Sometimes I feel like I can only do three things in a day. By that I mean big things, like work, school, martial arts, piano, Spanish, or whatever. I worked on Monday, then studied for a bit, then went out to dance with the Russian. It’s the first time I’ve danced since I’ve moved to Guadalajara. I miss dancing, even if I’m still not very good at it. It was a good night. We talked about everything from culture and linguistics to food and travel. She moved back to Russia over the weekend. There are a few people I’ve met like that, one good conversation then I never see them again. It’s one thing I love and hate about traveling. You meet amazing people, but sometimes one conversation is all you get.
While we were out, I saw one of the guys from my Kung Fu studio in the street selling candy. There is a twist of perspective when you see someone you don’t expect, and they’re doing something you assumed was for the homeless. I didn’t even realize I thought that until I saw him. We talked for a minute, then went our separate ways. It’s so strange to feel that change, when the people selling on the street become something more than strangers. It created a sadness in me that I haven’t been able to shake, but it’s still part of what I’m trying to learn out here. How to be more connected.
The problem with connection will always be when that connection ends. I know that the Buddha teaches compassion without attachment, but the practice is always more difficult than the reality. It’s easy to play Don Quixote, to love pure and chaste from afar, but there is no danger there, no risk of rejection or pain. Without pain, how can we ever learn?
I hadn’t really talked to the Herald for months before that night, and ten minutes after talking to the Russian about him, he texted me. What is connection really if it spans thousands of miles so quickly? Can we ever really lose it, or do we just stop listening to it? Why does it exist, what purpose does it serve? I know there is more to life than I have seen, things beyond the veil of life that I’m content to not mess with most of the time, but sometimes it intrudes on my life, and the questions come again. What is out there, and why is it affecting me this way?
I wonder why I don’t get more homesick, if some of my connections are this strong. I was in San Diego for the weekend, visiting who I could in the course of a day. Sunday I went back across the border for martial arts. I will always miss that studio. Screwing around, fighting, laughing, and learning all at once. I miss the laughter most of all, especially when they’re trying to be serious. The studio I’m at now doesn’t have that, and wushu doesn’t suit my body type. I always wanted to fly, but I was never designed for it, even without being fat. One bad roll in judo made it so I couldn’t move my arm for a week. I loved it until then.
There was also an attack here this week. One of the teachers was put in the hospital in an area where I have walked to work so many times. I don’t know how it happened, there is always the problem of asking about something so painful. I never really feel in danger
here, but my situation is fairly unique. Between nature and nurture I am not someone who is worth fighting most of the time. It still reminds me to keep my head up, to practice more, to try and see what is going on. You never know how bad it will get out there, and it’s so easy to lose that moment you need to keep yourself safe.