Thai Tidbits: Expectations

         

     Though it hasn't been announced yet on this blog, I hope that most of my readers know by now that I have been called to serve a two-year mission in the Thailand, Bangkok Mission. I've been hesitant to post much about it, because to be honest, I have to fill two (and possibly three) talks at church on the subject. That’s no cakewalk for me, so I have been keeping my thoughts on it private until then. However, I since it is such a large part of my mind and my thoughts, it really is a shame not to share some of it. Thus it is that I introduce you to a new series on “Cool Air from A.C.”: Thai Tidbits. I hereby promise to post little facts about Thailand in general or my mission specifically and my thoughts on those facts, just to keep my readers up to speed.

            However, this is the inaugural post of the series, and with “Go Big or Go Home” as the theme for this kick-off, I’m about to tackle the deep issue of the realization of dreams. Strap in, because we are in for a long ride.

             A mission. My mission. As a Latter-day Saint young man, the very word “mission” by itself evokes visions. Visions of white shirts and ties, of doors to be knocked on, of farewells and homecomings, of nametags, of opening letters, of the Missionary Training Center, of exotic lands and exotic peoples. As you may have noticed, I tend to romanticize a lot of things. (And yes I just used the word “Romanticize” because I learned what it meant just this last semester and have been dying to use it.) When I talk about my favorite athlete, I don’t mention rippling muscles or primeval war cries, I wax poetically about his awe-inspiring control. When I talk about my favorite sport, I don’t mention the sweat and grime that comes from busting around the basketball court for an hour, I discuss the moments of creativity and the beauty I see in them. So if the average LDS boy can’t help but feel ‘caught up’ in the rush of excitement that a mission embodies, imagine what I, with my overactive imagination and over-analytical mind have felt.

            You see, my mission has been the focal point of my life since… Well, since I was born. Although it’s cliché to say, I literally grew up singing “I Hope They Call Me on a Mission”. Nearly every church lesson I ever had pointed in some way or another to the point of my life when I would don a little card with the name “Elder Wilson” on it—and if you think about it for a second, that is a ton of lessons, most likely in the thousands. Whenever I made “life goals”, serving a mission was at the top of the list. When someone asked me what it was that I was going to do with my life, “serve a mission for my church” was in some way part of my reply. This is all just to show you that my mission has been a part of me as long as I can remember.

That’s a lie though, because in fact, it has been more than just a part of me. It has defined me. I can distinctly recall a moment in my life when I made a life-altering decision to become more social, to break out of my comfort zone as a young teenager and become—not the introvert that I naturally felt inclined to be—but “a people person”. Perhaps such a thing would’ve happened as I grew up, perhaps it was a natural decision that everyone has to make, but I attribute much of what has happened in my life since that time to that decision; because at that time, I made a conscious change to become someone better. What inspired that move by me? Why, the realization that I would make a terrible missionary as the introvert that I was, of course.  

So what happens when an event which you have spent your entire life preparing for suddenly stops becoming a dream and starts being a reality? Is it even possible for such high expectations to be fulfilled? I for one believe that the two years I spend in Thailand will be everything I want, (in part because I am committed to putting in the effort to make it that way), but of course such an answer is exactly what you would expect from someone who hasn’t gotten to the reality yet. Perhaps this theme of the realization of expectations might be a subject for this blog as my mission looms closer and more dreams are realized. However, in one matter, I can definitively say that my expectations have been fulfilled, even exceeded.

For me, one aspect that has always been part of my ‘dream of a mission’ has been the mission president. I have a clear mental picture of wise spiritual giant who is stern yet loving, and passionate yet realistic—a leader who I will be eager to follow. Yesterday evening, I had a dream-to-reality moment, because I was privileged to walk into the MTC with my parents and meet President and Sister Senior, who on Thursday are leaving the States, flying to Thailand, to taking over the mission.

The experience was absolutely wonderful—and I walked away very uplifted. The Seniors were everything I’d hoped for and them some. They were funny, quickly breaking in the ice and getting to know us and each other. There wasn’t an awkward moment in the half hour we got to spend with them. President Senior especially took the lead role in the conversation, and I honestly don’t know how I could have been more impressed with the man. His manners were gracious—he said everything right—but I could sense that he wasn’t one to idle words; sincerity was beneath every compliment he bestowed, and even in something as simple as “it’s a pleasure to meet you”, you could tell that he actually meant it. Yet he contrasted this kindness with an abounding enthusiastic about his role, and seemed ready to take the missionary work in Thailand to a new level. From passing comments I could see that he was going to demand my all for the work—there was a steely fire inside of him that promised seriousness about our task to preach the gospel. But that was and is fine with me; that’s the reason we will both be there. Why not give our all? Spirituality abounded as well, and it was obvious that this man was an inspired servant of the Lord. Honestly, I feel that if President Senior told me I needed to open up a new area in the depths of heck, I would do it in a heartbeat.

A day later, I’m still in a little bit of a daze—could I have gotten so lucky? I cannot wait to get over there. Despite the wonderful plans I have for this summer, I would be fine leaving tomorrow. Any apprehensions I had about Thailand are quickly disappearing. I have a great leader to guide me along, and together with him and the other elders in Thailand, we can do a great work. I’m ready to go get to it! 

The Great Wall

I have a saying that tends to get me into trouble with a lot of people. The saying was my infamous phrase “Cold is mental.” (which, although I didn’t mean it to, carried the implied insult that anyone complaining of the cold was simply a mental midget.) As one might imagine, I usually got a deadpan “has-anyone-checked-this-guy-for-some-serious-mental-problems?” stare after I unleashed that comment, followed by the statement “Uh, no it’s not.” Fortunately for my readers, this post is not about whether or not cold is mental. That position is awfully extreme, and I although I still hold sway that mental fortitude does matter in how one deals with colder temperatures, I have retreated from such extreme logic. No, this post is about something that I believe in much more passionately than approaches to dealing with foul weather: my underlying belief in the near-infinite powers of the human mind.

As is usual, my journey of thought started with a rather simple experience. My freshman year of high school, I succumbed to peer-pressure and signed up for the cross-country team with a couple of my friends. Our coach, who was also a math teacher at the school, still remains one of the most singularly unique men I have ever met. Mr. Barkley was known for odd sayings dubbed “Barkley-isms”, his obsession with gnomes, and his love for all things relating to Star Wars, but above all, his ability to turn any subject into a fiery philosophical lecture. (I will probably forever remember him famously going off about the danger of nuclear weapons in a post-apocalyptic society for nigh unto half an hour, during a math lecture that supposedly focused on logarithmic functions.) But despite his unique mannerisms, the man was wholeheartedly dedicated to running, and he knew what he was talking about when it came to cross-country. Thus it was one day that a Barkley lecture sprung out of someone complaining that they had, and I quote, “hit the wall” during a race. That is to say, they didn’t believe that they could have gone any faster without their body rebelling and shutting down. They had reached the limit of their physicality. Barkley’s response has forever echoed in my brain. His short answer was simply:

“No you didn’t. There is no wall.” 

He was wrong, of course. I obviously couldn’t run a 4-minute mile, nor could I now. If my body was somehow forced into doing so, it would shut down, and I would collapse, no doubt about it. It could very well kill me. So while Barkley’s thought was noble, and carried with it a promise of ultimate human potential, I came to the conclusion that in this matter, he was simply mistaken, caught too deeply in the unique depths his mind probed to see the real life truth.

But was that idea as wrong at seemed?

            This has been something I have stewed over again and again, and the more I think about it, the more wrong I feel in my beliefs, rather than in his. (His explanation later in the lecture helped as well—I have to give credit where credit is due). You see, there is a second, less obvious message in the four words “There is no wall”. On the first level, that’s wrong, and will always be. I can’t lift a house with my bare hands, in the same manner that I can’t run a 4 minute mile, or just sign up for and win an Iron Man Triathlon tomorrow. It is not going to happen. But look where this road takes you, in the running example.

You are halfway through a race, wheezing for air, desperate to get to the finish line. You’ve set a grueling pace so far, and in the back of your mind there is that little voice saying: Give it up, you can’t do this. Give up. You have to slow down. Give up. Two roads split here in our theoretical example: those that believe that the wall exists will say back: You’re right. I’m going to collapse at this pace. I have to slow down.

The other path is for those who, like Barkley, don’t believe in a wall, but believe in their invincibility instead. That mind will say: Ha, you say I can’t run this fast? I can do anything—including speed up! Watch this!”

Can you see what happens? Runner number one slows down—he’s afraid of the wall and he shies away from it. He might very well end the race with a good time, but the runner who heads straight at that wall at full speed will always beat him. Do you know why? Because the actual chances of hitting that wall incredibly remote. (To remind you, the wall is a simile for the physical threshold where you are completely incapable of doing more). Our brains are triggered with hundreds of “walls” that exist only in our mind, designed to stop us from ever coming up against the real wall of our physical limitations. Runner 1 ran up against one of those glass walls and stopped. Runner 2 ran right through.

Think about that for a second. When is the last time you saw any athlete just collapse from sheer exhaustion, completely incapable of moving? Lebron James plays nearly every minute of the highest level basketball games in the world, against some of the most athletic men the world can offer, yet he still walks off the court at the end of game. John Isner lugs his 6 foot, 9-inch, 245 pound frame around the grass courts at Wimbledon—with all the pressure that comes from playing those storied courts—for eleven hours, yet still finds the strength to get his feet in the right spot so he can fire away the match-clinching groundstroke. The cream of these examples is Scott Jurek, an ultramarathoner, who collapsed halfway through Death Valley’s 135 mile, summer-scorching “Badwater Ultramarthon”. Scott was competing just two weeks after winning a 100-mile race across the country. He was literally facedown on scorching hot asphalt, when he made perhaps mankind’s most epic breakthrough of a wall: he got up and ran the remaining 85 uphill miles in a time to not only win the race against some of the fastest runners in the United States, but he also blasted through the races record en route.

The fact of the matter is that the true wall of our physical limitations is so far removed from us that we can essentially pretend it doesn’t exist. The moment we admit it is there, within reach, our potential shrinks to wherever we have placed that wall. We can no longer do better than the glass wall in our minds. I choose to reject that limitation. Who says I can’t go out and run 10 miles tomorrow if I wanted to? If I do, there is no way I will be able to. Who says that after 2 hours of non-stop, high-speed basketball, I can’t manage to pull away from a defender on a fast break? If I do, I will never get the lay-up off. Who says that after several sets in the scorching sun, I can’t muster up the strength and willpower to chase down a drop shot on the tennis court? If I do, I certainly won’t get to that ball. Yet if instead of saying “I can’t” and more fully live Adidas’ motto that “Impossible is Nothing”, suddenly the possibility opens up of me doing all of those things. That is why in my mind, there is no wall.

Now so far I have used examples of sports, of athletic contests. I have done so with a couple purposes: first off, they are what I love, what I think of, how I came upon this philosophy of life; secondly, they are easy to understand in this context; and lastly, because I firmly believe that sports are simply organized contests where life lessons can be drawn. Yet the same concept, I believe, applies into so many facets of life. If I walk into BYU’s testing center fearing Professor Kearl’s infamous Econ 110 test, certain that I cannot get an A, will I get an A? If I decide that a new position at work will take more leadership skills, more knowledge, more courage than I have, how much higher have my chances at failing just gone up? If I decide that I can only have so many friends, affect only so many people’s lives in a positive manner, how can I possibly do any good to someone outside that number?

No, for me I try to live as if there were no walls, no limitations on everything I do. I walk into every test with the mindset that I can walk out with 100%. I throw myself into my new work with a strong belief that I can and will succeed. I will never back down from a chance to reach out to one more person, to make whatever little difference I can.

            This is all well and good, but surely there must be a line, and I must be headed on a path to utter collapse—to overstretch, snap, crash, and burn down, right? Get through as many glass walls as you want, Aaron, but there is still a solid steel one waiting at the end, you might say. Perhaps you would be right. We’re now entering the realm of complete theory. I have one possible answer to submit to you, however. For in the realm of complete theory, I anchor myself to my one guiding star: my belief in Jesus Christ, and my testimony of Him as a real, living Being, risen from the dead, and as alive today as you and I. For Him, walls did not exist. All humanity and hell did their worst to Him, yet He still was in complete control of Himself, able to do that which He needed to do. What gives me so much hope is that He and I were created in the image of the same God. We share the same Heavenly Father, my Savior and I. For I, like you and everyone on this wonderful earth, was created by an all-knowing, all-powerful Being, one with whom absolutely no limitations exist. It is my belief that as I do the things that lead me to become more like my Heavenly Father, I too will find that within me is that same divine spark, and a destiny not confined to bounds, but one in which steel walls are the only ones that don’t exist.

Perhaps cold isn’t mental.

But my belief that it is only in my mind helps me to cope with it better.

Perhaps my body does have a breaking point on the basketball court.

But my belief that it doesn’t pushes me to play better.

Perhaps there is some limit to what I can accomplish in my life.

                        But my belief that there isn’t a limit drives me to live more fully, and more richly.

I choose to live a life without walls, without limitations.

The Skill in Putting One Foot in Front of the Other

            This week I made a discovery that I’d like to share. You see, it was a bit of a stressful week for me, time wise. I was switching to a new position at work, while taking on a new calling at church, (I was called as a ward missionary last week) and surviving finals week. But at the same time, I was still trying to make sure that I meet my normal goals at the same time: getting in better shape and studying to prepare for my mission. And then there were things which I just wanted to do, such as watching the NBA Finals. Time was crunched.

            At this point, I made what in hindsight was a great decision. You see, when I get home from a long day at work or school, I like to take about an hour to just rest. Normally that involves the two great time-killers of my life, Facebook and ESPN, but it also could involve reading, sitting down on the piano and pounding out a favorite tune from “Pirates of the Caribbean”, or even on more rare occasions, playing an hour of video games with Levi. None of those things by themselves are inherently bad, but put together they can suck away a lot of my life if I’m not careful. Anyways, this week my desire to unwind was no different, and I ended up reading one of my favorite books, Born to Run.

            This is a shameless plug, but Born to Run is one of the best books that I have ever read, purely because of the way that it makes you stop and think. The writer, Christopher McDougall, has a passion for running, and he infuses it into every single sentence of the book. He hammers again and again the benefits of running throughout his highly entertaining story. The point he makes—and I’ll try not to go into too many specifics because I think everyone should read the book and hear it in his own words—is that it is in our nature as humans to run. To like to run, even. For according to the researchers he cites, once we can break through our brain’s natural instinct to save energy, we would find that running felt natural to us. Indeed, as the title suggests, McDougall believes we were actually born to run.  

The first time I read the book, I was fascinated, and yet my own experience had told me this wasn’t the case. Determined, I set out on a running rampage—chocking up miles unheard of for a child of Stan Wilson, (which is probably not a ton for any serious cross-country types out there. I’ve done that route once before and I know I have nothing to brag about in comparison to what those people do). Yet while I felt refreshed after a brutal 8 or so mile run in the balmy Oregon weather, I was missing the love of running that McDougall had. I hated the thought of running, and it took a lot of willpower to actually get on my shoes, throw in my headphones, step outside, and leap forward. Somehow I hadn’t found myself in that “natural state”.  Yet the thesis still made sense in my mind, and so the next summer, I was at it again, re-reading the book for inspiration, determined to find what I had missed. Again, I managed to put in some pretty serious miles and get in better shape. Again, I hated every second of it—my body just screamed “Stop!” the second my feet burst out the door.

            Before you get any visions of incredible willpower from me however, let me explain on a quick tangent. It wasn’t that I wasn’t getting any benefit from these runs—I believe my motivation levels are high, but they are still in Earth’s atmosphere. There were some perks, to be sure. I enjoyed the feeling of success after the runs, and I absolutely love conquering my body with my mind. (This philosophy will, at some point, probably merit its own post). Besides, I was fascinated with those few times where I’ve actually hit “runners high”, where my legs just seemed to go without my feeling them, where suddenly things got easy. But all of those things didn’t seem to fit the “natural” description to me, and once I got my fix of them, my desire was done, and my running habits faded away. I was missing the intrinsic joy of running the McDougall harps on—every benefit I was getting was the same benefit that came after any old exercise, be it an intense couple of hours playing basketball, or a long three-set tennis match, both of which were much, much more enjoyable in the moment. Surely I was missing something still, or else one of my favorite books was a book full of baloney.

            Last week, I finally had my breakthrough. It came as I was reading the book in my relaxation time. I was struck by one of McDougall’s many pitches for running. Said he “If you don’t come with solutions to your problems after a couple hours on the trail, you’re just not getting them.” This got me thinking. When had I had a “light bulb” moment on a run? The answer: never. I was too caught up in pushing my body to its limits, in playing music and just generally numbing my mind to block out the discomfort of my legs. The problem with that approach is that it is like taking a fire-hose to get a dishrag damp—it is an extreme overreaction. I can’t discriminately choose to block out the pain of one thing without shutting down most of my mental faculties; and that’s what the music is for—to lose my thoughts and just let the music flow through my brain.

            I decided to switch up my approach then. Rather than just blocking out everything, I left my iPod at home and let my mind run free. Alone, this would only make the run miserable, so instead of pushing to make a certain route by a certain time, I simply hit the roads with no watch and no map in my head. I ran wherever my feet took me, and as far as my legs would allow, at a pace that I felt I could keep up for miles and miles. Lo and behold, the secret switch was finally unlocked. I wasn’t in pain, it wasn’t torture. It was just a great time to be able to take a break from life for some inner contemplation while simultaneously getting the exercise I craved. I’ll admit that it wasn’t magical, but running became much more enjoyable to me. I was just on a laid-back ride through the hills of Provo, deep in thought, without serious pain, not yearning to turn back every step. For once, I actually liked it. It was pleasant experience! I liked it so much that I did it the next day as well. Again, it was fine. Now I’m even looking forward to heading out on another run tomorrow—who would’ve thought I would ever see that day?

            I found that the key to making a run enjoyable to me isn’t to shy away from the pain, but to actually listen to my body; instead of killing myself, just simply being content with pushing myself. Instead of shutting my brain down, I am utilizing the free time to escape from the grind of daily living. By doing so, I’ve found a great new way to relax, to unwind, and to get in my exercise. Try it!           

Kicking It Into Second Gear

            A couple weekends ago, I was with a couple of friends playing ping-pong in my basement. It was a very low-key affair; we were just playing friendly games of around-the-world while talking. As such, nobody was really trying too hard, and we just dinked the ball to each other. At one point though, I was up to hit when the perfect lob came to my forehand side. At that moment, my mind left the situation in the basement and I found myself in a tight match against one of my brothers, desperately needing a back-breaking point to gain some momentum. I whaled on the ball with a vicious topspin forehand that sent the ball blasting off my paddle and across the room. Without having warmed up that shot, my muscle memory was unprepared to hit the ball accurately, and it ended a good foot or so past the back edge of the table, well out of bounds. At that point, my daydream ended I realized that I had just hit a super aggressive shot that had nearly drilled the shot right into one of my wholly unprepared and undeserving friends. To make matters worse, she was a girl. Oops. As everyone gave me a startled look, one of my buddies dryly commented that he had always had had this feeling that I had some hidden rage inside of me. That remark got me thinking, even as I tried in vain to downplay the incident.

Believe it or not, that is not the first time that I’ve been told something along those lines. I was once informed that an AP Psych class, including the teacher, had decided that I was the most likely person in our school to snap and become a serial killer. (Admittedly, my source was not the most reliable, and I laughed that one off). In a way, I can almost understand what inspired people to say that. Let me be perfectly clear though, that uncontrollable rage and murderous instincts are not something I have hidden inside. What you see is what you get with the writer of this blog. And so in the typical manner of this blog, here comes a little rant about what I would like to dub “second gear”, and why it is perfectly okay to have one.

One of the reasons that the title of this blog is “Cool Air From A.C.” (besides the  ring of it) is that you’re really not like to find a lot of hot air on here. Generally speaking, I am a mellow person, at ease to roll along with whatever life sends my way. I think that a large part of this has to do with a general attitude of contentment that I have. Rare are the things that I absolutely have to have done my way. With that attitude, I’m very happy to do something to please another, and so both of us are happy. In life, I try to follow Magic Johnson’s surprisingly sage observation: “Scoring a basket makes one person happy, while getting an assist makes two people happy.” 

To continue this parallel though, there are some times when one just has to score. This morning was a great example of that. I work at BYU Food To Go, which provides takeout catering (i.e. people come in and we give them catering-style food). This morning, our supply of food came in late, there were lots of orders going out early, and we had several deliveries, while understaffed. Somehow I ended up in charge as my two superiors were either gone or busy. It was stressful, to say the least. In the mass of food that flooded our kitchen, we were missing several foods that were supposed to go out in the early orders. Not a good situation at all.

            I try to be “the nice kid” at work, always offering compliments, and throwing myself at every single project that comes around, especially the unpleasant or hard ones, so that my co-workers can just take it easy. I hold myself to a high standard so that they don't have to, or at least that is my goal. This morning though, the ax hit the grind. We were understaffed, we were swamped, and there was little margin for any kind of error. I shifted into second gear. Did I suddenly turn into a rage monster? No. I don’t think I even obnoxiously bossed anybody around. But I was all work, all the time. The playfulness of my nature was gone, because I had, to use the overused cliché, “gotten down to business”.

            Here’s my point, short and simply. I’m all for being nice, easygoing, relaxed, content, polite, gracious, considerate, what have you. I strive to be those things. But sometimes, when something is important, you have to hit that second gear—you have to get going. And when you do get going, some niceties fall by the wayside.

            To cite a much better thinker than myself, I’d like to bring up one of the points in Malcolm Gladwell’s masterful book, Outliers. He reveals some statistics that show that when the co-pilot of a commercial airline is Korean, the plane has a much higher chance of crashing. He then goes to show that the main reason for this is the fact that in the Korean culture, one is supposed to use all sorts of flowery language when talking to a social superior. (Socially superiority is also very clearly defined in almost every human interaction as well) Bluntness is heavily frowned upon. Well, when these Korean co-pilots recognize that something is going wrong, they tend to stick to their cultural norms when informing the pilot. Rather than straight up telling the pilot (their superior) that he missed something and is making a mistake, they circularly talk around the issue at hand. Sometimes it works, and other times, tragedy results.

           

            That’s exactly the kind of issue I’m talking about it. In that situation, the lives of all of the people aboard that plane NEED to be more important than niceties, more important than any kind of politeness. If the co-pilot needs to be ‘rude’ in order to save their lives, wouldn’t you as a passenger want him to be rude? There is a level where the importance of something takes priority over politeness, over consideration for other’s feelings--the point in our basketball analogy where your team needs that basket, and you just gotta get to the rim.

            The key is setting that magic moment when something takes priority over politeness, which of course is not an easy task. With human lives on the line, yeah the choice is pretty obvious. Smaller things like defending pride over a teasing comment from a friend are other side of the spectrum--there's no use in getting worked up over that. It's the middle ground where things get tough: making sure an order goes out on time, getting the right grade on a group project, or winning the game. I’m certainly not perfect—perhaps I set my value on something that doesn't merit the importance level I give to it, yet second gear comes out regardless. (I'm trying to work the I-gotta-be-the-hero attitude in my basketball analogy in the last paragraph out of my "second gear" importance list, for example). In my younger years, it came out every time I stepped on to a tennis court for a competitive match, which was a terrible and miserable way to play tennis. Hopefully since then I’ve gotten better at picking my spots, but this is my fair warning and my justification: I do have a second gear, and I am okay with it. 

I don't think that makes me a psychopath.