Sunday, September 17, 2017

I didn't enjoy this weekend, and why that's okay. (Triumph XII)

I'm not going to sugar-coat my feelings about this weekend.

I overall didn't enjoy it.

I know, it's a supremely crummy thing to say about an event, let alone the event that your own home group has hosted.  Triumph is one of the only events that I and my wife can say we have consistently attended for as long as we have been in the SCA, to call the event 'storied' would be an epic understatement of criminal proportions. Some of my oldest friendships were born at that event, some of our greatest local leaders came of age at Triumph, and at least one past crown was knighted at the event. In the truest of SCA fashion, it is an event born of larger than life personalities with deeds worth of the word 'legend'.

So, of course, this begs the question of what, perchance, could have left me with such an ill opinion of Triumph this year.

There is no single thing, of course. Just as there is no magic bullet that can event single-handedly make a gloomy day bright again, no one pitfall could take down the spirits of a man with my history. But as with any armor, enough of the right blows will eventually chip away at it until the body beneath if exposed.

There really can be no overstating the heat as its own factor. Friday night was warm, bordering on hot, and sticky through and through. Saturday was more of the same, rising like a pot of water brought to a boil over hours. All the cold water and shade in the world could only delay the inevitable hammer blow of fatigue and strain as the temperatures soared into the afternoon. By the time the range closed, I was so tired I had lost track of time and was late to feast, which not only pissed me off but meant that I was late to herald the courses as they came out, the ONLY heraldry I had planned to do that day in the first place. By the time we got home Saturday night, I had a roaring headache, was cross-eyed, and, frankly, not safe to drive. I was still sick to my stomach and borderline miserable Sunday when I woke up.

Complimentary to this is the painful, and the hard-to-accept realization that the person I am today, a grant level veteran voice herald, got here at the expense of many things, including my youth, and much of my endurance. I don't have the resilience I once did, and I can't will myself through heat and fatigue like I used to.

As much as I love the art of archery, and I honestly and truly do, I hate running competitions. By its nature, the archery competitions need to be largely isolated, and distant, and the logistical setup is none too small with targets and ropes and backstops.

Out there at the range, I'm isolated, and largely forgotten by anyone who's not an archer. Now I'm not angry about it, per se, it's just the nature of the beast; I wouldn't expect a heavy fighter, or an artisan, or a cook to willfully distract themselves with some casual impulse of "hey, I wonder who's at the archery field right now?" But that doesn't change the fact that its the type of place that makes me, at least, feel forgotten about.

Additionally, the truth be told, I hate running competitions. I hate telling people "I'm sorry, it was good seeing you, but you just lost that round." I'm told I"m good at that type of thing to some extent, but that comes from my 'its a thing that has to be done' mentality. Don't mistake being good, or proficient, or whatever you want to call it, with having a good feeling about it when it's all done.

And please don't take this as some sideways jab at the archers themselves. The archery community of the north is composed of some of the best people I know and are a wonderful, supporting brotherhood. These are people anyone could, and should be glad to call friends. My issues here are definitively *not* with any of them in any measure.

On top of (but unrelated) to all of that,  getting 'corrected' by someone over something honestly stupid and trivial that evening didn't help. And I think the fact that it was something stupid didn't make it any less aggravating on my tired, overheated, throbbing mind. part of it was the heat, part of it was the "where the hell did that come from?" factor.

To talk about the elephant in the room, there is also the fact that I wasn't site-heralding.

I spent close to a decade of my life before the society and I met trying to find something I was actually good at. Someplace where I was good at what I did, where people appreciated and liked the services I offered, and most importantly, someplace where I can make a difference. It was at Mooneschaodwe Guardian (Triumph's predecessor event) two decades ago, when the site herald turned his ankle and asked me to help him out that Sunday morning. Years, ages, kingdoms, ranks, crowns later, I am the head site herald for Gulf Wars, I'm a driving force behind site herald education in the northern half of the kingdom, and I'm a known and respected heraldic leader in four kingdoms.

And I haven't site heralded my own event in four years.

Why? I could say I was driven off by internal politics, but that's not really a complete truth. I could say I lost my temper and did something stupid enough to make people rightfully mad at me, but that would come with the same caveats. I could honestly and truthfully say a lot of things about why I have stopped heralding my own event, but the one truth that stops that from happening is that there really is no good to be had from retelling that story. The important thing is that I finally reached a point where the political ramifications of site heralding my own group's event became too costly for me to pay in.

In short, I just threw my hands in the air and gave up. The blunt and honest truth of the matter is that Archery was an ultra-convenient, coincidental excuse for me to keep going to the event where I otherwise had nothing to do. This year, all of that, for at least two dozen different reasons, coalesced into a too hot, underrewarding Saturday for me.

Now, before I go on, (and now that I have your attention) I don't want anyone to take away from this that I was completely and only miserable.  I did enjoy seeing my friends, and I was elated to see some of the awards given out in court and during the day. Its not that the day was only bad, its that the negatives in my specific case drastically outweighed the positives.

The truth of the matter is that most of us have been there, especially the veteran players with five, ten, fifteen or more years behind us. Sometimes you are able to 'see the big picture' and see past the rough spots. Sometimes you can force yourself to like the event. But there are times when none of that really works.

But in my mind, the true separator between a seasoned member and someone who has just stuck around for a long time is what, if anything they choose to do with weekends like this. To put it more directly, as well as more poetically:

Q: "What is the difference between a master and a student?"

A: "The master has failed more times than the student has had a chance to try."


To put that in a more practical perspective, a lot of the things listed above were within my power to control or avert. The fact that I overall didn't enjoy this weekend is, in retrospect (said with air-conditioning and Ibuprofin as well)  my failure more than anything else. And it's a failure that I need to work to fix.  It's going to mean time, effort, money, and collaboration. Its going to mean changes, and possibly some drama, but its also going to mean new opportunities with old friends, and maybe even a chance to make some new ones.

No good adventure story ever starts off easy, and that's how I am choosing to see this weekend.

The page just closed on chapter one. Its time to get to work on Chapter 2.

His Lordship Ivo Blackhawk
Kingdom of Ansteorra
"Long Live the King!"

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