I started a blog a few years ago about the funny going ons in the dojo, and it was originally a place for me to dump the multitude of happy and hilarious memories I have of building the Long Island Aikikai with our dojo family from the ground up. These memories range anywhere from catching Adam sword-fighting with Jonathon, our uchi-deshi at the time, using the mummified squirrels they found in the attic (mmmm… Aikido with a side of bubonic plague) to staying up 48 hours at a time scraping paint off the walls and trying to get it ready for opening day, to being heavily pregnant on the verge of hysterically screaming down the stairs for everyone to “FALL THE FUCK SOFTLY!” at six in the morning because every breakfall shook the very foundation of the 120+ year building, to having the irrational desire to choke my husband out because I swore he was throwing them hard just to see how far he could push me before I snapped and killed them all in a fit of pregnancy induced rage.
Homicidal tendencies aside, it’s hard to write about what really goes on behind the scenes because while the funny things are gut-bustingly hilarious, no one wants to reveal the mental, financial, and physical costs that actually running a dojo presents. It’s one thing to pour our heart and soul into a hobby that doesn’t cost anything other than time in and maybe a membership fee, coming out the other side with amazing skill (and maybe some busted knees), but it’s another thing entirely sinking money we barely had into what often seemed like a gaping hole in our pockets without knowing whether it would sink or swim. The truth wasn’t always pretty, and there were several times where we just wanted to burn it all to the ground (figuratively, since I don’t believe our insurance covers arson), but it seemed almost blasphemous to write negatively about something that has been romanticized in popular culture. However, once the funny stories ran out, we were left with a bunch of things that some might find too embarrassing to post, because they showed the very ugly and raw side of running an organization that consumed us so fully.
There were many things that were idealized or ingrained into the traditions and culture that was not good practice from a business standpoint, and several things from a business standpoint that may have stunted the preservation and spread of the art. While I wanted to approach it all with the practical mind, my husband often barreled through with an emotional heart. There were screaming matches, tears, lots of moments where I actually said “I HATE AIKIDO” (which cut him far more deeply than if I were to have said “I HATE YOU”) because I was just so frustrated when it seemed to vy for attention (and win) against the other things I wanted to achieve in this lifetime. I still call it “The Mistress,” but I no longer harbored the intense resentment born from feeling like everything revolved around the dojo, although this probably says more about Adam’s adaptability and willingness to compromise than it says about mine.
I wanted to start up writing about it again because memories fade--and I wanted to write about all of it this time, rather than just the filtered happy moments that, while they were enjoyable, is not the whole truth. It looks great on Instagram or Facebook, but all that does is lead people to believe it’s easy, believe that the sacrifices are always worth it (hint: they’re... not), and if I could prevent some poor schmuck from making the same costly mistakes we did, the art would be all the better for it.
Homicidal tendencies aside, it’s hard to write about what really goes on behind the scenes because while the funny things are gut-bustingly hilarious, no one wants to reveal the mental, financial, and physical costs that actually running a dojo presents. It’s one thing to pour our heart and soul into a hobby that doesn’t cost anything other than time in and maybe a membership fee, coming out the other side with amazing skill (and maybe some busted knees), but it’s another thing entirely sinking money we barely had into what often seemed like a gaping hole in our pockets without knowing whether it would sink or swim. The truth wasn’t always pretty, and there were several times where we just wanted to burn it all to the ground (figuratively, since I don’t believe our insurance covers arson), but it seemed almost blasphemous to write negatively about something that has been romanticized in popular culture. However, once the funny stories ran out, we were left with a bunch of things that some might find too embarrassing to post, because they showed the very ugly and raw side of running an organization that consumed us so fully.
There were many things that were idealized or ingrained into the traditions and culture that was not good practice from a business standpoint, and several things from a business standpoint that may have stunted the preservation and spread of the art. While I wanted to approach it all with the practical mind, my husband often barreled through with an emotional heart. There were screaming matches, tears, lots of moments where I actually said “I HATE AIKIDO” (which cut him far more deeply than if I were to have said “I HATE YOU”) because I was just so frustrated when it seemed to vy for attention (and win) against the other things I wanted to achieve in this lifetime. I still call it “The Mistress,” but I no longer harbored the intense resentment born from feeling like everything revolved around the dojo, although this probably says more about Adam’s adaptability and willingness to compromise than it says about mine.
I wanted to start up writing about it again because memories fade--and I wanted to write about all of it this time, rather than just the filtered happy moments that, while they were enjoyable, is not the whole truth. It looks great on Instagram or Facebook, but all that does is lead people to believe it’s easy, believe that the sacrifices are always worth it (hint: they’re... not), and if I could prevent some poor schmuck from making the same costly mistakes we did, the art would be all the better for it.
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