Yesterday I scribbled on a sticky note, “The only way the beginning makes sense is if you consider the end.”
I’ve been trying to write this blog post for months but my writing isn’t linear. I know my writing now, how to trust it, so I feel less frustrated than I did as a dyslexic kid with a barely started essay due the next day.
Now I treat my writing like a pool of deep water. The secret is to wait until the words are ready to flow.
I write so I can understand and because I understand I can write.
This morning at jiu jitsu my training partner and I were practicing arm drags. Catch the wrist, internally rotate the shoulder, cup the tricep. Breathe. The simplest movements in jiu jitsu are infinite in the same way that common written words have infinite depths and derivations.
Just because you don’t know the moves or the words doesn’t mean the structure isn’t there. The only way to understand either is to be aware of meaningful structure and to be capable of play.
This morning I noticed that my training partner, a person new to me, had a tattoo of a quote on his forearm. I was close enough to read the words and I was already staring at his arm because I was moving it around so it wasn’t much of an invasion of privacy when I read his tattoo.
Give me a place to stand and I will move the Earth
“Archimedes,” I said. That’s a weird coincidence I thought.
My teacher in France, a man who is arguably ultimately responsible for the small group of us who actually understand how English spelling works, reminds us of that specific quote all the time. Without a shadow of a doubt he is a black belt when it comes to spelling. The lineage of understanding that he has fostered and nurtured speaks for itself.
You can’t get a black belt in spelling but it’d be a lot cooler if you could.
What would be the coolest, though, is if we could stop expecting eight year olds to have already mastered all aspects of English orthography. Sometimes I wonder if it’s just me or if anyone else has also stopped to consider how goddamn insane it is that we expect children to be literate by third grade.
When I started doing jiu jitsu I learned immediately that absolutely no one expects me to ever be a black belt. In fact I am pretty sure that if I am still showing up in five years with a white belt around my waist no one is going to call my parents and tell them that really I should be making more progress and maybe they should consider medicating me for ADD.
When I am on the mats I get to be exactly where I am. I am striving to be better every time, but my timeline for understanding gets to be my own. There are no standardized tests or report cards or poorly designed homework that requires knowledge far beyond my current understanding in order to complete.
There are only my teachers and training partners, generously reaching out their hands to help me. There’s Dan who knows exactly how to best give tiny hints and encouraging birthday presents during a roll. There’s Ali who pauses when he knows I’m thinking about what to do next. There’s Ace who matches my pace perfectly every time and pauses right before he takes my back in order to remind me I’ve once again made some poor life choices.
The upper belts don’t punish me for my poor choices born from my vast ignorance. They just gently remind me of the consequences. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Balance must be upheld. It is the only way.
What would our world be like if we gave children the same luxury when they learn to read and spell and do math that we give grownups learning jiu jitsu? How much trauma could be avoided if we allowed children to be wherever they are rather than quietly demean them for not being on some arbitrary level by some arbitrary date?
Teachers cannot exist without students. Two ends of the same spectrum, two sides of the same coin: the beginning and the end. The black belt needs the white belt as much as the white belt needs the black belt. Those that are the most skilled are best equipped to help those that are the least skilled. The system only works when taken together as a whole, when it’s respected for what it is and what it is not.
The only way to stand is to know where you are.
The best way to move is to play.
The only way to live is to understand you will die.