No Left, No Right

As I was getting accustomed to my newly shaved head this morning, I experienced an overwhelming feeling of liberation and lightness. I felt amazing.

But I also noticed memories of my adolescence surface—memories I hadn’t thought about in a very long time.

Growing up, I was often told I was too much like a boy.

Too masculine.

I was assertive, physically active, rebellious, and sometimes even aggressive. Eventually, my athletic inclinations led me to become a competitive swimmer in my young teens, and between training and genetics, I developed a muscular frame.

But growing up with immigrant parents, their expectations of how women and men ought to express themselves left little room for some of what came naturally to me.

I remember my stepmother telling me, again and again, that I “looked like a boy,” and that I should stop swimming.

No matter how many times I heard those words, they always stung deeply.

Something I enjoyed—something that made me feel strong and capable—had become a reason to question whether I was expressing myself properly as a girl.

Now, looking at my newly shaved head, I notice echoes of that old fear.

Have I let go of an essential part of my feminine expression?

I loved my long hair. I loved the way it moved, the way it framed my face, the softness and beauty I associated with it. But letting it go was deeply meaningful, and I am happy with my decision.

Still, happiness and fear seem quite capable of sharing the same room.

For many months, I have been contemplating the Rebis, an image from Hermetic Alchemy that brings masculine and feminine together within a single being.

For me, it has become a symbol of sacred union within oneself. I find echoes of it in my understanding of Yoga and in the journey of Individuation: recovering a relationship with parts of ourselves we have separated, rejected, or learned to keep out of sight.

Today, that contemplation feels especially close.

And it brings me back to a memory from my time of practicing Kung Fu in San Francisco.

Our master repeated a teaching constantly:

“No left, no right.”

We trained both sides of the body. We strengthened the weaker side and learned to keep the dominant side from taking over simply because it was more familiar.

The intention, as I came to understand it, was to make both sides available so that whatever response the moment required could come forward spontaneously.

I remember beginning to feel that teaching in my body.

There was less hesitation. Less preference. A movement could arise without first passing through the question of which side I trusted more.

This is how I have come to understand the Rebis.

I don’t imagine it as an equal measure of masculine and feminine, carefully maintained in some perfect proportion. I imagine a freedom of expression that becomes possible when neither aspect has to be excluded.

Strength can come forward. Tenderness can come forward. We can act, receive, protect, create, listen, or speak as the moment asks.

And, just as in Kung Fu, that freedom requires practice.

We develop the capacities we have neglected. We become aware of the ones we rely on so heavily that they leave little room for anything else.

Eventually, perhaps, we can trust more of ourselves to participate.

Through my colorful imagination, I see my life as a series of great movements.

In my early years, I often felt unsafe. I learned to guard my vulnerability and meet the world with strength.

Some of that strength was simply mine. I loved movement. I had a will of my own. I wanted to explore, challenge, and discover.

Some of it also became protection.

Over time, through creativity and relationships, I began opening to aspects of myself I had kept guarded. I discovered more room for softness, intimacy, receptivity, and feeling—qualities I came to associate with my feminine expression.

At times, these movements have felt like a pendulum swing. Each discovery was so significant that I needed time to inhabit it, to feel what had previously been unavailable to me.

Now, I wonder whether something else is becoming possible.

Can I be tender without distrusting my strength?

Can I be assertive without questioning my femininity?

Can I allow my expression to change without feeling that I have abandoned some essential part of myself?

With my hair gone, these questions have become immediate. I can see them in the mirror. I can feel the old judgments arise, even as I enjoy the woman looking back at me.

Perhaps this is part of why the Rebis has been on my mind.

It gives me an image through which to contemplate a freedom I am beginning to feel: allowing qualities I once experienced as conflicting to belong within the same life.

I am still discovering what that means.

Shaving my head has given me a new place to begin.

Interestingly, I often need to name and understand something before I can begin to live it more freely. Perhaps that is the way of us cerebral creatures, lol.

We study. We practice. We remember.

Then, sometimes, the teaching becomes so familiar that we can forget the instructions and simply move.

In the coming days, I want to explore what it means to make more of myself available to life—and to trust what comes forward.

No left, no right.