CHAPTER FOUR: ON LOSING GROUND

There will come a time in your life when nothing you go will ever go right. This is one of those times. You have fought, changed, reasoned, and scrambled to get the things you need to succeed in martial arts (which, coincidentally, are similar to the things you need in everyday life)- time, resources, and the ability to grin and bear it. There is little one can do to change the circumstances of a snowball flying down the hill directly in your path. You only pray that you know the right footwork to get you out of the way before it hits. And then, sometimes it hits, and you ask yourself, did I catch the number on that theoretical Mach truck?

Here’s a classic story about a little tori and a big uke. The little tori was practicing tai otoshi on the big uke one day and asks her teacher, “When would I ever use this on a guy like this? I mean, shouldn’t I do ago oshi or hiza guruma instead? Don’t I want to bring the guy down to my level?” The teacher smiles at her and says, “You don’t expect to be on the same level all your life, now do you?” Okay, I went on a philosophical rant. The reality is, when you’re stuck, you are stuck. And sometimes no matter how hard you try, you just can’t pull yourself out of a rut. That’s when you wonder if you are doing the right thing, investing in a hobby (or lifestyle, whatever you refer to it as) as involved as this one. And it’s funny, but every piece of advice or kind word from your instructors just makes the felling worse. So what’s to be done in a situation like this?

Well…there’s a lot to consider, past the obvious questions like, “Do you still like martial arts?” and “Is it time learn somewhere else” blah, blah, blah. The real question is this- have you changed into the person you want to be, or the person you think you should be, in order to be satisfied with the martial arts? You ever see those people in your school that are the same rank for years? They don’t care what’s on the ranking sheets, or what kata they’re on, or even that their peers are passing them in rank left and right. You think of them as slackers, naturally. After all, with the resources and talent, they should be at a much higher rank. Yet, they are the ones who stay, who usually have the soundest advice or are the first to lend a hand. They could care less with the trivial business matters of running a school. They constantly reminisce. Minus the pressure of being under the watchful eye of the head sensei, they are free to practice as they see fit. Is it any wonder why they look the happiest in the school? I’m starting to feel this way. While it bothers me that lesser people rank higher than me, I cannot deny the certain joy that throwing away the ranking book has given me. If I don’t test for sho-dan in aiki in the next year, or even ten years, I feel okay with it. Same with karate and iai. So what.

I feel that my cheer for being lazy may be misinterpreted. I did not say give up- that is different. When you do, the pain of all the things that bother you go away for a while, that’s true. Then you are filled with emptiness. If I take class away from my life, what would I do with my free time? This is what I have learned in the time I have begun this journey- if you can quit and fill up that void with other things quickly, and not feel sad or guilty about it, then it’s the right choice. If you try to walk away, and with inexplicability you keep coming back for more, then… well you need another choice, don’t you?

It’s indentifying the choices I can make, the steps that get me out of that path of the snowball that I worry about. It’s not often the choices are laid out in front you as obvious as your instructor punching you in the face in order to get your head to move your body. You have to keep your eyes and ears open, and your suspicions and hopes balanced. Where there’s a closed door, there might be a window, but it could only be open half-way. You need the quintessential crow bar.

I find that writing has helped me dump negative thoughts out of my head, and recognize patterns in my thinking that I can correct in some way or another. I like to read other martial artists’ blogs- not only for advice or parallels to my situation, but because some are way worse off than I am (and some don’t even know it). Of course, some do well for themselves, and it’s nice to find one who is down to earth and did it without Mommy’s money. Those writings make me feel a little less anxious.

I’ve tried the yoga and meditation thing. I’d like to say I practice Buddhism, but I am by no means a Buddhist. To say so because I think it fits the character of the martial artist I’m supposed to be is offensive to real-life Buddhists. I could say I am Buddhist any more than I can say I am Japanese because I know the language. I laugh at those who try to be what they can never achieve. I, on the other hand, am content with the heavy task to be someone I like. That is a constant struggle. How can an autistic individual be good at any martial art that involves the usage of things like “partnership” and “community”? How can someone with tactile sense of a finicky porcupine hope to ever achieve anything in a sparring match? Sometimes, I do wonder what I am trying to prove to myself by participating in such acts that at times I cannot fit into. Then again, it’s not like I fit in anywhere else to begin with.

So what is the moral of this story? You are on the base of hill, a snowball comes rolling down, and it threatens to kill you. You are obligated to move, correct? You just need to know in what direction. I suppose in the end, it won’t matter, as long as the snowball misses. But then, that’s not enough either, is it? Because the moment you are complacent, another snowball starts rolling. The way I look at it, you have two real choices; one, you put up a defense shield against them, or two, you eliminate the thing causing them. I prefer number two. In martial arts terms, number two would mean complete obliteration of the obstruction that is detrimental to your martial arts, which could be easier said than done. That thing could be the school you’ve gone to the past five years, or the partner you’ve sparred with that has gone way off course. So the question then becomes, now that you know what you have to sacrifice, can you do it.

And that is the suffering, isn’t it? It is possible, even likely, that things will get better. Dumb people leave, school leaders change. But you are always the constant. So in the end, it is really up to you what course your martial arts “life” ends up taking. Life may suck right now, but sensei is right- I won’t always be the little tori. And it is possible I am training to be the person I will become someday, that person I will like. For me, the past three months has been constant change. I can’t say I know how to dodge that snowball, but I do know how to dig my heels in the snow and brace for impact. I do that well. And with any luck, I won’t have too many more to go.