About two weeks ago, Sensei AJ was our guest instructor. We met in a park close to Griffith Park for a sword or katana class, the Betty Davis Picnic Area. It was our first time to visit this park, though it is close to where we live.
While Sensei AJ explained sword techniques, a nearby group of families were holding a sing-along for small children. The leader of that group, a woman with a guitar, sang distinctly and encouraged a batch of toddlers to pretend to be trees or animals. I learned a song about being a little apple seed, in addition to how I might most effectively drop a heavy Samurai sword down on an opponent. It was a disconcerting, though enlightening experience.
Sensei AJ has small children, herself, though hers are in elementary school. It took me back to the days when mine were little. I remember their daycare caregiver teaching them all sorts of fun songs: “Baby Beluga,” “Buggies Go Home” or the alphabet song. The toddlers seemed interested in what we were doing, too. After all, we were all dressed in white and wielding toys. We synchronized our motions with these toys, too. At least one toddler came our way to explore, though the baby’s parent was fast on her heels.
But there it was: life and death, next to each other, in the park, sharing shade from the same trees. It felt profound and silly all at once.
Teens and Preparing for Professions
While we were packing up to go, one of the karate moms and I were discussing high school pressures with Sensei AJ. Most of Sensei AJ’s class that day were teenagers at the end of middle school or beginning of high school. We discussed the hard choices that teens have to make: how to pursue a passion but also take courses that prepare them for college, or a good job, without having them burn out.
The karate mom with me also works in visual effects, and she’d been encouraging her daughter’s passion for acting. However, her daughter was coming to the realization that a career as an actor might not be realistic. So we talked about how acting does not only mean you become a famous film star, or you’re not an actor. Community theater, improvisation, and voice acting are activities that provide a fun, creative outlet without necessarily being one’s primary profession.
At that point, Sensei AJ volunteered this gem (paraphrased): “I tell my students they need to have these three things in order to feel fulfilled:
- the physical, engaging their bodies
- mental, challenging their brains
- creative, for the soul
You don’t have to get all these from your job, but you need them all in your life.”
We all agreed her sage advice works for adults as well as teenagers. Each of us want that in our lives.
Time in the Pandemic
That experience in the park, feeling sandwiched between the beginning of life (toddlers) and the end of life (Samurai) has inspired me to think about time differently.
This week, rather than doing my usual exercises in the morning, I’ve taken the week “off” to meditate. At Sensei R.’s suggestion, I break my routine and do not do push-ups, sit-ups and squat every fourth week. In order to “hold” that time slot, I generally meditate for ten minutes instead. This week is my “meditation” week.
For the past several weeks–I honestly don’t recall when it started–I have had the sense of time being accelerated. This morning, I realized it is the unity of days that makes me feel time has sped up. What does that mean? I notice I am doing doing exactly the same thing at the same time today as yesterday, and the day before. Granted, this was also the case before the pandemic. Somehow the pandemic has made me–and just about everyone else–more aware of it.
Time “Hills” flatten to “Plains”
The pandemic has cut down on the amount of things we do, particularly travel. There’s a loss of spatial movement. Traveling to work is now moving from the kitchen to the makeshift workspace in our bedroom.
I remember, pre-pandemic, feeling as if time and the events filling it were hills to climb. These hills represented activities, like work deadlines, karate promotions, kid birthday parties or Temple holidays. For example, Temple holidays entailed organizing parents to bring food before hand, at least a week in advance, decorating the space on the morning of the event, holding the event at the specified time and cleaning up afterwards. On the way up the hill, we prepared for an event. At the top of the hill, we experienced it. Heading down the hill, we’d clean up, put things back in order, and hopefully got some rest. But as soon as one big activity was behind me, I could see the next on the horizon.
These hills have flattened out into a fairly consistent, rolling plain. It’s full of weeds and a bit overgrown, granted, yet easier to race across. Meditation has taught me to meander a bit.
Many of us are perhaps bored with the same flat, weedy timescape. I am not. I’m well rested and not intimidated by the next peak traveling my way or fearing descent into the valley. The consistency gives me peace of mind.
Peace Versus Pain
I do worry for family and friends who feel isolated and disconnected from the people and activities that they cherish. My son misses his friends. They are not keen on Zoom, though they text and play Mindcraft. My oldest will walk to see friends, but misses parties and activities with peers.
I reassure my kids and other friends, “The end is coming. Just hang in there!” When it does come, I intend to bring some of that grassy plain along.
