Good Morning Patient 6473

About a year and a half ago, I took my daughter to see a neurologist to have her toe-walking habit evaluated. We arrived at the clinic fifteen minutes early for her appointment like we were supposed to, filled out all the paperwork, and then waited. And waited. Since this was a specialist visit in a place where she had an actual appointment, I had not come prepared and after about an hour Maya started complaining of hunger. Of course, I had no snacks. After an hour and a half I went to the receptionist to inquire as to what was taking so long. "I'm so sorry. The doctor is running a bit behind today." After two hours, I asked that same receptionist, the one who hadn't had the courtesy to inform me how behind they were when I checked in, if she had anything behind her desk that my 4 year old could eat. She rustled up a fruit cup and a chocolate milk. Finally, we were seen by the doctor, who of course apologized profusely. Maya was neurologically fine.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago. Maya had a follow-up appointment with a new orthopedist. New clinic, same old toe-walking. Same old wait. Again, the receptionist said nothing. We waited an hour. This time when Maya got hungry we went downstairs to get lunch. I told the useless lady behind the desk that if by some miracle my daughter's name was called she should please tell them we would be right back. Another half hour passed. Maya ate a pretzel and played on my laptop. I asked what was happening. Surprise, surprise the doctor was "running behind". They were short a few rooms. And so on. After almost two hours, another doctor and another apology. This time, when I complained about how unacceptable it was for a clinic that serves children to have such a long wait, the orthopedist suggested I speak to his supervisor. Apparently I was not the first parent with this complaint. So I did. I am sure it will do nothing.

When we were leaving, the useless receptionist asked us if we wanted to make another appointment. I replied that yes we would but could we please see the doctor during his private hours rather than the clinic ones, which by the way are at different times in the same office! Her response: "I am sorry your insurance does not allow that." My response: "See ya!"

When I got home I wrote this email to Maya's nice, new orthopedist:

Dear Dr. _________

Thank you very much for your careful examination of my daughter Maya yesterday and your sympathy to the situation at your clinic. I did speak to the supervisor; not sure if it will make any difference to the wait times for future patients. 

The other doctor had requested that Maya return in a few months for a follow up visit, which I am sure you would also recommend. When I spoke to the receptionist, however, she said that unfortunately our insurance does not allow us to make appointments for your regular office, only the clinic, which seems silly since my understanding is that they are in the same place. Perhaps you can do something about this? 

In any case, I am aware that many things (such as long wait times and poorly managed clinics) are out of your control and I greatly appreciate the time you spent with my child.

Sincerely,

Jennifer

I got an email back with this atttached message to his receptionist:

Ms. __________Can you please put Maya in for an appointment in the private hours – first patient? I know that you are away until next week and can arrange this appointment on your return. Thank  you for doing this very special appointment.

All the best.

Dr. _________

What is that saying about the squeaky wheel?

My husband and I run our own business in NYC. It will suffice to say that we do not have rich people's health insurance. When people who have our insurance need to see specialists we are sent to hospital clinics. Often the doctor in question is only there one day a week and the clinic massively overbooks. They are always behind and no one ever tells you anything. 

This past week I went to see my own specialist, also in a clinic. After many years of on and off heartburn and digestive issues, I had finally decided to see a GI  doc. I also waited two hours, completely missing my afternoon BJJ class. My actual appointment lasted 10 minutes. At the end, the doctor recommended I schedule an endoscopy. Here is what I was told:

The procedure should take about ten minutes. I should arrive at the clinic (inside a hospital of course) at 8am. Don't eat or drink anything for 8 hours prior. I should arrange for someone to pick me up when it was over in case I felt a little drowsy. I asked what time was reasonable to tell them to meet me. "Allow 4 hours."

WTF??! Four hours for a ten minute procedure? When I inquired about this, I was told that I would have to fill out paperwork. Then there was the meeting with the anesthesiologist. Oh and "there will be a wait."

Of course there will.

I had had enough. I went home, Googled endoscopy centers in Manhattan and found a nice GI doc who takes my insurance affiliated with a center (not a hospital) that was especially for stomach procedures. Their website had downloadable forms. When I asked what time someone should arrive to get me, the answer was about an hour after my appointment time. One hour.

The moral of this story is that we do not have to accept what we are given when it comes to our medical care, and that of our children. We can, and must, be advocates for our own care. We can demand to be treated like human beings, not cattle in a very crowded field of grass. We do not have to go to the first place they send us, accept the first diagnosis we are given, wait for hours and hours to see rushed doctors in clinics teeming with misery. Even those of us with "poor people's insurance" do not necessarily have to settle. All it takes is a little effort, a lot of research and a very big mouth. Thankfully I have one.

My daughter has a wonderful pediatrician who I have never waited more than twenty minutes to see. I have a decent PCP whose office is also fairly empty. But from now on when Maya has to see a specialist I plan to go right up to the desk and ask exactly how far behind they are running. That way, at least we can go have ice cream, or run around the playground for an hour. We'll come back later. Or even better, maybe you could call us when she is next. You know, like those pagers at the Olive Garden. Here is my cell number, we'll be in Prospect Park.

My time is far more valuable than this. Oh and by the way, so is the time of all the other patients in your office, the ones who do not have the courage or the knowledge to speak up. Imagine what health care would be like if the human beings in that Brooklyn clinic were treated with the same respect as the ones on Park Avenue.

Why don't you work on that Mr. President!

To Mom

Those of you who know me well understand that I do not do stupid holidays. I abhor Valentines Day, a silly creation that exits entirely for high schoolers to demand roses from their desperate boyfriends and for Hallmark to sell cards. Since I have a child, I am forced to come home on February 14th with a stuffed bear and a box of chocolate but that is as far as I go. Why is every holiday about candy nowadays? Easter used to be about hiding eggs. Now it is about getting a giant basket full of sugar. Ditto with V-Day. Last week Maya's class celebrated Cinco de Mayo with some chips and salsa and a giant pinata full of candy. It was also her half birthday (May 4th) which she insisted on celebrating with cupcakes. Are we supposed to do half birthdays now? Isn't once a year enough?

Matthew and I also celebrated our 7 year anniversary this week, with a cozy, child-free breakfast at one of our favorite local restaurants. French toast and hot coffee, a perfect, stress-free gift. I have plenty of things already, a whole house full. Who needs more stuff? All that effort put into finding the most unique and beautiful piece of glittery jewelry (or the coolest gadget that does what his cellphone already does better) could be used for perfecting armbars instead. 

Not that I don't like pretty necklaces. Or dangly earrings. Or sparkly rings. 

Or Ipads.

But despite my bah humbug attitude towards holidays, I like mothers day. And fathers day, for that matter. A day that celebrates the wonderfully rewarding and incredibly difficult job of parenting a small human is one that is worthy of gifts. In my opinion anyway.

My mother was a mommy-mother. Meaning that she didn't just teach me right from wrong and make sure my shoes were tied, but she baked cookies and sang lullabies and told stories and played with my hair while I lay in her lap and watched Sesame Street. She also worked full time as a public school teacher. High school. In the Bronx. 

While my father and I often butted heads (too very similar stubborn personalities), my mom and I had a relatively peaceful relationship. This was due more in part to her ability to let things roll off her back in order to keep the peace than anything I did right. When I was bratty and argumentative my father often fought back, the same mistake I catch myself making with my own daughter now. My mom usually just walked away. 

Now, years later, my father and I have cultivated a bond based on mutual respect and shared misery. And my mommy has become a grandma, a role which she embodies in every cliched way possible. She gives my daughter too much sugar. She impulse buys toys and children's clothing in every store she goes to. She bakes pies. She lets Maya stay up too late and watch too much TV and use her loud playground voice inside their small Upper Westside apartment. Her, and my father, cuddle Maya and sing to her and read to her and surround her with so much love she is in danger of spontaneously combusting.

It is wonderful. All of it. I wouldn't change a thing.

As we approach this Mothers Day weekend, I have been thinking a lot about what it means to be a mommy. For the most part, I adore it. And I don't mean in a carpe diem embrace every moment cause it goes by so fast kind of way. Or a look how cute her scrunched up face is while she is screaming kind of way. Or a how sweet and soft her breath on my face is at 4am when she is finally asleep alongside me and my husband and the dog in a too small Queen sized bed kind of way.

No, when I say I adore being a mom I mean that I could not imagine my life without Maya, and do not want to. I mean that I am proud to put parent on my list of accomplishments, alongside juijitsuka, karate black belt and blogger.  I mean that sometimes I look at my daughter and I am full of the kind of awe normally reserved for contemplating the ocean. 

I also mean that I love being a mommy to one amazing five year old. And that one is more than enough. 

Happy Mothers Day to my own incredible mommy. I love you.

It is quite an adventure, this parenting thing. 

I hope I am doing it right.

I Am Woman, Hear Me

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?"
Marianne Williamson

I have been reading a lot of new blogs lately, most of them by women. (Although I did find two wonderful parenting blogs written by dads(!) Dads are awesome, especially ones that can change a diaper and string two words together.) But mainly I have been reading the stories of other females. Some of them are feminists, like Peggy Orenstein (http://peggyorenstein.com/blog.html), who writes about the dangers the Disney princesses pose to our little girls. Others are by my fellow jiu-jitsu ladies, like Julia who really gave me food for thought with her piece about male privilege in the world of BJJ. (http://jiujiubjj.com/2013/04/23/male-privilege-in-bjj-a-primer/).

All of these bloggers, combined with my own recent playground experiences (http://mamommyarchives.blogspot.com/2013/05/girls-are-more-delicate.html), have made me think long and hard about what it means to be a woman who trains, to be a woman in general. And more importantly, what I want it to mean, for myself and my young daughter.

In other words, when I get out there on the mats, on the dojo floor, in the park wildly chasing Maya across the grass; who do I want to be? How do I want to be seen? How do I want to be treated?

Some things are obvious and easy. Don't rape me. (Like, duh!) Don't see me as just a body with parts good for one thing and one thing only. Don't assume that because I am a woman I am a delicate flower that needs to be coddled and protected.

After that, it becomes trickier. In some ways, I am a walking contradiction. I can say, almost in the exact same breath, that I want to be treated just like the guys but I also want special consideration. Of course, this is more about being tiny (I am 5'2" and 110 pounds) than about being female. If you are double my size, which many men in BJJ are, it is polite to not put all your weight on me. It is also nice of you to refrain from making extremely sexist comments.

In return, I promise to take my training seriously. I will work hard. I will listen carefully. I will not ask you to go light and then slam my shoulder into your face.  I will dress appropriately so it is clear that I am there for only one reason, to get better at jiu-jitsu.

If I am doing well, I want credit for it. I even want you to respect that training might be harder for me than it is for you. Again, not because I am a girl, but because I am little. When you think about me (which I am sure happens all the time!) I want you to think "Hey she is pretty good at this. Or maybe, she is pretty good at this...for a small fry." But never, "She is pretty good at this...for a girl."

Then again, I know that being a woman who trains makes me a minority. So yes, there is a part of me that is not just proud to be a BJJ blue belt, but extra proud to be a female one.

I am also a forth degree black belt in karate and part owner of my own dojo. I worked my ass off to earn both of those titles and mostly I get a lot of respect for it. But I am aware that there may be people who walk into the dojo with assumptions. They see me in street clothes and assume I am just the receptionist. Or they see me teaching class and assume that I got that position because I am married to the head instructor. Perhaps even that he gave me my rank just because I am his wife. (Actually I became a black belt before him, but who's keeping track?)

Sparring is hard for everyone, but for some women, it is especially difficult. It feels funny to be hitting someone. It takes time to get over the fact that you are being punched and kicked, especially by men. Even bigger ladies can have this problem.  And in BJJ, it can be even more intimidating because the guys are often right on top of you. So dudes, be aware of this. You don't have to train with me any differently because of it, just keep it somewhere in the back of your mind. 

In return, I will remember that I really have no idea what it is like to be a man.

When that mother in the playground commented on how "delicate" girls are, it was the generalization that made me angry. Some girls are a bit delicate. But some boys are too. And some girls like to punch and kick and sweat and choke people with their collars and are most definitely not delicate. All we want, all anyone wants, is to be seen for who we are, not some preconceived notion of who we should be.

And by the way, all of us humans have our fragile moments; the crying in the shower, unable to catch your breath moments. Some men just hide them better.

Clearly I am still working on this whole female identity thing. For now, I will leave you with Shakespeare:

"Though she be but little, she is fierce."

That's as good a place to start as any.

Did You Lose or Are You a Loser?

This weekend my BJJ school had an in-house tournament, just for our students. It has been well over 10 years since I have competed in any martial art so there were a lot of things I had forgotten. Like how absolutely, positively exhausting your first round on your first time out there is. Between the nerves and the adrenaline, I was out of breath about a minute and a half into a 6 minute round, a fact which took me by complete surprise, even though I should know better. Thankfully, I managed to recover as the round went on and we settled down a bit, but wow!

Competing in anything as a newbie, even a low-key tournament like this one, has all kinds of experiences that go along with it. The butterflies in your stomach as you wait for your turn. The frantic beginning. The sore muscles afterwards. The thrill of victory. The agony of defeat. The exhausted and slightly depressed feeling you get right after the last bit of adrenaline slips out of your body.  It has been a long time and I had forgotten about all of these things. 

I lost both of my matches on points, which I suppose is better than losing by submission. But I did learn a lot. Here are just a few of the things that I took away from the day:

1. I thought I understood the scoring system but I really didn't. Or at least I didn't know enough to base my game on it. BJJ scoring is tricky. There were plenty of times, especially during the first match, where I should have pushed a little harder, or defended a little better, but I just wasn't thinking about preventing points. In class I really only worry about getting tapped, that and the obvious things like keeping her from getting the mount and off my back. The competition round requires a different focus, one which I clearly don't get yet. 
2. I need to work on guard passing. A lot.
3. All those moves that I can perform so well in my head, when it comes to rolling at full speed...not so much. But I now have a mental list about a hundred pages long of things I want to get better at. Thankfully I have a long-term approach to training. And a lot of free time.

When it comes to competing I have always been of two minds. On the one hand, putting yourself out there is a great way to see how your game measures up. There is a lot to be gained from overcoming nerves. And there's no denying the thrill of facing off against a real opponent. But it is hard to train to win and still be a good partner in class, one who cares about helping others get better. There is a tendancy to specialize in order to perfect one or two foolproof moves, which means you may shy away from learning anything new. And too much focus on winning and losing can make your martial arts life have the roller coaster feel of a long night at the blackjack tables. It is easy to forget that there is so much more to training . This tournament, although exciting,  did not make me want to compete more. But, all things considered, it was a very good experience. And it served as another reminder of just how big the study of jiu-jitsu is and how far I still have to go. Which is good because I don't plan on quitting any time soon.

I really hate losing in front of Matthew, even though he had no expectations of me. So that part sucked. But it did give me the opportunity for a really great parenting lesson on doing your best. Maya watched my first match with great interest, even adding helpful coaching from the sidelines. ("Push mommy, push!") By the time I got to my second, however, she was watching Return of the Jedi on Matthew's tablet and asking him if they could go home yet. (I understand, it was not a very exciting round for me either.)  Afterwards she had this to say: "You did good mommy but I wish you had won." 

I wish I had won too. But I really could not expect much more from a first tournament. I did the best I could and I have a whole lot of things to work on.

Losing is just a part of the game. After one of the men's divisions, Matthew overheard my teacher say this to a disappointed white belt: "Did you lose or are you a loser?"

I may have lost this one but I am no loser.

I'll see you on the mats soon, working hard and keeping it playful. :-)

Girls are More Delicate

The little boys at our local playground have two games that they like to play. One is chase and shoot, a thrilling adventure that involves running at top speed while making machine gun noises and slashing through the air with imaginary swords. The other game goes like this: one boy falls down, the other boy jumps on top of him, a third boy completes the sandwich and then all kinds of grappling ensues. The latter game is awesome to watch and I often have to refrain from coaching. (Grab his arm, roll to the left, now get on top, get on TOP! Yes!) 

Usually Maya is off with her own friends playing their odd combo of rainbow princess Star Wars expedition. But occasionally she becomes intrigued with the boys rough and tumble game, as do some of her other buddies. It was on one of these days when this gold medal parenting moment happened:

Mom (to her 5 year old son who was grabbing at one of the young ladies): Hey, be gentle! You have to be careful when you play with girls, they are more delicate. 

She meant well. In fact, a few minutes later she made some comment about wanting her son to grow up treating women properly, which is of course a good goal. 

But I could write a novel about all the things that are wrong with her statement.

First of all, your son should be careful no matter who he is playing with. There might actually be boys out there too who are not in the mood to have their stomachs jumped on. How about you look at the other kid's face (no matter what the gender) and see if he/she is having fun? Here is a good tip; if they are laughing, punch away. And if they look miserable, stop. Easy peasy.

If you read my blog often you know that I am a huge fan of rough play, so long as both parties are willing and it does not get too out of hand. I think it helps kids learn control and physical limits and body awareness. And yes, it hurts sometimes. What do you expect from a game that involves kicks and punches? 

Here are the rules of the road: If your kid is bigger than the person he is rolling around with, he needs to be more careful. If he is more aggressive, he needs to be more careful. If he is getting a little too crazy, he needs to be more careful.  If his buddy says stop, he stops.  Immediately. Isn't that the lesson we want our little boys to learn? That no means no?

Yup, that about covers it. Parenting done.

The worst part of telling a five year old boy that girls are "more delicate", is the message that it sends. Little boys put few things above physical prowess. Is this a fair way to assess people? Of course not. But he's a five year old boy and it comes with the territory  So now you are teaching him that the thing he uses to judge people, namely, how tough and athletic they are, leaves girls lacking. Not because they might be smaller or slower, but simply because they are girls. In your mission to raise a young man who respects women, you are, in fact, sending the exact opposite message.

Also, it is a big fat lie. At least as far as early childhood goes. Are girls less likely to enjoy war play? Yes. Are girls more likely to want to play princess? Yes. Are most grown men naturally stronger and more aggressive than most grown women? Yes. But a kindergarten girl is not more delicate. She just isn't. If a five year old boy gets punched in the face he's gonna cry just as hard. Trust me. 

And while I am on this topic, parents please stop raising your boys with that old standby "Don't hit girls." Don't hit anyone. Unless you need to. And then, you should hit them with exactly the amount of force that is appropriate according to the situation and your size and strength versus the other person's. So no, when your girlfriend doesn't do exactly what you told her to, no, it is not ok to hit her. But when your buddy pisses you off by making goo-goo eyes at your lady friend, its not cool to hit him either.

Oh and females, if your boyfriend says something horribly sexist and insulting it is not ok to slap him, despite what movies might tell us. Hitting is hitting. Remember your pre-k teacher? Unless you are in sparring class, please keep your hands to yourself. Easy peasy.

To you, misguided mommy who really means well, it just so happens that my little girl is not delicate. In fact, if your son wants to play rough with her, he should keep his hands up. And her little blond friend, the one with the cute pink skirt, is no wilting flower either. 

How do we teach little boys to respect women? I am no expert, but I imagine it starts with teaching them to respect people. 

Anyone know the phone number of Lloyd Irvin's mama?

Letting Go of the String

See that photo there to the left? Those swings that are way way up in the sky? My child is up there. My little five year old. No matter that her daddy is up there with her. No matter that thousands of kids go on this ride every day, uneventfully, ones who are just as small as Maya. I still watched the swings go up with my heart in my throat. I still gave her a thumbs up and a grin that said "This is going to be AWESOME!" but what I was really thinking is "OH - MY - GOD! MY CHILD IS GOING TO FALL OUT OF THAT SWING AND PLUMMET TO HER DEATH!" 

Maya thought it was the greatest ride she had ever been on, ever! Matthew, on the other hand, was pretending to scream and laugh, while tightly gripping her arm the whole time and counting the seconds until they were back on solid ground. These are the things we do as parents. 

I knew that there was no way my five year old was going to fall out of those swings. I am fully aware of safety regulations and height requirements and inspections and the fact that this amusement park in Coney Island's entire livelihood is based on the fact that kids do not fall out of their rides. All of this logical knowledge does nothing, however, to fight the absolute terror that grips me as I watch Maya's tiny dangling feet drift up into the cloudless sky. 

There is a small amusement park in Beach Haven, NJ where we spend one week every August with our extended family. When Maya was three we thought it would be fun to take her there and have her try rides for the first time. She was overstimulated, overtired, and terrified of everything we put her on. But by the time she was four she had learned that merry go rounds and little fire trucks that drive in circles are actually a lot of fun. Soon after, she discovered heights and speed and that awesome feeling in the pit of your stomach that goes with these things  She is tall enough for most rides now and I am sure this summer she will want to go on everything. Alone. 

Many mommies swear that red wine and Cosmopolitans were created to make bedtime more tolerable. (Which they absolutely do!) Perhaps a happy little buzz would take the edge off of this too?

It is not just about letting her go on rides that take her far away from where my fingers can grasp her. It is about doing so with a smile on my face, about strapping her in with a high five that says "You can do this! You are so ready for this! You will have a blast and nothing bad will happen to you!" In other words, it is about having a really good poker face, a face that does not in any way betray the fact that you are about ten seconds away from vomiting all over your shoes. (For the record, I didn't.)

In my opinion this is what parenting is all about; sending your kid off somewhere that scares you without ever letting them see how you feel. Dropping them off at pre-k. Letting them cross streets alone. Dating. (Oh my lord, dating?!?!) Cloaking them in the cozy belief that not only will mommy and daddy be there to comfort them if they fall, but that they can comfort themselves. That they can pick themselves up. There is no greater gift to give a child than the confidence that they do not need you anymore.

(Also, really tight restraints on rides help. Like straight-jacket tight. If her face is turning blue, that's good, that's a safe ride!)

Of course Maya is only five. She does not cross streets alone yet. She does not date boys (or girls?) yet. (And won't until she is 30, not if her daddy has anything to say about it.) But she does go into public bathrooms by herself. She does run around the playground with her friends while I plant my butt firmly on a bench and try not to cringe when she climbs up way above my head. She does go on rides that make me want to burst into tears, momentarily overwhelmed by how little control I actually have, over everything.

One time, about a year ago, Maya was walking home from her friend's birthday party with a bright red balloon tied to her wrist. She loved that balloon, had all kinds of plans for what she was going to do with it once she got it home. So of course, while skipping happily across the street, the lazy knot I had tied at the party (while simultaneously trying to wrangle her into her coat and shoes) came undone and the balloon made a hasty escape into the Brooklyn sky. Maya, predictably burst into tears. I hugged her tightly, apologized for my shoddy knot tying skills and then quietly pointed out how pretty the balloon looked bobbing up there among the clouds. 

Parenting is like that.  

For the record, I am so not ready for roller coasters that go upside down. 

Or dating. 

Which, when you think about it, is really the same thing. 

Abrir a Porta

Those of you who have either no clue or no interest in jiu-jitsu are welcome to skip over this paragraph. Or read it and just gloss over the terms that make no sense. Or look them up and become a dictionary of entirely useless BJJ words. (Remember when you were a kid and you came across a word you didn't understand and your mom told you to look it up?  OMG, I hated that! How many of you actually looked those words up? Yeah, me neither. What was my mom thinking?) So anyway, earlier in the week, this happened: I was rolling with a partner whom I train with all the time when I found myself in the top of half guard, messing around with her arm. Not sure where I was going with it exactly, I grabbed her arm in a kimura grip and started to twist it around, which she immediately defended by turning her body in a way that made it easy for me to slide my other leg across her body and take the mount. Where I proceeded to not accomplish much. But then a few minutes later it happened again, the same half guard. And it suddenly occurred to me that if I grabbed her arm again she would probably do the same thing and I could mount again. Which I did. Then I tried (and ultimately failed) to pull off an arm bar.

Ok ya'll can come back now.

Those of you who actually train in jiu-jitsu and were kind enough to read through that jumbled mess of a description are probably thinking, what was the point of that story? You used one move to set up another? Like, duh, that's jiu-jitsu! So what? But the thing is until recently my BJJ game was very limited. I defended moves that were being thrown at me. I recovered my guard. I accomplished a few sweeps. When I found myself in a dominant position I would attempt a submission or two. But mostly I was working one move at a time.

Then, about a month ago, while trying to pass someone's guard, I noticed an opening I hadn't seen before. And then, a few days later I did a sweep and accidentally landed with my partner's arm pinned to the mat. So I did it again, this time on purpose. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, I was seeing these things. I couldn't quite make use of them yet but I knew they were there.

After the whole kimura mount thing I left class exuberant. It was as if a whole new world had been opened up to me, as if I had finally unlocked the secret BJJ door. But soon, another emotion popped up. 

OMG THIS IS JIU-JITSU??? HOW MANY OF THESE COMBINATIONS ARE THERE?? A THOUSAND?? A MILLION??  HOW AM I EVER GOING TO LEARN ALL OF THEM?? I HAVE TO START TRAINING EVERY MINUTE OF EVERY DAY!!

Have you ever tried to contemplate outer space? I mean, really contemplate it, like sit there and try to picture it in your head, how unimaginably BIG it all is? All that space. Going on forever. And ever. Full of planets and stars and god knows what else and it just goes on and on. Infinity. Feels a little overwhelming, doesn't it? 

That's what it feels like to try to picture all that jiu-jitsu. Like someone opened the door to a never ending library and every book in it is one that I desperately want to read. But I was having enough trouble just finishing the one currently on my Nook. I hadn't even known this new library existed.  How the hell am I going to read all those books? 

When I told all this to my BJJ purple belt husband he just smiled and said "Welcome to being a blue belt."

Technically, I have been a blue belt for 9 months. But not really. Or at least, not like this.

After my head finally stopped spinning I had one more thought. "Thank god I didn't quit."

I almost quit jiu-jitsu many times in my first year, for many different reasons. I was confused. I was frustrated. I was banged up. I felt like the new girl in a new school forever. Everyone was so much bigger than me. These moves made no damn sense! And so on. Those of you who train, you understand. But I stuck with it, mostly out of stubbornness and the fact that, as a dojo owner and a fourth degree black belt in karate, I really don't know how to quit a martial art.

As overwhelming as this new discovery is, it is somehow also very comforting. The scope of my training is so huge, I could do jiu-jitsu forever. I don't compete (and don't really plan to) and promotions are so spread apart they are not worth thinking about. So I could just keep coming to class and slowly working my way through all those books. For years and years and years. And never get to the end. Of course I will have good days and bad days, the whole two steps forward three steps back thing. But who cares when the journey is so damn long? 

Matthew once told a story to our students at the dojo. I am paraphrasing but it went something like this: One day a student asked him how he would ever get to black belt. How should he train? What did he need to know? What special things did he have to do? His answer was this. "Just go to class today." And then, when you wake up the next day, just go to class today. Rinse and repeat. 

I'm going to go to class today. Maybe it will be amazing. Most likely, it will just be more of the same. I will learn a little, improve a little, get beat up a little, sweat a lot. 

Its ok though. Space is infinite.