Tahoe-ho!

In a few hours I head into the mountains, the great granite spine of California. The reason for this pilgrimage is a workshop co-taught by the Sensei at my first dojo and my current Sensei, Linda Holiday and Richard Strozzi-Heckler respectively. I honestly cannot think of a better way for me to celebrate my commitment to aikido than to learn from these remarkable teachers and watch my friends from both dojos connect to one another through training. But I have also felt like I start all over again every time, reorient myself. I miss elements from old dojos and feel incredibly challenged by elements at the new one . . . and even though over time I settle and end up loving my dojo, I still feel rootless, in a way that is unsettling.
It has been a blessing and a curse to have moved so often in the past few years. On the one hand I have made many friends and discovered that there are many ways to do a technique. Each dojo has its own energy and feeling, its own unique mix of people practicing, its own focus guided by the Sensei(s). I have experienced an expansive and accepting aikido community.
For a goal-oriented person like me, I suppose the real challenge is discovering how to measure my progress. It is through kyu exams? Is it through sensations and thoughts I have during class? Is it a composite of feedback from senior students and the Sensei? It it how many techniques I know? Is it being able to continue with the blend and the flow even when I am flustered and have absolutely no idea what to do? Is it measured by my willingness to show up on the mat whenever I can?
I hope it is a collection of all of the above . . . But I also am realizing that with pursuits that grow the spirit, the need to measure may not actually exist. My beginning class Sensei always referred to a calligraphy on the wall: "True victory is victory over one's self." "Polish your stone," she would say, sometimes punching at an invisible piece of slab and chipping off pieces with her imagination and intensity.
Maybe what is so attractive about aikido for me is that it seems to be ever-evolving and constantly changing. It appears to be a path one can walk for ones entire life. Ever deepening, like a halloway, and maybe with no destination other than the journey itself. Ikkyo (first technique) is different every night, with every Sensei, with every partner, with every subtlety of mood and thought, and over time as it becomes part of my mind-body patterning and also helps deprogram that very circuitry I am creating. I am really liking the exploration of these seemingly endless variations. I enjoy how they arise by surprise . . .
At any rate, I feel very lucky to have trained with so many wonderful people and to continue that this weekend on the shores of beautiful lake Tahoe. It is a great opportunity to reflect on the past two years and look forward to the coming ones.