One of my former (sorta) students called me today to say goodbye. He married a Japanese woman last year, and she found a job in Japan and moved back to the Old Country a few months ago. He is following her, and is leaving tomorrow.
It's not that big a stretch. He's originally from southeast Asia. He majored in Japanese language in college, and has many Japanese friends. In some ways this was inevitable. And since he's from Southeast Asia, he will actually be closer to his parents, after many years of living in the States.
All the same, I wondered why he called. Over the past year, he has barely been a student. Last year, he came to okeiko enough to take part in the raft of demos that we did in the spring. I was a little annoyed that he showed up for practice only when he knew there was a performance, but at the same time, he was one of those very talented people, physically, who soaked up kata like a sponge, so he was very useful to have around at demo time. Like some people to whom stuff comes easily though, he was easily bored. At the same time, he did not look much beyond his physical accomplishments to the meanings that lie underneath the mechanical aspects of kata. I always wondered about that. It's not automatic to be simply satisfied with physical accomplishment. Some people grasp the physical aspects of a practice quickly, then they happily plumb the depths of what it can teach them. For others for whom the physical is more hard won, it seems that understanding that there are deeper levels to practice is more logical and worthwhile; but maybe I just say that because I am the latter type of student. Physically accomplishing the technique, let alone remembering sequences of movements, has always been really difficult for me, while I can easily grasp the intellectual aspect of training (intellectual grasp does not help you much, actually - when it comes to budo, the truth of it is in the doing of it).
Anyway, he was going on about packing, and how his luggage was way overweight, and how he would probably hear about the extra expense from his wife, and how there were many things he could not take with him, etc., etc., and honestly I was waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. Was he going to ask me to hang on to some stuff for him? (My husband would have had something to say about that - we have a very small place.) But no - he said his sister, who lives here someplace, was going to hold onto a few things. I told him not to worry about the overweight luggage - it was not like he was just going on vacation, after all - I mean, it was a one-time thing. A once in a lifetime thing.
And then I realized why he had called, besides to just say goodbye. He was apprehensive. Happy, for sure, since he chose this path for himself, but it was a big step. And there was no turning back. He had just cast his lot with a country and culture he was barely familiar with. And for some reason, he called because he seemed to think I could allay his fear.
I thought it was ridiculous; I mean, no one ever expects me to help out in that way. I teach techniques, and sometimes the aesthetics, philosophy, and history behind them, when I know enough to explain. But I don't consider myself a role model, or a mentor, or a big sister, or any of that. I just don't. But here's this kid (about 27 years old), who has staked his life on something entirely different from his previous experience, and I'm somehow supposed to make him feel better about it.
So what did I do? What could I do? I tried. I told him his wife is a great person, and he is a lucky man. I told him that things would work out fine. I told him one of my still-current students (and a friend of his) was in Tokyo right now and they would surely be in touch. I told him that one way or another I would be coming to Japan to train sometime this year, and I would probably see him again soon.
And then it was really time to say goodbye. It was Friday afternoon, I was at work, and I had to get back to it. I told him to give my regards to his wife and also to my student when they met. And not to worry. And to have a good flight.
I wasn't kidding - I know he will be fine. He is young, and his life is still a big adventure, and still mostly in front of him.
I was tempted to feel sorry for myself after that - I'm twice his age (at least). I've done many cool things. I've had a good time. And, like many people, I think of what I could have done differently. But most importantly, I still do a lot of things. And having a good time is the whole point. Every time I get on an airplane to go somewhere, I get that feeling like the bottom is falling out of my gut (I am a terribly nervous flyer), and I realize that being afraid of new circumstances is one of the best parts of being alive. Sooner or later, maybe he will realize that too.
