.
Sometimes I think my words might smother me before I can wrangle sense out of them. I'm bombarded by upper and lower case fonts. Or maybe I just read Chicka Chicka Boom Boom too many times to my children.
This weekend was a new beginning for me in my martial arts journey. I thought that when nine month long test was finally over that my overwhelming sensation as a baby black belt would be one of relief and lifted weight, less stress. But it's not.
My overwhelming feeling, other than absolute bruised up physical exhaustion, is urgency.
I want more. I want to train harder. I want to learn faster. I want to be there when kids in class suddenly get a move right and the look on their face changes.
I want to ride my bike down a curvy hill without my hands on the handlebars and feel the fall breeze whip around me.
And then there is jujitsu. My stupid injured rib keeps wanting to slip but I feel like I don't have a moment to lose; I can't see any progression. My professor comes in 2 months but default fonts and sparring partners are still arm-barring me with impunity. Over, and over again. Yet I love it anyway.
It's a new school year and I'm the dorky 9th grader who can't sleep, with my back pack full of fresh notebook supplies, the room full of the smell of erasers, and new school clothes folded at the end of my bed.
On our last mile as a black belt team the 59th Street Bridge Song, by Simon and Garfunkel, popped into my head and I tried to sing it. Most of the team was too young to know it, not to mention I can't sing... It somehow seems an appropriate message to myself.
.
Sometimes I think my words might smother me before I can wrangle sense out of them. I'm bombarded by upper and lower case fonts. Or maybe I just read Chicka Chicka Boom Boom too many times to my children.
This weekend was a new beginning for me in my martial arts journey. I thought that when nine month long test was finally over that my overwhelming sensation as a baby black belt would be one of relief and lifted weight, less stress. But it's not.
My overwhelming feeling, other than absolute bruised up physical exhaustion, is urgency.
I want more. I want to train harder. I want to learn faster. I want to be there when kids in class suddenly get a move right and the look on their face changes.
I want to ride my bike down a curvy hill without my hands on the handlebars and feel the fall breeze whip around me.
And then there is jujitsu. My stupid injured rib keeps wanting to slip but I feel like I don't have a moment to lose; I can't see any progression. My professor comes in 2 months but default fonts and sparring partners are still arm-barring me with impunity. Over, and over again. Yet I love it anyway.
It's a new school year and I'm the dorky 9th grader who can't sleep, with my back pack full of fresh notebook supplies, the room full of the smell of erasers, and new school clothes folded at the end of my bed.
On our last mile as a black belt team the 59th Street Bridge Song, by Simon and Garfunkel, popped into my head and I tried to sing it. Most of the team was too young to know it, not to mention I can't sing... It somehow seems an appropriate message to myself.
.
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