Tonight I went home. I went back to my old stomping grounds. I walked, barefoot on the familiar, concrete floor. I went back to see my family. I got to hang out with the people who always have my back. I was schooled on how to chicken wing someone. I was taught how to exert pressure on someone to make them bend to my will. I loved every minute of it.
So much of my time is spent teaching others martial arts that I am not often given the opportunity to learn a new skill. Knowing my instructor just returned from Master’s camp, knowing he has the tradition of teaching cool things he learned from camp, knowing that I had Friday night free, I arrived ready to soak in the knowledge. I knew I would be confused. I knew I would have questions. I knew I wouldn’t get whatever was taught right away. I embraced every moment.
By the end of the night, I had been squashed into the mat, placed in a choke hold, had my shoulder joint twisted, and loved every second. There is nothing like going home–back to the school that I love, in the safe environment where you are kind to your partner so you can use them again. After all, no one wants to work with you if you hurt them and then you have no one to practice with.
There is nothing better than hanging out with family on a Friday night, especially at the studio I used to call home.