I feel like a child more often and more acutely now than I ever did be­fore, and maybe that in itself should be a clue. Children aren’t ashamed of acting like children.

I did something to my leg recently. I fell wrong, I landed funny, and I pulled something, and it’s not get­ting better. In all my years of aikidoThe word "Aikido" is made up of three japanese characters: ai - harmony, ki - spirit, mind, or universal energy, do - the way. Thus Aikido is "the way of harmony with universal energy." I have never had an injury that per­sisted for longer than a week. I’ve fallen badly so many times.

I don’t bounce back easily any­more.

So much doubt. Have I always fall­en that way? Do I always fling my knee out, smash my heel into the ground, absorb all the force with just my shoulder? How many times am I going to have to hurt myself before I figure out a better way? Will the rest of my aikido career consist of correcting the mistakes I made when I couldn’t get hurt?

I used to describe myself as a mar­tial artist, so that I wouldn’t have to talk about aikido to people who didn’t really care. But I am not a martial artist. I cling too hard to my fragile idea of who I am. I don’t live in the moment. I don’t stand under the sword. I’m not ready to die.

At sesshin, Genjo talked about en­lightenment and I cried. Why would anybody want to let go of their at­tachments? Is that really what we’re working towards? What am I doing here?

Does it make me a coward, to know that I don’t want it but continue to sit in silence?

Does it make me brave?

It has been such a gift to be able to spend my time wading through the muck of daily training. It has been a gift to recognize my flaws and my talents on the mat, where there’s no hiding and no running away.

Living here was supposed to be my grand farewell to the dojoPlace of the way; a place for strengthening and refinement body, mind and spirit; training hall. But then I helped dig the trench and build the groundhog fence and install the new office floor and put together the wilderness comfort station, and I forgot I was supposed to be saying goodbye. I moved in at the tail end of the summer and suddenly it’s almost summer again and I only have a month left, and the idea of leaving makes my throat close up.

I am leaving, and there is going to be a moment where I will have to stand up and tell you all how much I have loved practicing with each and every one of you, knowing that afterward I’m going home for the last time.

This is my dojo, more familiar to me than my own house. I grew up here, protected and pushed in equal measure by my fellow seekers and my teacher, and I have to leave if I’m going to keep growing.

It’s time.