One of the reasons why I started The Mental Arts was to keep track of my journey in jiu jitsu as it progressed over the years. Lately I feel like sometimes the work has been of a more impersonal nature, focusing more on advice and commentary, rather than personal observation.
I think that there is a time and place for writing these advice pieces, but lately, I haven’t had much advice to give. I more feel like I have been living life, instead of commentating on it — and maybe that’s okay. Most people who start out writing for the wider audience have at some point felt the pressure to live up to the expectation that there must be some sort of “value add” in what they put out in the world, instead of simply releasing their thoughts into the world and seeing what would happen.
I had an incredibly busy month in December, since I decided to compete in New Jersey pretty much at the 11th hour. I wasn’t supposed to be competing according to my plans that I had written out the month before — I was supposed to be focusing on mentally preparing for the holidays and travel home. But, I think that my track record of sticking to what I’m “supposed” to do has never been that great.
That is how I found myself yet again on a grungy train to New Jersey. How I found myself stepping over a homeless person who was not quite conscious, but not quite unconscious, on the steps leading down to the station exit. How I somehow inexplicably gave the wrong directions to the Uber driver for the second time in New Jersey for my hotel.
I went to bed at 2AM, woke up at 11AM, packed up my things and went to the competition venue. I watched one of my teammates skulk around the bullpen as his opponent failed to show for the scheduled match. I watched two of the brown belts that had come to coach us eat two enormous prosciutto sandwiches. Then it was go-time for me. I went 1-1 that day, enough to take a silver.
On the train ride home I mostly found myself alternating between staring off into space, napping poorly, and updating my teammates on my comings and goings of the tournament. I was happy and relieved not to have messed up the same ways as I did in the last New Jersey run, but also sad that I couldn’t manage to have a performance good enough for gold.
December would prove itself to be emotional through and through. Our school had a promotion and even though I had confided in two teammates that I wanted to be promoted to brown belt, I wasn’t. It was a long 30 minutes in the shower when I went home. My imposter syndrome had reached an all-time high; I knew that I had improved but in that moment. after all the competing, the drills, the sparring, the studying and the note-taking I had desperately wanted to be rewarded with external validation.
I cried in practice the next week.
I knew that December would be hard, but I didn’t expect it to be this hard. It was one of those months where you really have to dig deep and think to yourself what the heck you have to do to change the way things are happening and the way you feel about situations outside of your complete control. I knew that if I didn’t take any lessons away from these experiences I would find January to be the continuation of a downward existential spiral.
When life is just one thing after another, it can be hard to catch your breath. On one hand, I knew that I had made certain choices to compete, to get my hopes up on promotions, to travel back home during the holidays. On the other hand, I felt like I wasn’t expected to be so beaten down with the emotions associated with the challenges. But I do think enduring this emotional hardship made me recognize the areas of myself that I needed to really work on. Sometimes, you don’t really get a say in the moments of your life that force you to reflect on who you want to be and what stands in your way of that. Sometimes, you just have to recognize the moment as it comes.
I watched a video the other day about the crafting of Japanese swords. In the clip, the artist explained how they could identify the era the sword was made in through the sword’s appearance — and if the pattern was distinct enough — the sword’s creator.
It is always fascinating to watch these types of videos. It’s one thing to see the end result — the blade laying neatly next to its kin as if they are remains of ancient history preserved in amber — and quite another to see the moments in which a sword begins to emerge from the molten, fierce mess of a more-butter-than-metal piece of iron. To think that this incomprehensible, shapeless form could take on so much personality that we could identify its maker is something that I am confident would take me many decades to understand.
The closest I can come to time spent in a craft itself would be perhaps a somewhat circular conclusion: my life. I think of the years I have spent living as whatever I saw fit to be some version of “me.” But I think after all these years I am still somewhat of an apprentice at living life — only a beginner at even striking the iron while it is hot, let alone imbuing a blade with so much life that samurai used it to take away that of others. I have spent many years trying to awkwardly handle hot butter-metal and to emulate the forms of people who were seen as exemplars of their time.
In jiu jitsu, I have strived as well. This past year has been filled with many competitions (more than I intended) and many heartbreaks (more than I wanted). As I tried harder to be better I found myself struggling more against the reality that I was not fully in control of how things turned out, but only what I would make of them. I took aim at success with what I believed to be my own powerfully created weapon at the time, and I missed.
Recently I’ve explored the idea of how I would feel if I let go of wanting certain achievements to come my way. I’ve been playing with the idea that “less is more” — not that I would care any less or try less — but that I would approach each moment with intentionality instead of looking to rack up pure mat time. I have journal prompts at the ready for checking in on my relationship with imposter syndrome. I try to open up Headspace in moments where I find I have 5-10 minutes of time to spare.
It’s still hard when I see other people getting promoted in jiu jitsu. I think that there will always be a part of me that compares myself unfairly to other people. But I live with the hope that as long as I keep working on it, with time, that part of me will be overshadowed by the better parts of myself. The parts that embody the willingness to explore one’s potential, look forward to the unknown, and create beautiful things.