Despair and Magic (X-Posted from OD)
I was going to do an entry about pathways, and where different ones have led me lately.. but in pulling up Open Diary and glancing over my favorites, I clicked on one in bold ('forever in motion,' to be exact), only to find an entire entry about the exact same topic. It was a really good entry and covered many of the things I felt the need to express, thus making me somehow less-inclined to write about them. But that won't stop me from writing about what I experienced tonite...
Like any other Tuesday evening, I headed down from school to my judo/ju-jitsu class (about a 30 minute drive).. well, no, first I went home and got my gi, went to my grandparent's to drop off dinner for them, changed, and THEN I went to class. I got there just as the judo class was finishing (I was running an hour and a half late). Watching the younger judo players reminded me of myself, how I used to have so much passion for playing judo.. how I think I still could (were there someone my size to play more often than not).. how I would love to get back into the competition circuit if I could lose some weight and get back into shape. As I watched Sensei Payne and the class rei-out, I thought about how much he's given me.. how he has helped to shape me as a person, both mentally and physically.
He approached the side of the mat I was standing on and said, "How are ya'? I guess we'll give it fifteen or so minutes, but then I think we should roll 'em up and get on out." He was referring to the fact that nobody, besides myself, was there for the Ju-Jitsu class, and it was already fifteen minutes into class time. He looked even more tired than he did last week.. the darkness underneath his eyes more pronounced. Well, of course, nobody showed. This is the second time this term that it's happened... just he and I in that big room with those big mats and nobody to do much of anything with.
He and I talked for quite awhile, about how the class just may have to be shut down if people who are signed up don't start SHOWING up, how much he's put into this over the past three decades for it "to come to this" (having a mere one student in the ju-jitsu class show). I swear I saw his dreams just fade before his eyes. I saw him -- the man who's given so much to so many and who is now facing the possibility of it all coming to an end, and I could see him hurting. He's right, though. The ju-jitsu class just cannot continue with only one or two people coming every night, when about ten people are signed up and have paid for the term. And the judo class isn't doing too well either. I keep telling him we just need to advertise more, but he seems to think it will do no good, though he said he's willing to try. I heard reluctance in his voice.
We rolled the mats and put them into the utility closet, as he kept apologizing to me because he knows I travel to come to class, and as I kept telling him it wasn't his fault. Just the possibility of the dojo coming to such a screeching hault sent a wave of despair flushing through my vains. I've spent seven years of my life here.. growing and learning and dreaming and succeeding and striving, and I don't know that I could live with the idea of it being permanently -- just -- gone. No. I don't think I can. I need it.. I need him.. my Sensei.. my judoka and ju-jitsu friends.. I need them to all be there. Always. I am just getting ready for my black belt and there's talk of shutting down? I'm about to hit the plateau I've worked to hard to reach and in just months the foundations upon which it rests could be -- gone? It's almost ridiculous, in nature, to think about. So I guess I decided I would try not to. At least, not yet.
But as I got in the car, I began to cry.. I have seen the passion in my Sensei's eyes in class, at competitions, during tests. I've seen so many emotions come across his face..the happiness in watching us succeed, the relief he experienced when we figured out things on our own, the sadness he felt for us when we lost, the look of hope he glanced at us as we stepped onto the mat each and every time -- all these things, but never what I saw on his face tonite. Never. It almost looked as though he'd given up.. and though he said otherwise, I just don't know if I believe him.
Anyhow, I headed back up to school and decided to stop by this place called "Titanic -- Restaurant and Brewery," because a friend from high school told me they have open-mic nights on Tuesdays for jazz players to come out and jam. I walked in, saw him and a few other people I knew from various places, and almost immediately felt myself softening. The whole atmosphere.. the people playing.. the smoke.. lights low.. everyone being friendly and supportive; I could have sworn I'd warped into the heart of New York City's jazz scene.
I didn't have my horn with me, because I had no intention of playing. But listening to all the guys solo.. made me really *want* to play. Made me think I want to spend the rest of my life playing jazz wherever and whenever I can (I tend to want to just thrust myself into something with complete fervor, and often realize later that I am being irrational). But nonetheless, it was magical.. truly. I was so inspired.. so uplifted by all the things I was hearing. So content to just sit and watch the beauty of jazz unfold for hours and hours. It definitely made me realize why I love jazz in the first place -- it's expressive and free. Completely unrestrained and uninhibited. It can go anywhere at any moment. Or nowhere at all.
I just can't explain it in any other way. It was Magic.
And it was magic that I truly needed after the whole experience at class. I think I found a little taste of heaven -- right here in this disgusting city that I'd just about given up on (if not for my martial arts, I'd hardly have much reason to stay here). I found people playing jazz, people expressing themselves, people talking and having fun, people dreaming and living their dreams. Where has this place been? Why had I never heard of it before? Either way, I know I'll be spending my Tuesday nights there.
Despite my apprehension, I'm glad I drifted down this unexplored path this evening. I was yearning for something.. and in the midst of sadness and losing hope about so many things, I found something I desperately needed -- magic.
Like any other Tuesday evening, I headed down from school to my judo/ju-jitsu class (about a 30 minute drive).. well, no, first I went home and got my gi, went to my grandparent's to drop off dinner for them, changed, and THEN I went to class. I got there just as the judo class was finishing (I was running an hour and a half late). Watching the younger judo players reminded me of myself, how I used to have so much passion for playing judo.. how I think I still could (were there someone my size to play more often than not).. how I would love to get back into the competition circuit if I could lose some weight and get back into shape. As I watched Sensei Payne and the class rei-out, I thought about how much he's given me.. how he has helped to shape me as a person, both mentally and physically.
He approached the side of the mat I was standing on and said, "How are ya'? I guess we'll give it fifteen or so minutes, but then I think we should roll 'em up and get on out." He was referring to the fact that nobody, besides myself, was there for the Ju-Jitsu class, and it was already fifteen minutes into class time. He looked even more tired than he did last week.. the darkness underneath his eyes more pronounced. Well, of course, nobody showed. This is the second time this term that it's happened... just he and I in that big room with those big mats and nobody to do much of anything with.
He and I talked for quite awhile, about how the class just may have to be shut down if people who are signed up don't start SHOWING up, how much he's put into this over the past three decades for it "to come to this" (having a mere one student in the ju-jitsu class show). I swear I saw his dreams just fade before his eyes. I saw him -- the man who's given so much to so many and who is now facing the possibility of it all coming to an end, and I could see him hurting. He's right, though. The ju-jitsu class just cannot continue with only one or two people coming every night, when about ten people are signed up and have paid for the term. And the judo class isn't doing too well either. I keep telling him we just need to advertise more, but he seems to think it will do no good, though he said he's willing to try. I heard reluctance in his voice.
We rolled the mats and put them into the utility closet, as he kept apologizing to me because he knows I travel to come to class, and as I kept telling him it wasn't his fault. Just the possibility of the dojo coming to such a screeching hault sent a wave of despair flushing through my vains. I've spent seven years of my life here.. growing and learning and dreaming and succeeding and striving, and I don't know that I could live with the idea of it being permanently -- just -- gone. No. I don't think I can. I need it.. I need him.. my Sensei.. my judoka and ju-jitsu friends.. I need them to all be there. Always. I am just getting ready for my black belt and there's talk of shutting down? I'm about to hit the plateau I've worked to hard to reach and in just months the foundations upon which it rests could be -- gone? It's almost ridiculous, in nature, to think about. So I guess I decided I would try not to. At least, not yet.
But as I got in the car, I began to cry.. I have seen the passion in my Sensei's eyes in class, at competitions, during tests. I've seen so many emotions come across his face..the happiness in watching us succeed, the relief he experienced when we figured out things on our own, the sadness he felt for us when we lost, the look of hope he glanced at us as we stepped onto the mat each and every time -- all these things, but never what I saw on his face tonite. Never. It almost looked as though he'd given up.. and though he said otherwise, I just don't know if I believe him.
Anyhow, I headed back up to school and decided to stop by this place called "Titanic -- Restaurant and Brewery," because a friend from high school told me they have open-mic nights on Tuesdays for jazz players to come out and jam. I walked in, saw him and a few other people I knew from various places, and almost immediately felt myself softening. The whole atmosphere.. the people playing.. the smoke.. lights low.. everyone being friendly and supportive; I could have sworn I'd warped into the heart of New York City's jazz scene.
I didn't have my horn with me, because I had no intention of playing. But listening to all the guys solo.. made me really *want* to play. Made me think I want to spend the rest of my life playing jazz wherever and whenever I can (I tend to want to just thrust myself into something with complete fervor, and often realize later that I am being irrational). But nonetheless, it was magical.. truly. I was so inspired.. so uplifted by all the things I was hearing. So content to just sit and watch the beauty of jazz unfold for hours and hours. It definitely made me realize why I love jazz in the first place -- it's expressive and free. Completely unrestrained and uninhibited. It can go anywhere at any moment. Or nowhere at all.
I just can't explain it in any other way. It was Magic.
And it was magic that I truly needed after the whole experience at class. I think I found a little taste of heaven -- right here in this disgusting city that I'd just about given up on (if not for my martial arts, I'd hardly have much reason to stay here). I found people playing jazz, people expressing themselves, people talking and having fun, people dreaming and living their dreams. Where has this place been? Why had I never heard of it before? Either way, I know I'll be spending my Tuesday nights there.
Despite my apprehension, I'm glad I drifted down this unexplored path this evening. I was yearning for something.. and in the midst of sadness and losing hope about so many things, I found something I desperately needed -- magic.