On Acceptance

Jiu jitsu, acceptance, writing; tjalknol.

I recently started training Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. I had practiced for a few months in late 2019, but the gym at which I was training shut down during the pandemic, then closed for good, and, as it does, life got in the way before I could find a new gym and pick back up the habit — so for all intents and purposes, I’m a true beginner. As I was rolling the other day, trying to recall what I was supposed to do, thinking with my brain and then trying to fire the right synapses to initiate the right bodily movements, I quickly found myself pinned and unable to move.¹ I got up, panting, and as I leaned against the wall waiting for my next round, I thought to myself, man, I wish I were better at this.

On the way home, I was talking to my friend

Sam Sager

— a meandering conversation as we’re wont to have — and we started talking about authenticity. I had mentioned to him that I was struggling to come up with a topic for this week’s newsletter, mostly because I felt like every draft I started was being written for “the reader” and not for me. The writing didn’t feel authentic.²

Authenticity, is, of course, a pernicious word. It’s a fundamental aspect of radical living — one must be authentic to oneself in order to live radically — but, really, what does it mean for a person to be authentic? I posited that it is the state in which one exists and acts without thinking³. Much like enlightenment, if you have to ask yourself if something is authentic, it’s probably not. Authenticity is, in many ways, the antithesis of perpetual self-reflection and self-improvement — it, like the Tao, is natural and without desire.⁴

Sam’s definition was a little different. He defines authenticity as the acceptance of reality.⁵ That’s a good definition, I think. When you accept reality, you’re not trying to impose your own worldview on anyone or anything else. You accept things as they are and act accordingly. Rather than worrying that the essays I were drafting were written for the wrong reason (“likes",” “engagement,” “things I thought you readers want to read”), I should have instead just accepted that maybe some of those topics were what I was meant to write this week.⁶

This newsletter was meant to function — and continues to function — as a way for me to practice thinking through ideas. And while I admire the essayists who can crank out weekly opinion columns of 800-1,000 words with mechanical regularity, I would hate to find myself getting there if it meant giving up the authenticity of my own writing, instead writing purely to appease the demands of an audience. Authenticity is important — fundamental — and I certainly hope that I continue to be able to convey it in my writing.⁷

Authenticity is important in cooking too, especially when you’re trying to eat radically. While it’s terrific to have aspirations to cook elaborate meals each night of the week, life, often, gets in the way. You need to accept that and plan your cooking accordingly, allowing for flexibility. Authentic cooking is practical cooking.

Hank Shaw

’s recipe for tjalknol is an authentic recipe. I mean that in the sense that it is an authentic Nordic recipe — it comes from Scandinavia and is still used there — but it also speaks of practicality. This is a dish which cooks from frozen for long hours and is followed by brining. The preparation is perfect for a climate where things are easily frozen and, in the winter, there’s plenty of time. It doesn’t hurt that when finished, it tastes delicious.

Here’s how to make it.

The night before you want to eat, place a frozen roast of meat (3-5 pounds should be good) in a roasting plan and put it in the oven at 175(F). In a large pot, mix 8 cups of water, 1 cup of salt, some bay leaves, juniper berries, peppercorns, garlic, and a dash of dried mustard, then bring to a boil, cut the heat and cover. Let the brine cool while meat cooks overnight until the internal temp is around 140-150(F).

The next morning, place the now cooked roast in the brine (adding more brine at the same salt:water ratio as needed to cover) for 5-6 hours, refrigerated.⁸ When ready to eat, slice thinly and serve on fresh baked bread with sour cream and mustard. Veg on the side optional.

So there you go, tjalknol. Fun to say, fun to cook, and fun to eat⁹. We made it with a venison football roast, but I imagine it would work equally well with beef or lamb or bison.

With that, I’ll leave you to your weekends. We’ve got some farm chores on the docket at our house, maybe some pasta making. However you choose to spend your own, I hope you spend it authentically¹⁰.

We’ll see you back here next week.

1. Fortunately, this gym for the most part ends sparring rounds based on points, not submissions, so I wasn’t subjected to having my arm wrenched out its socket or my neck jammed inside of someone’s inner thighs.

2. As I sat at my desk this week, starting and stopping and writing and rewriting on topics for this essay, I noticed The Elements of Style book on my shelf. I opened it and found myself faced with Messrs. Strunk and White’s advice for “An Approach to Style” — the closing chapter of the guide:

Write in a way that draws the reader’s attention to the sense and substance of the writing, rather than to the mood and temper of the author. If the writing is good and solid, the mood and temper of the writer will eventually be revealed and not at the expense of the work. Therefore… to achieve style, begin by affecting none—that is, place yourself in the background. A careful and honest writer does not need worry about style. As you become proficient in the use of language, your style will emerge, because you yourself will emerge, and when this happens you will find it increasingly easy to break through the barriers that separate you from other minds, other hearts—which is, of course, the purpose of writing, as well as its principal reward. Fortunately the act of composition or creation, disciplines the mind; writing is one way to go about thinking, and the practice and habit of writing not only drain the mind but supply it, too.

That, really, is authentic writing defined.

3. This is probably too general. There is thinking in authenticity, but it’s not the calculated analysis of debating any choice you make to optimize the end result. You make a choice because it feels like the right one based on you wish to live your life.

And I realize this is somewhat at odds with my “think lightly of yourself and deeply of the world” mantra — so I suppose I need to think through it a little more.

(“I would have written a shorter letter, but I didn’t have the time…”)

4. Tao Te Ching, Chapter 8:

A person of great virtue is like the flowing water.
Water benefits all things and contends not with them.
It puts itself in a place that no one wishes to be and thus is closest to Tao.
A virtuous person is like water which adapts itself to the perfect place.
His mind is like the deep water that is calm and peaceful.
His heart is kind like water that benefits all.
His words are sincere like the constant flow of water.
His governing is natural without desire which is like the softness of water that penetrates through hard rocks.
His work is of talent like the free flow of water.
His movement is of right timing like water that flows smoothly.
A virtuous person never forces his way and hence will not make faults. =

5. He caveated that in a subsequent text: “whatever the f*ck reality is lol.”

6. One of my favorite sayings during my brief career as a teacher was “when the student is ready, the teacher will appear.” I said it facetiously then — the little terrors I was teaching certainly weren’t ready* — but now, with potentially a little more wisdom, I’ve come to see how true it really is.

*I don’t think anyone was.

7. Now, I just need to figure out how to apply Sam’s definition of it to my jiu jitsu practice, and accept that I’ll probably suck for awhile before I get better.

8. You can taste the meat for saltiness around the 5 hour mark. The longer it brines, the saltier it will be.

9. I’d describe this as the lovechild of pastrami and roast beef, if you’re wondering what to expect.

10. To the astute readers who will inevitably point this out: yes, I realize this would be better titled “On Authenticity.” But I’ve already written that one before (also sparked, partially, by a conversation with Sam), and, I couldn’t think of anything else to title this — so here we are.