Uninterrupted showers are still not a guarantee in my house. We recently moved to a place where my husband and I have our own bathroom–we used to share one with our kids. Back in the old place, I often had to let kids in to use the toilet while I was in the shower.
But even in the new place, my daughter will come and find me while I’m in the shower, often with a complaint about her brother. “I can’t help with this problem while I’m in here,” I tell her, but she stays and airs her grievance. To calm her down, I play a game with her where she draws on the outside of the shower glass and I follow her finger from the inside, where it leaves a drawing in the condensation. We draw hearts and smiley faces together. Then I nicely ask her to leave, and she does, but she sometimes waits for me right outside the door so I can solve her problem the second I step out of the bathroom.
I don’t like being this available to other people. There’s no one else in my life besides my kids whose questions I would entertain while bathing. I’m realizing I need to set firmer shower boundaries with my kids, in order to protect my own sanity.
Because a nice shower is such a lovely experience. The soap smells good, the water is hot, I can blast my tunes and sing along. And I can dream, that for at least ten minutes, I might remain peacefully, blissfully, alone.
I’ve been thinking of how to set up my martial arts teaching practice, and today I came up with a formula:
The formula seems simple enough. I practice, I write about the practice, I share the writing, and I also share the practice. Sharing means on social media, on here, and with friends or students in real life. I would also like to write a book (or many) about my practice and practicing the arts in general.
I suppose I’m listening for how to be a martial artist for a living. Actually, no, that’s not quite right. I’m listening for how to live as a martial artist. Practicing martial arts as a lifestyle that can sustain me.
I think about how to make money as a martial artist, and I know what I don’t want to do. I don’t want high overhead or the pressure of renting a space. Rather, I’d like to be an independent contractor, or rent/use a space short term if I’m going to teach. The teaching itself doesn’t have to be the main source of income, perhaps I’ll publish and sell zines or books about practice. Or motivational martial-arts-themed posters or art prints. These seem like fun avenues to explore.
But before I spin off into the land of “all the projects I could be doing,” I’ll remember my formula: practice, write about the practice, share the writing about the practice, share the practice. I think if I do this consistently, I will make some wonderful discoveries and good progress.
Much of my martial arts practice these days is unlearning old habits. Releasing old tensions. I picked up some unhealthy movement patterns over my years training in hard-style martial arts, and I ground these movement patterns into my body over many years often at high impact. Martial artists, over time, can have shoulder problems, hip problems, cognition problems from continued impact. I don’t want to have these problems, but I can feel places in my body, my shoulders and feet especially, where my training taught me to hold and move my body in ways that now cause pain.
Also, my brain, the way I think is kind of messed up, or “different” from my years of martial arts training. I learned to desensitize myself from being hit and hurt. Hit in the stomach, hit in the face. Having my eyes poked and hair pulled. These are supposed to be scary things, and they are, but I also kind of like them. For many years, getting hit meant I was having fun playing with my martial arts friends. So, while I want to be move without pain, there is also part of me that seeks it.
The martial art styles I practice now, Shanti System, which is based on Chen-style tai chi, and White Crane Silat both offer me new, healthy patterns of movement and are not pain-seeking styles in any way. I practice these slowly to activate new muscle-brain-body pathways, then faster. The old patterns, though, being old patterns, creep in, so I go slower again. Then 1% faster again, then I get the new pattern for a while. The progress feels good. Then I lose the feeling, so I go slower again. This I do on and on, over and over.
And that is the summary of my training over the last five years.
Last night was a beautiful if hot (100 degree) evening practicing at the park. My number one focus was being and staying hydrated, which I did well. Here’s what I practiced:
• bouncing/shaking
•stretching/stances
•marching/walking, keeping feet parallel, shanti system posture. Backwards, forwards, sideways, in circles. Mostly to music.
•silat side rolls: I videoed myself practicing these recently and I wasn’t guarding my groin very well. I’m practicing the leg change part of the side roll to keep my groin covered.
•shoulder rolls: I’m really confident with my back shoulder roll over my right side (my recovering-from-injury side) but the left one is freaking my out. I’m afraid I’m going to crank something in my neck so I’m scared to do it. I’m building up slowly to getting comfortable with this roll again, which means I’m mostly just lying on my back and practicing looking over my shoulders and slowly starting the move…doing just the beginning. I made progress feeling more comfortable thinking about the roll, and then I noticed how nice the hot, stony pavement felt on my back, so I…
•ground my shoulder into the ground. My shoulders and pretty much everything above my thoracic spine are really tight, so I’m always looking to dig in there and loosen them up. Last night I found that I could roll my shoulder out foam-roller style on the hot pavement, which was bumpy with stones, so I did that, and the heat sort of melted into my deltoid. A delt melt, if you will.
• listened to “Valerie” by The Zutons a few times. I’m singing backup on a Mark Ronson & Amy Winehouse version with one of the bands I practice with, so I thought I’d go back to the original and give it a listen. It’s really good. The rock elements stand out after listening to the (excellent) jazzier Winehouse versions, and I really like the rock elements.
• found a new stick: to practice weapons forms and drum major stuff. I also figured out a way to arm bar myself with it and get a really good stretch
• practiced standing meditation
• organized the feather collection/shrine I’ve been making over the summer. I’ve collected feathers I’ve found in the park and placed them under the tree where I put my backpack while I practice. That’s the picture at this blog heading.
That’s what I practiced. I wrote this post so that I would acknowledge, remember, and record my practice. Otherwise when someone asks, “What are you practicing?” I just kind of go, “Duhhhh, I don’t know…”
Giving words to things and writing them down helps.
Here we are in the last hot stretch of summer. Fall is zooming into view–the kids start school again in two weeks. This means a more consistent routine, no more stretches of lazy days for them. For me it means it’s time to plan out my fall routines.
First and foremost, I’m hoping to lead a weekly qigong class this fall. I have a location in mind, but I’m having trouble finding the right person to talk to to use the space. This process is moving slowly, but once I have a place to teach and a consistent class time, I think I’ll get a good group of folks to practice with.
The second big piece of getting routines in place is planning childcare and family responsibilities with my husband. Truthfully, this has been one of the hardest parts of my life for the last few years. Negotiating schedules, breaks, kid care, home care, all of that stuff with Alex. Early on we got really stressed out and bogged-down-feeling as parents, and over the years that translated to stressful household meetings, then animosity between us.
Thankfully that was in the past– Alex and I are in a good place now and are able to schedule things together peacefully. A few years of couples therapy and a lot of communication work on both our parts has made a huge difference.
The next piece to fit into my schedule is intentional writing time. I have a book project begun, and I’m to the point where I need to set tangible goals for getting a first-draft completed. The first piece is to plan out the time, though. Setting up two chunks of time a week seems like it could work well… two to three hours each… then I can increase the time if I need to.
I also need to carve out time for collaging, date nights, band practice, rest time, fun with friends, martial arts practice, studio cleaning & playing time, family time, house work.
And then, I must consider direction. What are my personal and professional goals this year? Actually, I should probably consider this first.
I am feeling inspired, I think I will think about this now. Off I go!
I recently posted about playing saxophone again with Middle School Jazz Band. At that time, I was playing alto sax with the band. I like playing alto just fine, but a few weeks into playing with the band, the teacher asked if I would show one of the clarinet player students how to play tenor sax. Yes. Of course, I said, and we got to work.
As I said, I like playing alto just fine, but I LOVE playing tenor. The lower register resonates more deeply with me — my body, my air, my self-expression. I PLAY alto, but I AM a tenor.
This identification with the tenor sax began when I was in high school. My private teacher at the time was a jazz musician, and he said one day, “I’m partial to tenor,” meaning he liked it more. I thought that sounded cool, the way he phrased it, and that he had an opinion on which sax he liked most. Over the years in high school, as the alto sax ranks became more competitive and high-stress, I switched over to tenor sax where I could chill out a bit. I was always first chair as a tenor, because the competition wasn’t stiff, and there were only three of us compared to six or seven altos.
In college at Michigan, I signed up to march in the marching band as a tenor. When I got to the first day of band practice, a horn-player friend of mine who was a few years older and in the band said, “Yay, you’re playing with the saxophones, they’re over there,” she said, pointing at the altos.
“Oh no, I play tenor,” I told her.
“Oh!” She said, sounding like she knew something I didn’t. “You’re playing tenor? Well, that’s a completely different thing. The tenors are over there. They’re crazy, good luck.”
I found the tenors, and was at once intimidated and deeply delighted by how boisterous, strange and wonderful they were. Our rank leaders that year were named Fred and Barney (her last name), so we had Flintstones-themed rank leaders. I felt really shy around these folks, but we slowly warmed up to each other over the first few weeks of school.
The number one currency in the tenor section, and the band as a whole, was comedy. Whoever could make the rest of us laugh was lauded and loved. And we all tried to make each other laugh ALL THE TIME. We had inside jokes, dirty jokes, jokes about how we were the best section, jokes about our names, jokes about how cocky the trumpets were.
We had jokes that were rules, like whenever the director told the band we had to go over a section of music and “break it down,” the tenor section would all repeat, “break it down!” and go into a ridiculous dance, pulsing our arms back and forth. If the weather was going to be iffy and the director told us to “dress appropriately” the next day, we would show up in neckties.
These threads of comedy bound our section together. Everyone in the section had their spot, and we all had each others’ backs. For hours each week in the fall, we’d play together, practice drill, march on the field, sit and play at football games, then do it all again the next week.
This fall I’m going back to march in the alumni band for Homecoming for the third year in a row. A good group of my tenors ought to be there, and I’m so looking forward to being with them again. At Homecoming last year and the year before that, I felt a deep sense of belonging that had been missing from my life. The band hall smelled the same, the pictures in the display cases were familiar, the faces of fellow bandmates were older, but the joy of playing together was the same.
Homecoming. A sense of belonging, of being home. I’m looking forward to going back.
Michelle Folk Johnson 