[Readers who (may?) have been looking for regular posts on this site have probably been disappointed lately, as have I, actually. Too much stuff happening. I have also been experiencing the most annoying of episodes for a writer - I think of things to say when I am no where near a keyboard or other means of writing; and when I do have the means, I discover I don't really have much to say after all!]
In the original sense of what a blog is (that is, a journal of some sort, not a commercial enterprise, or something I hope will turn into a book some day) I am pondering the meaning of a get-together with some fellow budoka that was held a few weeks ago. In true journal fashion, I am writing down thoughts in an effort to wrap my head around that weekend's events, and my reaction to them.
Even though, in a journal, background is not necessary, I will include a few sentences for context, in the event that, at some point, I don't remember what the hell I was writing about. One of my budo friends, whom I've known for about 20 years, invited me and one of my students to a weekend of training, along with about a dozen or so of his closest budo friends. I was reluctant to accept the invitation, and did not even confirm my acceptance until about a month out. I suppose the first thing to consider is my initial ambivalence.
I should remind myself that I have spent many hours training with this friend, both in the US and Japan. After getting kicked out of my old group, he was one of the few people who believed my version of events. More than any single individual, he has been instrumental in helping me rebuild my practice, starting at a time when I was mentally strung out and considering quitting altogether. In that sense, I certainly owe him a debt I can probably never repay.
But that was not the reason for my reluctance. Here's where I insult a whole group of budo practitioners: The most enthusiastic acceptances for the weekend event came from aikidoka. I certainly have no problem with aikido in itself, and I have met some very good practitioners. Nope (or at least, not really). My problem was that aikidoka enjoy a practice that involves a lot of falling down. I study weapons systems that involve very little of that type of movement; and, being of a "certain age" and with what my chiropractor calls "an interesting back," I decided that this was not the weekend for me. So, not long after the happily affirmative chorus ensued, I asked my friend if we would indeed be doing any of the sort of practice I might find useful or fun.
"I'm sure we'll do something," he (kind of) assured me. So, I am supposed to spend hundreds of dollars on an air ticket for what might well only be a weekend-long party. In spite of my affection for my friend, and for some of the colleagues who were already on board with the event, that was not a good answer. Instead of an opportunity to work on some new material with people who knew better than me, I would instead stand next to the mat and watch other people throw each other around. Call me grumpy, or old, or both if you like. If it had been a short car ride away, I may well have thought better of the idea; instead, I was reluctant.
My ambivalence was complicated by the fact that a separate invitation was given to one of my students. I like this person - he has been the one guy I have worked with lately who has put his budo money where his mouth is. And I'm not ashamed to say that sometimes an energetic, young newbie can kick a teacher's butt up a few notches. I took him around the first time, but after that, his excitement was so contagious with my friend and his colleagues that he has earned invitations all on his own ever since. He is so well-liked by my friend that one confused individual once asked me whose student he actually was. The fact that he accepted his invitation immediately, and with enthusiasm roughly on a par with that of the aikidoka, made me wonder a little as well.
So many weird things.
Then there were the women. There were four on the first day, and five on the second. Needless to say (or at least it should be needless), I am a great supporter of women in budo, and having one-third of the attendees being female was a very cool thing. I have spent a certain amount of time writing in this space, as well as in other spaces, about the dearth of women in US budo circles. Every now and then, I come across an article touting the meritocracy of budo practice in the US only to think, "What about the rest of us?"
However, one of the downsides of the small number of US women practitioners is an innate, and IMO erroneous sense of competition among women budoka here. We are so used to being "the only woman" that we almost resent the presence of others as an intrusion (as in, there can only be one queen). Add to that the sensibility that we feel like we have to constantly prove that we deserve a place at the table and what you get is a weekend-long exercise in one-upmanship. I find it interesting that, in my experience, if women budoka are together working on something, there is usually a great spirit of cooperation; however, introduce guys into the mix and the atmosphere changes. (In fact, I don't think the behavior is exclusive to budo.) Not everyone reacted the same way, but it was enough. I have certainly done my share of story-telling, but one person so dominated the conversation throughout the entire weekend that there was nothing to do but retreat. My student suggested that such dominance was perhaps what was needed to be a successful onna budoka. If that is the case, I am doomed to obscurity, and with pleasure.
As to the curriculum, I was mostly right. Except for a session I taught myself (which I did not know I was supposed to teach until a short time beforehand), there was no formal weapons training. By insisting among some of my colleagues, we did manage a little informal work, for which I was very grateful.
As to socializing, I can sum things up in one story: I was sitting with a group of people, none of whom lived in NYC, who began to relate where they were when the World Trade Center attacks took place. Person after person remembered where they were and what they were doing, and when it got to the point where I might tell a relevant story, someone started a different topic. I live in NYC. My husband nearly got caught in the collapse of one of the towers. But never mind, moving on.
My student had a boffo time. *Everyone* loved him. One person extolled his loyalty to me (it's not that I didn't agree; it's that I know that loyalty is one of those things that shifts with life forces). Another colleague chided me for not showing him more affection (I am not affectionate with students. It's difficult enough for me, emotionally, just to teach them). After feeling a little like the skunk at the garden party, I realized that I was the only person to come from out of town who even had a student willing to do likewise, so I took some consolation in that.
All the attendees have expressed their enjoyment of the weekend. They got to try different styles of empty-hand, and even some real-world application of technique. But I am still (as you can see) sorting out my feelings on the event. I care about my friend, and some of the others, and I wonder if I should publish this post. I don't want any hurt feelings. More importantly, I am wrestling with wanting to be included, though at the same time, I keep thinking I don't belong. I wonder what I should do about next year if the event takes place again. Insist on some more relevant training, or decline to take part? I hate making time and expense a factor in whether I think going to a party is worthwhile, but for me, for now, it is. My friend has written about how happy he is (and I'm glad). He expressed how pleased he was that there was so little "ego" on display. True for him, maybe, but I am still grappling (empty-handed even) with mine.
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