Years ago, I started jiu jitsu because I wanted to best my Karate teammates. I was a bored young lawyer looking for something to do in her “spare” time (a laughable concept) and wanted to pick up a martial art again. After a minute of Googling, I decided to go to Unity Jiu Jitsu to try out a trial class, mostly because it appeared to be the most prestigious and had the greatest number of training hours.
For a 22-something who once was told by concerned health professionals conducting one of those workplace health check-ups that she needed to sign a waiver acknowledging the risks of her extremely high blood pressure, I don’t think jiu jitsu was an advisable course of action. Yet something told me that the alternative — rotting away in front of a computer screen with a sliver of Times Square to light my office in the middle of the night — was not going to turn out well, either. Whatever the motivation was, it did not prepare me for the daunting task of being a grappling dummy for a disenfranchised blue belt female. I still remember, and shudder, at her expressionless face as she drilled knee cut passes while doubtless wishing that she was not paired up with a floppy piece of pajamas.
I’ve been reflecting on my early training experiences, especially in the past year having a greater role in building the women’s program at my current gym. All of them are white belts, except for me. That has meant that for better or for worse, they all do look to me for advice on how to get better and progress at jiu jitsu, even though most times I’m still figuring that out for myself. I see the classes that we run every week less as just another training session and more as an opportunity for me to create a place where maybe people can graduate from floppy pajamas to actually feeling comfortable in their own bodies and movements.
It’s not an easy task sometimes. I repeat myself a lot. I have to figure out how to adapt the class to fit both someone who has been going for two years and someone who is on their second class coming out of a three-month hiatus. All the while being aware that they could be swept away at any time by career changes, injuries, or even worse, a pickleball league (I have personally never been told that someone has quit jiu jitsu for pickleball, but I am aware of the competition). I try not to get too attached; try not to get too hopeful — but time and time again the toxic optimist on my shoulder ends up befriending them, getting to know their interests, and soon even spending time texting outside of formal training time. And then, like Professor Slughorn recounting his gift from Lily Potter on the day of her death… and then suddenly, poof — they disappear.
This is the one part of jiu jitsu that I did not expect to feel. It is unfair sometimes, and I mourn the loss of a good training partner especially because I’m at a small gym. But most of all my grief is over the fact that whatever my jiu jitsu was or could be, whatever connection was forged, can no longer be developed in their absence. Of course, there have been a few characters that made everyone breathe a sigh of relief once they decided to leave (or were asked politely to not return), mainly because they were a danger to themselves and their training partners. But usually most people who come to the school at least are decent, honest folks who want to learn a skill and stay fit, and maybe make some friends. This connection that I find myself forging again and again in jiu jitsu is something that I both appreciate gaining and dread losing. It is, frankly, disorienting, like I’m trapped upside down and don’t know which way is left or right (jiu jitsu people, nod along with me here.)
In this way, jiu jitsu is painful. When you take away the joint pain, shoulder pain, back pain, toe pain, neck pain, and “I sneezed too hard and my ribs hurt” pain — there is no amount of Epsom salts and sports massages that I can afford to ease the existential ache that comes from knowing that the vast majority of people that join jiu jitsu ultimately do not stay. You go down a rabbit hole of wondering why they would spend 2, maybe 3 months of their lives getting squished and crimped and then decide to walk away from it all (I’m not even sure if that’s a serious question?). It’s that type of resistance that I’ve noticed in myself the more I become invested in jiu jitsu. My creeping sense of paranoia anytime someone fails to come to class for more than a week goes something like: perhaps, they were abducted by life’s myriad responsibilities and magically adopted a baby and decided this was “too much” for them and have already moved hundreds of miles away…! Only for me to find out that they were just on vacation and eating ice cream.
It is easy to become disillusioned. “Not caring” is not a satisfactory response and likely is even harmful. To suppress the natural side of myself that wants to connect with someone who is trying out MY ABSOLUTE FAVORITE ACTIVITY feels even worse. That’s why when someone says that they intend to join, I try to at least keep a little bit of hope alive that they will in fact, come back for a second class. That they will, in fact, buy floppy pajamas and agree to roll around the mat with me and do the thing that my mother-in-law said was inadvisable for her nieces to do, which is to put “feet next to faces.” This is why I plan classes so carefully, even if it’s just the last event on someone’s already packed corporate workday. This is why I use my scooter commutes to my day job as a way to brainstorm fun quality of life improvements like reward sticker charts that would tickle the reward mechanisms of someone so that they choose open mat over Saturday brunch. My hope is persistent and whether or not I like it, there is always a part of me that sits at the door waiting for the person to come back so that they can play jiu jitsu with me.
Life does go on, even when people leave. Yet—if the repeated exposures to farewells are supposed to make them easier, then someone please point me to the latest research study group so I can earn $50 to disprove this theory. What happens instead is that I learn to accept, but not resign. Because after all, life goes on because things change. Every season brings its new share of transitions and its new crop of introductions. It reads like a jiu jitsu almanac: Spring is for the “I’ve always wanted to try martial arts and decided this would be the year”; Summer is “I’m here for an internship/fellowship and need something to do”; Fall is about “I’ve come back and started my second year of school”; and Winter is “I walk by this place and it seems warm enough.” In some ways it is the cycle itself that keeps me going, though it can be cruel at times in the frequency of regularity of how certain events occur. This has always been true about my jiu jitsu-related laundry, and it is equally true about jiu jitsu.
Where does this leave me? A person who wants badly to be anchored to one place, only to realize that the anchor is easily lifted and that I’m perhaps just part of a larger vessel, that I may be lifted up for some period of time, and then drop down again to a great depth. I try to remember that despite all of the transitions, I still get to be anchored to something bigger. Something that, despite the odds, travels through both storms and clear weather, onto its next journey.
As a new parent struggling to return the mats, I understand the transient feeling from the other side.
But perhaps the metaphor of an anchor is less suitable in nautical terms for yourself staying ashore and more appropriate for your former partners as a wood working reference.
Your connection having allowed others to build something more permanent from what was temporarily supported in crumbling, brittle, drywall. Every city built, and rebuilt by people like you. And that’s the real magic.
The ocean after all, is indifferent.
I so deeply relate! It can be truly heartbreaking to witness the full lifecycle of someone’s jiu jitsu beginnings, middles, and ends. Watch them grow and develop and then just stop. Our responsibility is to find the ideal balance of investment and detachment that enables someone to flourish while they’re with us but still protects our hearts when they leave. Thanks for writing!