “wanna be” or a “should have been”. I was destined for greatness, a somebody! If only my dad found the key to his dream. Although maybe he did. A little rough around the edges and with some broken English, Joseph Anthony grew up pretty darn straight and narrow. He dropped out of H.S. to support the family, fought in a war saving Europe from the Nazi's, got out of Little Italy, married a beautiful young women, raised a family, worked hard achieving the American dream and was truly loved. You did good ... Joseph Anthony!! Maybe his dad really did know better after all.