When you hear the words “you have to be like bamboo” for the first time, it seems like the most absurd thing anyone could ever utter, even more so when it’s offered as a piece of advice.
I heard this phrase for the first time from my taekwondo master during one of my classes in high school. I’d just gotten back into martial arts after taking a break, and I was excited to return and learn from this specific master.
He was unlike any other martial arts instructor I’d had before, as he wanted us to learn taekwondo not just as a sport but as an art, both of fighting, but more importantly, of living.
While learning how to fight and defend yourself is a substantial part of martial arts, this master emphasized there’s more to martial arts, especially taekwondo, than just learning how to kick or punch. His philosophy was when you’re learning this art of fighting, you’re being taught certain values and attitudes that transcend the hour-long training classes and become a part of who you are.
As we’re learning to fight, he explained, we’re simultaneously learning to live.
Our training classes frequently turned philosophical. Whenever he had something to say, he’d make us sit—strictly criss-cross applesauce—in a circle around him and start talking about whatever he had on his mind.
I was enthralled by everything he used to say. Looking back, I wish I ed everything he used to talk to us about, but I do one thing: “You have to be like bamboo.”
I was sitting on the padded floors, completely dumbfounded, when he said this. It was all the more confusing because he said it with such a big smile on his face, and looking back now, he probably anticipated the confusion from his students. He ignored us and continued saying if we wanted to be good at taekwondo, we had to be like bamboo.
Instead of explaining what he meant outright, he asked us: “If there was a flood, which of the two would survive it—a deep-rooted tree or a bamboo with its flimsy structure?”
My mind went to the tree, assuming its roots meant there was a strong system which would keep the tree standing if there was any flooding.
If you guessed the tree like me, you’d be very wrong.
As my taekwondo master pointed out, deep-rooted trees have a rigid structure. They look strong, but their rigidity poses a disadvantage when it comes to flooding, as they get easily uprooted.
Bamboo plants, on the other hand, have a flimsy structure. Though they appear to be a weak plant, this structure allows them to have flexible movement, helping them survive floods. In other words, bamboo survives purely because of its adaptability to the flow of water instead of just sitting there, rigidly hoping for the best.
Learning to go with the flow of movement is how one becomes good at taekwondo and eventually grows to master it. But the real challenge doesn’t lie in learning how to navigate movement in taekwondo—it lies in navigating the tumultuous movement of real life.
I my taekwondo master ended this little philosophical lesson by saying “you have to be like bamboo to succeed, both in taekwondo and in life.”
While I understood the “go with the flow part” in relation to taekwondo, the idea of applying it to everyday life went through one ear and slipped out the other.
It wasn’t until now I internalized what he said.
I’m a third-year political studies and philosophy student, that means I have one year left before I graduate. Over December break, I did some research on my post-grad options to see what’s out there and ease my mind a bit.
It didn’t really go well. I ended up having a mini crisis over my future as I realized I didn’t have a plan for what I wanted to do with my life.
I started feeling scared and nervous, as everyone around me seemed to have a plan for their future, and I was only now starting to seriously think of mine.
Desperate for reassurance, I wanted to create a foolproof plan so I wouldn’t feel so lost or confused. While looking into my post-grad options, I realized I’m still uncertain about what I want to do. I’m torn between doing a master’s right after undergrad, getting work experience, or going to law school.
With no real motivation in either direction, I grew scared, because now I couldn’t even plan anything out.
As I beat myself up over and over for not having my future figured out, I felt I was doing a great disservice to myself, a guarantee of failure if I ventured into my future without a plan.
Going blindly into my future would surely lead me to mess something up or go in the wrong direction. I mulled over this thought for a couple of days until, randomly, my taekwondo master popped into my head, and his “you have to be a bamboo” mantra resurfaced in my mind, pulling me out of my crisis.
If I planned out my future right now, I would inadvertently set myself up for failure, as I would be like the deep-rooted tree.
I was scared I’d pre-emptively commit to things that wouldn’t fulfill me, only to be uprooted if things don’t go to plan. My plan would have the same rigid structure of the tree, which, like the tree, would succumb in the face of any strong movement heading its way.
Life is unpredictable. It throws out so much towards you, both good and bad, and if I created a plan and stuck to it, I would fail. Not being able to adapt to what life hands me is an even greater disservice than not having a plan.
Even if life wasn’t unpredictable, people change. I started university believing I’d become a psychology student, but have since pivoted to a different degree plan after realizing I don’t like psych enough to commit to a full degree in it.
Any plan I would have created over December break would surely fall apart as I continue growing and evolving as a person.
I finally understand what my taekwondo master meant. Although I can barely do a kick right, I aim to live my life like a bamboo, just like he taught me to do.
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