The Power to Act

I got the news this week – I test for my First Degree Black Belt Certification in less than fourteen days.  It’s got my Black Belt a year ago in April and I’ve known it would happen before year end, but I never expected it to happen so quickly, so now.

Usually, I show up for my Tuesday Tae Kwon Do class ready for our routine to begin. Once in the door of the Do-Jang (school), I wait for the Grandmaster to pop out of his office, I’d bow and formally greet him, and then I saunter to the dressing room to change into my Do-Bok (uniform) and begin to warm-up, practicing my patterns, kicks, and defensive and offensive strikes.

But today was anything but usual. When I entered, Grandmaster Cho was waiting for me.  We exchanged formal greetings, but then he welcomed me into his office and pointed to a paper lying on the corner of his desk.  His gnarly fingers, deformed from years of breaking cement blocks, tenderly held a pen for me to use.  In contrast to his clipped words, “You fill this out,” was the warmth of his smile, as he spoke the words that I thought would come in July or August. There in front of my eyes, so close that I could touch it, was the application for the test that would have my status as a Black Belt recognized at any Do-Jang anywhere in the world.  I was stunned speechless.

As I began to fill out the usual data (name, date of birth, etc.), I kept glancing around the paper looking to find the next crucial piece of information – the testing date. I located it in the top right-hand corner—May 12, 2012. Was this a typo?  After I paid my fee, I mustered up the courage to point to the date.  Looking up at him with eyes narrowed and brow furrowed, I asked, “It’s this month, on the twelfth of this month?”  With his most mischievous grin, he nodded yes.

As I walked away, the enormousness of it enveloped me and, without thought, I moved back into my own personal enemy—the doubting mind. How can I do it in less than two weeks? I’m not ready.  I need more time the mind games began. Three steps further down the hall, in mid-stride, I remembered that this negative thinking was the reason I first took martial arts.  It was the insanity of this invalidating thinking that kept me feeling inadequate and unsure in the world.  And with that realization, I responded with a mental defensive move that brought my old thinking to the floor—I decided that I was ready.  Without looking back, I moved on into the practice room centered and ready to do what I’d been faithfully practicing for six years to do. But something internal had changed.

When I walked into my class, a girlfriend was already at work.  With one look at me, she knew.  I was radiating with excitement. “Yes, he set the date, and it’s just around the corner.” We embraced with the delight and abandonment of young girls in a playground; jumping up and down, excitement radiating out of both of us. With each new person to join the class, a variation of the dance of celebration was enacted.  And yet, as I moved through our practices, I was centered and focused.  The importance of perfecting each pattern, each defensive reaction, and each offensive move was prominent in my mind, though my body remained centered and peaceful.

It wasn’t until three hours after the class ended, when I was happily ensconced in the quiet of my own home, that I realized that what I was experiencing was two separate frequencies of ideas and action simultaneously without losing sight of either of them—and the combination was galvanizing me.  How is it, that giddiness and focus could co-exist so naturally and feel so invigorating? It was magical.

Now I don’t have to go far to find evidence of my being focused.  I do it naturally, like breathing.  If I’m not focused, then that is usually evidence that I am avoiding something.  And, although not a default experience, I’ve had moments of my being flat-out giddy. Just put my granddaughters into the room and within minutes, I’m transported to the serious child I was, and I’m intoxicated with their exuberance and joie de vive. When they exit the room, however, my lightheartedness trails along with them.

But the combination of the two paradoxical elements simultaneously joining has me happily revved up for days now – and I see no end in sight. It’s as if I am plugged into an electrical socket – there is a lively kinetic energy flowing through me.  And it’s different from my usual low-key focused energy that can have me sitting for hours in front of my computer writing or editing a piece I’ve written. Or a frenetic and focused excitement that shows up as a burst of energy and quickly sputters out.

This is how I felt when walking down the hall in my home, as I watched myself spin around, arms in the air, saying, “I see a red demo team Do-Bok (outfit) in my future.” And when my husband Bruce came in and I shared the news, we broke into peals of laughter. It’s now four days after the initial announcement that I would test, and I’m still feeling like the ‘Little Red Engine That Could.’ It’s a light energy that keeps me happily chugging forward lightheartedly toward next Saturday’s test.  It is an energy that says ‘I can and will,’ just as my wedding had me declaring, ‘I do.’

Now that I think about it, I was giddy and focused with excitement once before—when I married Bruce.  I had been single for thirteen years, and nine years into it decided that I was ready to explore relationships once again. It took another two years of practice dating to be ready to meet Bruce and allow my guard to come down enough to let him into my heart. And, now fifteen years later, I still get a little giddy when, out of the blue, I see Bruce as if for the first time.

So what has achieving these two seemingly different milestone accomplishments in Tae Kwon Do and marrying Bruce have in common? Both came out of a declaration that I was ready for something new. Both required that I let go of the old stories about what is viable for me and show up differently in the world. Both required that I move out of my comfort zone and brave a whole new world of possibility.  And, finally, both are examples of listening to the quiet, small voice inside of me, over the cacophony of fear, which encouraged me to say yes to life’s miracles. So I’m giddy with gratitude for this new challenge and focused now on what I need to do to show up powerfully and playfully when testing day arrives. And to think, that this is just the next of many new prospects that may arise before me on this journey called life.