Today is going to be a brief but heartfelt reflection upon the HEMA community as a whole. If you're looking for in-depth historical or technical discussion in today's blog post I'm afraid you'll be disappointed; if you want a somewhat sentimental reminder what a unique bunch of glorious goofs we all are, then, by all means, stay and read awhile.
Anyone who knows me knows that the HEMA community is dearly precious to me.
Connecting with heritage is great, recapturing long-ago lost skills is delightful, getting fit and developing an empowered, assertive mindset in life are commendable, but it is ultimately the people of HEMA that make it truly worthwhile. The HEMA community is, at least to me, an extended family upon which I can count for growth, enlightenment, solace, support, and entertainment.
This is partially because I've always been something of an outsider; I suspect a lot of people in the HEMA community completely understand this. It's a sense of being perpetually outside the loop, something that can often be difficult to bear. I've pretty much just accepted my outsider status since I became painfully aware of it as a teenager, but the reality is I've always been just a bit outside the circle. My dreams, aspirations, beliefs, mores, norms, and values simply don't match those of most modern people, and the things that are of vast importance to others are irrelevant to me.
This isn't to suggest I'm asocial or painfully awkward amongst others, just as most of our HEMA community is not. I've made it through college and a master's program, I'm active in my local community, and I keep a job that requires me to work collaboratively with many teams of different people. And yet...and yet all of these things can be done, and be done well, while still having a sense of being just beyond the outer edge.
Truth is, I've never really connected anywhere outside of the very small circle of my wife and children; I've always just been too odd. Well, I should say I never connected anywhere until I became acquainted with the larger HEMA community. Here I, at last, feel like I belong.
Here I can find people as passionate about history as am I, and not just the large, epoch-creating swaths of history, but rather the minutia that our beloved art often comes down to. Here are people who can enjoy spending a day in a dusty old book trying to piece together a bit of obscure information. Here are people who find value in perfecting an expensive and time-consuming activity that to most folks is trivial at best and contemptible at worst.
And people who can be unabashedly goofy at times. Yes, indeed: Here are my people.
But the value of our community goes far above and well beyond just holding some of the same interests because there is also a great diversity of folks involved in HEMA. We share some of the same interests, not all of them. We're not cookie-cutter versions of the same person, mannequin-like in our lockstep similarities; quite the opposite, actually.
I have met people with whom I share very little, except for our HEMA passions. There are people who hold completely opposite political beliefs as do I, those whose faith is utterly incompatible with mine, and people who thrive in environments in which I shudder, among other significant differences. Yet, despite these differences, I consider these people as my sword-brothers and sword-sisters, differences be damned.
And the reason for this (though, in our ever more fractured and angrily opposed world, this seems almost inconceivable) is the quality of these unique human being shine through the differences. This is so much the case that we are left with having to contend with an actual human being, not a caricature of a person based upon what we think they must be like because of how they differ from us. No, we are confronted with an actual, vital, authentic human being, and having put aside differences, we find we are quite fond of this other person.
But it is easy to be fond of those in the HEMA community. There is a sense of giving and togetherness I can't recall seeing elsewhere, even in other self-proclaimed subpopulations. We've most likely all seen instances in which a fighter suddenly finds their weapon broken in competition, and just like that someone else offers up their own (no doubt expensive and valued) weapon as a replacement. I know we're all aware of how eager we are to host visitors in our clubs, and often in our own homes when there is a traveler. We give, and we give openly and freely.
We are a unique bunch, friends. Recognize and revel in that uniqueness.
I'm acutely aware of this community due to two recent events. This past weekend I was lucky enough to attend one of my favorite HEMA events, Springeck, put on by those good people at the New Jersey Historical Fencing Association. Springeck is an event very much about gathering the HEMA community together. Primarily a sparring event, the two-day get together also includes plenty of time for drill sharing, some seminars, balloon war (of course!), and sharing time together afterward. This is the HEMA community in microcosm: People coming together, sharing what they know, teaching, learning, growing, and tightening the bonds that keep us together. If you get the chance to go I strongly encourage you to do so.
The second reason I'm so very aware of the value of cherished people in our lives is that my mother died less than a month ago. Immediately in the wake of her passing the outpouring of support and concern I received from my own close HEMA group as well as the larger one was profound. As a therapist I've always known that it is the relationships with people in your life -- not the size of your house, nor your bank account, nor your title at work, nor anything else as ephemeral as that -- that are the most important things we have, but having lost my own mother has driven this point home like nothing else.
Cherish the people you have in your life. Love them, respect them, help them, validate them. Eventually, you will lose them, or you will be lost to them, so do everything you can while you can to make sure your relationship with them is as strong as possible. After they are gone you will be able to look back fondly and cherish their memory with neither bitterness nor regret, but rather with a smile and contentment in your heart. And if it is you who leaves first, they will miss you desperately yet they will love you all the more for how dearly you held them.
Though these lessons apply most importantly to our closest family members, they apply to our HEMA family as well. Cherish these people, as many of them are likely some of your closest friends. Cherish them, what you can learn from them, how you can grow by knowing them. The people in our lives are, ultimately, the only thing that truly matters.
Don't waste this chance you've been given.
Stay loose, my friends, and cherish hard.
-- Scott
⚔
Anyone who knows me knows that the HEMA community is dearly precious to me.
Connecting with heritage is great, recapturing long-ago lost skills is delightful, getting fit and developing an empowered, assertive mindset in life are commendable, but it is ultimately the people of HEMA that make it truly worthwhile. The HEMA community is, at least to me, an extended family upon which I can count for growth, enlightenment, solace, support, and entertainment.
This is partially because I've always been something of an outsider; I suspect a lot of people in the HEMA community completely understand this. It's a sense of being perpetually outside the loop, something that can often be difficult to bear. I've pretty much just accepted my outsider status since I became painfully aware of it as a teenager, but the reality is I've always been just a bit outside the circle. My dreams, aspirations, beliefs, mores, norms, and values simply don't match those of most modern people, and the things that are of vast importance to others are irrelevant to me.
This isn't to suggest I'm asocial or painfully awkward amongst others, just as most of our HEMA community is not. I've made it through college and a master's program, I'm active in my local community, and I keep a job that requires me to work collaboratively with many teams of different people. And yet...and yet all of these things can be done, and be done well, while still having a sense of being just beyond the outer edge.
Truth is, I've never really connected anywhere outside of the very small circle of my wife and children; I've always just been too odd. Well, I should say I never connected anywhere until I became acquainted with the larger HEMA community. Here I, at last, feel like I belong.
Here I can find people as passionate about history as am I, and not just the large, epoch-creating swaths of history, but rather the minutia that our beloved art often comes down to. Here are people who can enjoy spending a day in a dusty old book trying to piece together a bit of obscure information. Here are people who find value in perfecting an expensive and time-consuming activity that to most folks is trivial at best and contemptible at worst.
And people who can be unabashedly goofy at times. Yes, indeed: Here are my people.
 |
| Springeck 2018 |
But the value of our community goes far above and well beyond just holding some of the same interests because there is also a great diversity of folks involved in HEMA. We share some of the same interests, not all of them. We're not cookie-cutter versions of the same person, mannequin-like in our lockstep similarities; quite the opposite, actually.
I have met people with whom I share very little, except for our HEMA passions. There are people who hold completely opposite political beliefs as do I, those whose faith is utterly incompatible with mine, and people who thrive in environments in which I shudder, among other significant differences. Yet, despite these differences, I consider these people as my sword-brothers and sword-sisters, differences be damned.
And the reason for this (though, in our ever more fractured and angrily opposed world, this seems almost inconceivable) is the quality of these unique human being shine through the differences. This is so much the case that we are left with having to contend with an actual human being, not a caricature of a person based upon what we think they must be like because of how they differ from us. No, we are confronted with an actual, vital, authentic human being, and having put aside differences, we find we are quite fond of this other person.
But it is easy to be fond of those in the HEMA community. There is a sense of giving and togetherness I can't recall seeing elsewhere, even in other self-proclaimed subpopulations. We've most likely all seen instances in which a fighter suddenly finds their weapon broken in competition, and just like that someone else offers up their own (no doubt expensive and valued) weapon as a replacement. I know we're all aware of how eager we are to host visitors in our clubs, and often in our own homes when there is a traveler. We give, and we give openly and freely.
We are a unique bunch, friends. Recognize and revel in that uniqueness.
I'm acutely aware of this community due to two recent events. This past weekend I was lucky enough to attend one of my favorite HEMA events, Springeck, put on by those good people at the New Jersey Historical Fencing Association. Springeck is an event very much about gathering the HEMA community together. Primarily a sparring event, the two-day get together also includes plenty of time for drill sharing, some seminars, balloon war (of course!), and sharing time together afterward. This is the HEMA community in microcosm: People coming together, sharing what they know, teaching, learning, growing, and tightening the bonds that keep us together. If you get the chance to go I strongly encourage you to do so.
The second reason I'm so very aware of the value of cherished people in our lives is that my mother died less than a month ago. Immediately in the wake of her passing the outpouring of support and concern I received from my own close HEMA group as well as the larger one was profound. As a therapist I've always known that it is the relationships with people in your life -- not the size of your house, nor your bank account, nor your title at work, nor anything else as ephemeral as that -- that are the most important things we have, but having lost my own mother has driven this point home like nothing else.
Cherish the people you have in your life. Love them, respect them, help them, validate them. Eventually, you will lose them, or you will be lost to them, so do everything you can while you can to make sure your relationship with them is as strong as possible. After they are gone you will be able to look back fondly and cherish their memory with neither bitterness nor regret, but rather with a smile and contentment in your heart. And if it is you who leaves first, they will miss you desperately yet they will love you all the more for how dearly you held them.
Though these lessons apply most importantly to our closest family members, they apply to our HEMA family as well. Cherish these people, as many of them are likely some of your closest friends. Cherish them, what you can learn from them, how you can grow by knowing them. The people in our lives are, ultimately, the only thing that truly matters.
Don't waste this chance you've been given.
Stay loose, my friends, and cherish hard.
-- Scott
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