Barn’s Burned Down. Now I Can See The Moon.

Editor’s Note: This title references the 17th century Japanese poet and samurai Mizuta Masahide.

We’ve all heard the phrase, “T’ai Chi Chih has changed my life.” I had the thought during this last conference in Portland that people often give a certain impression on the outside, while the reality might be quite different on the inside.

It isn’t so long ago that being a school teacher, a priest, and a counselor all seemed to ask of me that I give off an air of confidence and authority, while inside I neither felt nor believed such things about myself. I was often held back by fear, or lack of confidence or self-esteem, and struggled with a feeling that I did not and could not live up to what was expected of me. It’s a wonder that I didn’t end up in an isolated cave.

At this last conference, Antonia announced my appointment as a new TCC teacher trainer. There were loud cheers and whistles and applause – an old part of me wanted to crawl away quietly. When called up to the podium, I felt the room spin and my vision blur in the din of approval. “Is this really me? What do I do? Am I going to have to give an acceptance speech?”

Then the inner chaos suddenly subsided. Antonia said, “But Dan isn’t up here now to talk to you about that – he has something else he wants to speak about.” That something else was the post-conference Seijaku course that I would be hosting in a few days. I was saved. I was grounded in the task that lay ahead. This is what is real – not a new title, not notes and words of congratulations, not cheers and whistles (although the support was very much appreciated and felt).

Practicing and teaching TCC and Seijaku is all that matters. If I can do that well, I need little more. I stand in awe and gratitude to my students, to Justin, and to the other dedicated teachers time and time again. This is what saves me. This is what subdues the gnawing feeling that the other shoe is about to drop – this is what dispels the ever-looming dark cloud of fear – this is what overwhelms the subversive message that says, “You’re not good enough.”

I felt a bit overwhelmed a second time during this conference. This time it was when I realized I had the winning auction ticket for a framed Chinese brush painting of Chi. It hangs on the wall in front of me as I write this. It defines Chi as “the energy that keeps one vibrant and whole.” I sit here now, and each day walk out my door, and every night go to bed secure in the confidence of this truth.

I recall hearing the words of Kevin Costner speaking at the funeral of Whitney Houston last February, “As the angels come to greet you, Whitney, hear their words to you: ‘You were good enough.’”

Being a teacher of TCC is a big responsibility for any of us. Thinking about my new position as a teacher trainer is quite daunting if I allow it to be. But the vibrance of the Chi shouts out other words, reminding me that I needn’t doubt myself. This is the “growth of certainty.”