I’d just got done rewriting my query letter (after many, many versions) and perused over to the magazine aisle.  And I ran into The Rock.

He’d written an editorial and said something that peaked my interest.  ”Hard work always pay.”  You can see the quote on the magazine cover.

I read the editorial, which was well written, and he mentioned nothing about hard work.  People often think of hard work as being difficult.  I’ve come to know it as being consistent and focused.  This is exactly what the editorial was about.  Showing up and being focused like a laser.  If you look at his career, he’s attained what he’s set his sights on.  No question about it.

As most of you may know, the 2010 Winter Olympics have started.  One of my favorite events to watch is figure skating, both singles and couples.  Tonight, China won first and second.  The focus has surrounded the gold medalist couple, who are married in real life.  Their story is well known in figure skating circles.

Oh!  My back hurts just looking at her.

Shen Xue and Zhao Hongbo have dreamed of Olympic gold for the past eighteen years, since they first were paired by their coach Yao Bin.  Yao Bin had dedicated 30 years of his life bringing couples figure skating to what it is today in China.  He’d suffered huge embarrassment during the 1980 World Championships in Dortmund, West Germany.  He recalls people laughing as the Chinese placed last.

So what’s the point?

Yao Bin was determined to win gold.  And he spent the next three decades, away from his family, honing his skaters’ skills, his coaching skills, studying video of championship figure skaters, doing everything he could to attain what he attained tonight.

Was it difficult?

I have no idea.  But as I watched him on TV, his mind was highly focused and fully present.  He had to trust that all the work Shen and Zhao had put in would come to fruition.  Keep in mind that this is the couple’s fourth attempt, fourth Olympics.  That’s sixteen years.  Zhao, the husband, is 36 years young, and his wife, Shen, is 31.  Age was not a factor as they competed against much younger couples.

Their physical strength, pure athleticism, and grace performed under the pressure of the Olympics.  Difficult?  Sure.  But the testament to their passion, which makes difficult work to others effortless (like being in the zone), was shown at how easy it was when they floated over the ice.  They had to have practiced consistently, concentrating on every minute detail.  Otherwise, the pressure alone would have torn them down.

The key here is doing what you’re passionate about.  Because it’s easier to get what you want when you’re passionate and energetic about something.  Imagine having sex with someone you find ugly.  Difficult?  Yes.  Now imagine having sex with someone you find hot!  Effortless?  Hell yeah!  And you’d probably show up many times.

Did I mention the throws the female skaters completed were insane?

So with anything worth doing in life, show up and focus on exactly what you’re working for.  For dreams are meant to be fulfilled.

It is possible to move a mountain by carrying away small stones.  -Old Chinese proverb.

One of the biggest things my character has to deal with is judgement from the people he serves to protect. They don’t realize what he’s doing is protecting them from a Hitleresque fate.

I was at the gym and saw this girl. Cute. Then it happened. “Her eyes are too Asian,” I said to myself.

Huh?

First off every one is perfect in their own way. It’s why there isn’t a perfect cherry blossom. No such thing. Because every blossom is perfect (From The Last Samurai). This applies to humans as well. Once we start comparing one to another is when this Eastern way of looking at things deteriorates.

When I was practicing crap martial arts, see my bio, we were given a special treat. Our teacher brought in a Chinese Kung Fu teacher to teach us a Chinese form. A form is a series of martial art movements against imaginary opponents. By the way, that in itself is not the best way to learn how to fight. And what makes a form Chinese? The slantiness of the movement?

As my friend and I practiced the form–we’re both Chinese–we were marvelling at how different the movement was from the daily crap that we practiced. Keep in mind I didn’t know I was studying crap martial arts till I was awakened.

One of the supervising instructors came to us and said, “You’re too Chinese,” referring to our movement.

My friend and I looked at each other. Then looked at our non-Chinese supervising teacher.

“Nooooo,” I said. “Wouldn’t want to be too Chinese.” Were our eyes extra slanty?

Everbody knows not to be judgemental. Even those who are aware of why can place judgement on others. We are after all human. It’s the conscious practice of being non-judgemental that’s important. Not the mistakes of when we are. But if you’re not aware that judgement is wrong, is the person still to blame?

I can’t say. And neither does the hero of my book. So what does he do? Continues to serve despite the hate he gets from doing so.

In Bruce Lee’s only filmed interview he was asked if he wanted to be thought of as Chinese or a North American. He was born in San Francisco. He said he wanted to be thought as a human being.

Here’s an experiment: Spend an hour without placing judgement on others. If you do, no problem. Just start the hour over. See how long you can do it.

Once we had come in, the rain started to layer the Chinatown streets with deep puddles. It was 2 o’clock in the morning. We’d just come from a dark club and our eyes hadn’t adjusted to the florescent lit diner. I threw up two fingers.

“Choose any table,” a waiter said in his fresh off the plane accent.

My close friend and I chose a table by the window. Layers of prior meals washed with soiled napkins and warm tea made the table sticky, dingy. The menus were well worn by repeated usage from drunk bar hoppers. The faint smell of the kitchen and the light clanging of ladles striking woks percolated.

An older waitress strolled to our table and grinned, turning her eyes to slanted slits. Cheeks healthy with the greasy foods the wait staff must eat every night. “Ready to ohdah?”

I nodded and ordered the Hong Kong style noodles, combination. Not the best to keep my girlish figure, but it was late and I was starving. My friend only eats kosher and just drank water.

Just then two men were seated directly behind me. One of them had gelled, brown hair that flared out like he jumped out of a plane. He plopped down and the back of his chair shoved mine forward. I thought I was going to tip over. So I leaned back against his chair. The waiter took their order and left. Crazy hair leaned back against the chair. I pushed back. This went on for five minutes.

Deciding I didn’t want to do this anymore, I turned around in my chair, tapped his shoulder and was about to ask him to move his chair up.

“Why you touching me?” Crazy Hair said. He was Colombian.

“Can you move your–”

Crazy Hair stands up, throws his hands to the side. “Why you touching me? You want to do something?”

“You’re hitting the back of my chair,” I said.

“You hitting, too. It’s not my fault.”

At this point I don’t remember the conversation much. My teacher always taught me to deescalate the situation. But once Crazy stood up, threw his arms to the side, deescalation went out the window. He took a position of power, standing up, and began to antagonize me. He was going to hit me.

My mind became silent. My body wanted to tense up, but it didn’t. I remained calm. I was highly aware of my right arm, ready to launch. My legs were well prepared to leap up. My abs sat on the edge of clenching. I was staring right in to his milky green, brown eyes, watching for a flicker. The flicker that telegraphs movement. My peripheral vision kept a close watch of his hands. Any sudden, sharp movement made, and my body would have exploded. I could feel it edging closer and closer to attacking. My spoken words were broken because I wasn’t listening to what he said.

“I’m just joking, man. I’m not from this country,” Crazy Hair said, waving his hands around my face.

I put my hands on my chin to block anything he may try. “You’re Colombian, right?”

“How do you know?”

“I used to have a close friend who was Colombian.”

“Ah.” He laughs. He looks over at my friend, who happens to be my teacher. “You look bothered.”

I’d totally forgot my friend was there. His 6’2″ frame was imposing. But it’s nothing compared to his stare. When I looked over, my teacher was ready to pounce. “I’m not bothered,” my friend said, and smiled. His eyes didn’t.

“I’m sorry. I’m not from this country,” Crazy repeats. “Sometimes I go crazy cuz of my blood. Come over, sit with us.”

I looked at his friend who seemed calm. Why was he so calm?

“Come sit with us.”

I said no.

“What? I’m apologize for this, but if you want to go to what we do before, let’s do it.”

Tsing Tao beers were served. Crazy’s friend egged him to sit down in Spanish. After a minute, Crazy pulled his chair to the side and sat down. I’ve been in amateur full contact fights, but this was pretty intense. In a tournament fight, I know I’m going to fight. Last night, however, would have been my first real fight. Win or lose, I was ready. My friend/teacher was ready. With their drunken stupor and poor judge of character, I’m sure we would have prevailed and spent the night behind bars for doing so.