I write to a blind audience who doesn't know me and will never have to. They pick and choose whether or not there's wisdom in the experiences I write about and are welcome to offer the solace of their own if they find it applies. Response from total strangers have always been the most eye-opening and provocative in the writing all these years, and I welcome it. I'm trying, still trying, to be an important part of the world.
Saturday, March 05, 2022
Let's Find Better Words
Sunday, December 06, 2020
You Were Your First Student
Today, I had the honor and privilege to be evaluated for the next step, at the endorsement of so many in support of this journey in the martial arts. It was a culmination and testament of our work as students and teachers in the Art of Tang Soo Do, as well as the many unprecedented challenges of these strange times and circumstances. I tested alone in a room, but when this uniform is on, there’s no alone. I rediscovered today when and from whom each artifact of my training came from. Each mechanic had an origin beyond me, each, with permission to make my own, and all of these old conversations starting pushing out the nerves and feeding me energy. There was vacancy in the dojang, but it’s the same floor I teach and learned on, and felt the presence of every student and instructor who’ve ever stepped foot here, and that was unique and special. Every moment of these 23 years of training has been an assessment of character, always has, by those who’ve pushed me forward, and most importantly by myself, and I get that now. The day I remember walking shyly onto the North Athletic Club floor in State College, a timid 13-yr old, nervous and anxious in life, in school, in my own skin. I remember so badly wanting to do something about it. We are, and always will be, our first student.
My teacher, Master
This was an amazing way to celebrate the first anniversary of
. A special thanks to MasterSoo!
Monday, March 16, 2020
The Price of the Plague
Covid-19 [Coronovirus 2019] has hit the Bay Area, bringing the city to the decision to stop business and halt life as we know it, in order to keep this new menace at bay and reach some sort of damage control.
Words can't express the what-ifs that drift into my head, the focus of which goes to the top. We had warning signs, we had statistics, we had science, and it was ignored by the person [people] who had the power to do something about it. After such a terrible year and an already morbid perspective on the leadership of the free world, I can't help but reflect on the light at the end of the tunnels I was already careening through; the fires I tried to put out for the better part of two years were beginning to be quelled, and both the political and natural world stepped in to simply say, no.
And all I see as we move into a quiet, unsettling and uncertain new normal, is just how distant I am getting from the people that taught me that a man like THAT should NEVER be someone you look up to. At at time when a support system is not something to take for granted.
Strange also to stumble in the ER for the first time in a very long time in the middle of a pandemic. But it was quiet. Clean. Pleasant. Except for the birthing pains emanating from my insides as I suffered from my first case of kidney stones, a humbling reminder to take care of myself and that there's always time to slow down and watch my health. Worst pain in life EVER and been up all night.
Welcome thee, to another apocalypse. I wish the best for everyone, and I wish that the freefall I'm enduring didn't deter me so much from being an important kind of help to someone else.
I miss being able to do that.
Wednesday, January 15, 2020
Cider
...and he's going to be responsible for tempering a lot of me. Which I know I need.
Monday, January 06, 2020
Woven In the Fabric
It's strange calling it a white uniform, when it is clearly stained and denatured to such off a white.
But every time I make these creases, every fold and bind, the lessons come flooding back in. The ones that hurt, the ones that helped me put myself back together, the ones I missed, the ones I wish I could teach, the ones that changed my life. Even reminds me of the ones that I may never learn. I’m so desperate to pass all that on and mirror that as a teacher, but this art is meant to be experiential and not rote, most ESPECIALLY in a world that is no longer familiar with the practice of barefoot and unarmed combat. That’s the beauty and the reality of the practice: that in the meticulously shaped and synchronized swing of arm and thrust of leg, there are a thousand worlds being explored.
A dream I didn't know I had, but really always had, came to pass today. And I wish to god that it didn't come at the end of such an ordeal, a separation anxiety from a decade of real work and denial of need, from being neglected and taken for granted in the trenches of teaching the next generation.
My favorite teachers, and the ones I try to emulate, are the ones enlightened in understanding that they didn't have the answers to everything, and had the humility to admit that to their students with an honest and self-self-depracating sense of humor. They were curious, investigative, communicative, and humble. They knew how to teach because they knew how to keep learning.
The teachers we become fundamentally stem from the students always we strive to be. Here's to the hope that I can live up to my own expectations, put away the past and become something better.
Earth-Shattering Revelation: Don't be surprised by your students' success and constantly exalt them in that. Expect achievement and make accolades commonplace.
Wednesday, January 01, 2020
Honestly
Earth-Shattering Revelation: There is no levity in knowing. There is just the burden of truth.
Friday, December 28, 2018
A Will and a Way
I've never been with someone so cool, calm, silent and who understands me. Someone who's understood pain and knows how to set that aside to do what's needed. Someone who gracefully welcomes every aspect of me into his life. Someone who selflessly takes care of me with no reciprocity demanded.
This is new and frustrating and sublime; I think that paper rose has withered away, and left in its stead, acceptance and peace.
Wednesday, September 05, 2018
Every. Small. Victory.
I'm sorry that I haven't written in a long while, but I think, seeing as how I'm on the verge of burnout, the very possibility of me writing but at all is dissipating with every passing day.
Let's just say, in the desperation of all that needed to be done, with very little promise of output or a light at the end of the tunnel, none of the pieces of my week's jigsaw puzzle fit. Instead, apparently, I was playing a very wrong hand of the domino effect, as one piece knocked down the next. And then the next and the next after that.
In my defeat, I sat timidly in my Uber Express Pool (much to the disapproval of many friends who would never do discount public transportation). And having taken my attention off my filling inbox on the screen smeared with pho stains (I had gotten to soften the blow of the day) and crumbs from my messy bag (remnants of the fortune cookie that promised the opposite of what this day brought), I found myself in the middle of a conversation between the other passenger, a middle-aged woman who in Pakistan was an MD and now a formidable social worker in San Francisco, and the driver, an Angolan from SoCal who was an esteemed history professor in his home country. Both, happy go lucky as you can be in a shitshow of an administration that disapproves of either of them as immigrants formidable in their own right, education and station in life, and yet humbled and content with the freedoms they had in this country.
"Merci," I said to him as I reached my destination, to which I also added, "bon chance." And he gave me an even bigger smile that reminded me, I am lucky to have a day like this. A day that could be fixed in the next one or the one after. Because I am lucky to be able to create the opportunity for, and celebrate, every small victory.