This is not a story about just one person, unless you consider that person to be me.
When I first moved to Toronto, I had begun practicing Tai Chi in the park. Various parks downtown. On the second day a man came up to me and said, “Oh, you practice Tai Chi? I saw you walking yesterday, and you looked like a Tai Chi man!” He was an interesting fellow.
One of the places I used to go to practice had a group and it so happened that he sometimes came and practiced with that group. Not all the time, but sometimes. I noticed he would sometimes give corrections to some of the other members. He seemed to be a nice and kind man and to know something about the art. Who is this man? Is he an Angel? Ahh.
Anyways, as the years went by he would often drop in on my practice in the park and chat with me and we became good acquaintances. I didn’t think much of his skills at the time because he seemed to be rather stiff. I had seen him doing some kind of karate before so I knew the root of his issue. In any case, I wasn’t anywhere good enough to even consider teaching others in the group — it was a group of sharing — so I didn’t say anything.
Years went by and at some point we ended up pushing hands, after one of our many fascinating little chats about Tai Chi. Push hands was still new for me at the time, and I didn’t really know what I was doing, even though I had read a lot and been instructed, so to speak, in the basic rules. Suddenly he stepped in and slammed my chest with a double push. I had to hop back, and I must have blushed out of surprise if anything, not really understanding why he did that. I mean, I knew he shouldn’t have done that, but I ignored it and asked for another round. I was even more surprised when he said “no, it’s not worth it,” and he walked away. Yes, I was surprised, but I ignored it. I felt bad if only because I had hoped to find a push hands partner. There wasn’t anyone else really good downtown. The leader of the group was a Chaquan player who wasn’t very good at push hands, and despite my training told me that I was doing his Chaquan set all wrong. Isn’t that suprising? Well, should it even be? Well, I’m not perfect, I guess.
The next day he apologized and I of course forgave him but he seemed to stay away for a while after that.
About a decade later I met him again on one of my training vacations. I visited him in his tea shop. He was easy to find because he was still teaching Tai Chi, just as he had been doing when we met downtown many years ago. I found it interesting that he was an active Tai Chi teacher but I didn’t think much about it other than to grasp it. After a short chat he demonstrated one of the Tai Chi forms he knew. He claimed it was an older set, based on Yang BanHou’s style. It was stiff and karate-like. After the demonstration I asked him about things like internal strength, etc. and he played the secrets card on me. I didn’t know if he was bluffing or he just decided to try and keep secrets from me. In any case we parted amicably and he asked to meet up again in a couple of weeks so I could demonstrate to him the new things I learned from my teacher. Pretty standard really. However, when I tried to call him after the next few weeks, he was hard to get a hold of. Eventually I got a message to stop calling him (I had attempted to call 3 times over three days) and his excuse was that he was a “family man” and did not have so much time to go out and train. Ok, understandable.
Yet I could not help realizing, ultimately, that he had defined himself fully quite a while ago.
He wasn’t a failure. It isn’t that he failed. He never really tried. I had hoped that he was someone who, presenting himself as a Tai Chi teacher, would have more to offer. That somehow, he would have more to share. That he would also be able to appreciate me. I was looking for validation, I was looking for knowledge and teaching, and I was looking for a friend. Ultimately whether he could not or just didn’t want to, he met none of these criteria. I realize that his journey, as real as it was to him, was self-contained. I wish him well, I truly do, but I do not think that we will meet again, as he does not show up to any of the downtown parks anymore. I have not seen him at any local or national events since, either. I wonder how he is doing now.
There are so many smiling and interesting people who disappeared. Where are they? A friend’s mother, who was at the club thirty years ago, I ran into the friend, and found there was a connection. But the mother doesn’t go anymore. Where is everyone?
Everywhere I go, the people are not the same. There are no people. But the wind and the trees are the same. The same sun rising. The same peng bird in the sky. I listen to the wind in the trees for companionship now, because it does not go away.