Last night I attended a Tae Kwon Do class. I'm thinking of mixing up the kickboxing, which is becoming a little hard on my body.
Because I'm starting over with a new school (it was a TKD sparring incident ten years ago that nearly destroyed my knee), the instructors have put me in a beginner group, so I can catch up gradually. My partner is a woman who is just my age when I first started in martial arts—45.
She was embarrassed by her lack of skill and coordination. "I'm no good at this, but I love it!" she apologized. "I'm not as good as you."
I gave her some encouragement—I'm afraid I was too wrapped up in my own "issues" at the time—but she got me thinking this morning.
"I'm no good at this. I'm not as good as you."
Well....no. She SHOULDN'T be as good as me. I had almost three years of TKD, and I've been kickboxing religiously—anywhere from 3-6 times a week—for over three years. I SHOULD be better than a beginner.
But I remember feeling the same way when I started out.
Any time we pick up something new, it's a change. Some changes are easy. Many are not.
I know people who are on their nth attempt to quit smoking. People who are trying to lose weight, to exercise more. In fact, the last few weeks I've been down because I gained back some of the weight I've worked so hard to lose. The holidays, a restlessness about going to kickboxing, more new aches and pains and injuries to my body—all these resulted in added pounds.
If you've been reading my blog, you also know I continue to second-guess myself with my career in art. Is it good enough? Why is the jewelry evolving but not the fiber work? Does it NEED to? Why can't I figure out what to do next? For gosh sake, I've been working so hard for eight years now. Why is it still so hard??
The answer, as I thought about that woman, is simple.
I've been doing it a lot longer than her.
Change is hard. And big changes takes time.
I read an article lately that said the reason it takes four to seven years to become a black belt is because that's how long it takes to make such a major change in oneself—to change your attitude, to change your physical capacity. A black belt test isn't just a major physical challenge (although it's that, too). It's a test of your endurance, and courage. It's a test of who you are when you are exhausted and discouraged. What do you do when even more is asked of you?
You do what you can. And that's what makes you a black belt.
We are constantly bombarded with ways to make the change easier, faster, with less pain and angst. Some of these suggestions help, and certainly different techniques work for different people.
But mabye if we stopped seeing change as something we "should" be able to master quickly, maybe we could be more forgiving of ourselves.
It's harder to change your life than it is to change your bedsheets.
After all, another word for this kind of change is TRANSFORMATION. We want to transform from an inactive person to an active, healthy person. We want to transform from a person making bad food choices to a person who makes healthy food choices.
This blog is a record of my transformation. Eight years ago, I began the transformation of a person who was willing to make NO room for myself in my life, to a person who is determined to be the artist I've always dreamed of being.
I've shared my successes, my tips, and my setbacks. I've talked about my doubts and fears. I've talked about the amazing power and fulfillment you take on when you DO take on your real artistic self. And I've shared the times I haven't felt very fulfilled or powerful, too.
In the end, it's a process. It's a journey. I remember a time soon after I got my first studio, when I was diagnosed with a (highly curable) cancer. Believe me when I tell you, it doesn't matter if your chances are 95%, you still are terrified you could be one of those unfortunate 5% who won't make it. I was upset about what that could mean to my children, my family. (My husband is really cute, so I know he would find another wife.) (Just kidding.)
One thing, and one thing only, gave me ENORMOUS comfort.
Though I was still not the artist I'd always dreamed of being, I was already taking those first critical steps. I was working as hard as I could at getting there.
And that knowledge alone—that I was doing the best I could—was enough to give me peace in my heart.
I hope that woman sticks with Tae Kwon Do. I told her, "If you keep doing this, I promise you this: Ten years from now, when you are my age, you will not recognize yourself."
For this new year, I wish this for all of you.
I wish you the power that comes from knowing you are capable of change.
I wish you the courage to persevere even during the times when it gets hard.
And I wish you the peace in your heart that comes from knowing you are doing the best you can.
