I've been moving around a lot in the past few months. My feet have been on three different continents; my mind has defended a dissertation, relearned how to play the cello, and grappled with a new language and new customs; my body has practiced Tae Kwon Do in Scottish parks and Japanese hotels and biked through London's Hyde Park and Takarazuka's back roads; new relationships have unfolded as old ones grow and change, saying hello to new people and feeling the distance of others. I feel so young, trusting in the world of novelty to constantly provide an updraft of support.
At some point soon, I will make a descent as welcome as the fasten seatbelt sign after a long flight from Chicago to Tokyo. I've finally settled in my new home and after a short day tour on Thursday (one more night in a hotel) I will be here for awhile, at least a few weeks. Now that I have a bike, I will have the freedom to explore and set up a daily routine. I used it yesterday to come home from HPAC, where we rehearse (about 35 minutes away) and to visit the center where we can get Japanese lessons. I imagine these will both become another part of my routine existence.
I think I'm starting to feel the ground, bit by bit. And I'm trying to make as smooth a landing as possible. I'm trying to pace the speed of my curiosity with the tired that I can feel in my stomach. Today we were released from rehearsal early again, and as I road the train back to the apartment I thought about how this afforded me the opportunity to ride my bike to the river and practice Tae Kwon Do. But something in me felt that it was too much, that I've been pushing and moving and moving, and I decided to spend some time in my tatami room instead, just breathing and taking in the novel feeling of not having to do anything.
Earlier in rehearsal today we hit the 1pm mark again and continued to play in order to finish the movement. I looked around me and wondered if others noticed–perhaps I'm wrong about the reading of the contract. One of the horn players said that sometimes these things happen, along with other nonunion situations, but there is such deference to authority that no one in the group will speak up about the things that bother them.
And this made me think: what is strength? Is it saying something or is it being aware of something but silently persevering? What is an expression of strength? There are soldiers who fight wars in foreign countries and there are those that must recover from their presence. One screams and the other swallows. Who is stronger? Who affects more change? How is their strength expressed and how does this influence themselves and how does it influence those around them?
As the centrifuge starts to abide and I must contend with a new form a gravity away from the comfort of spinning walls, I'm exploring new ways of finding my grounding. This is both personal and cultural. While I'm acutely aware of polar differences in my martial arts practice as compared with the silent composure of Japanese culture, I take comfort in the lesson of perseverance that both share. I think that this will challenge me to learn a new level of expression of strength, one that neither screams, nor swallows.
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