Center of the Universe

About three months ago, I had no home at all.  I had an IKEA couch and a vague plan to move to eastern Pennsylvania.

Now, just a few short weeks later, I find myself with two homes.

One is an apartment where boyfriend and I keep our things and eat copious amounts of ice cream and sleep too much.

The other is our martial arts school.

Boyfriend has been a part of the Chinese Martial Arts and Wellness Center since he was about 14 years old.  Inspired by the Power Rangers, he’d practiced a few different styles of martial arts prior to trying kung fu: Kendo, Tae Kwon Do, Aikido, Karate.  But kung fu stuck, and I’m willing to wager that it had a lot to do with the community surrounding this place.

The Center has grown a lot lately.  Just recently they rented the space next door, knocked down some walls, and did some remodeling.  They added a new gym for additional classes and a cozy little office for boyfriend.  They have tai chi classes at local retirement communities, kung fu programs at local high schools, and have officially accepted my beloved Pitt club as an affiliate organization.

I was incredibly nervous on the first car ride to the Center after my move.  Would they recognize my black belt, or make me start all over again in beginner’s classes?  Would they think boyfriend was showing me favoritism and that I’m not all that good?  Would they want to be my friends because I am sad and weird and lonely and don’t have any here yet?!

As soon as we walked in, my fears were quieted as a group of both students and staff members rushed over to congratulate me on the engagement and the move.  I was introduced to the incredibly sweet accounts manager, the unapologetically sassy administrative assistant, and the delightfully sarcastic tai chi program director.  I saw familiar faces as well who greeted me with an excitement clearly warranted by someone much more interesting than myself.  I saw Coach, who had administered my black belt test and welcomed me warmly to the area with promises of future dinners.  I was thrilled that my pessimism had been thrown out the window and, against all odds, the best case scenario had panned out.  After classes that night, we all went to a local brewery to get better acquainted.  We also drank beer, which served as an excellent catalyst for said acquainting.

Over the following weeks, things only improved.  I got to know more and more of the wonderful students at the Center and bond more with the staff over between-class chats and post-work beers.  I got to spend more time with one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met, an instructor who had been away for the summer with her family operating an orphanage in Guatemala.  I got to substitute teach a few fitness classes, which brought back the joy I had felt when I first started doing it so many years ago.  And the strangest thing happened:  all the kids around the Center started asking me questions, fighting to work with me during classes, and generally being enthusiastic about my existence.  Kids liked me.  KIDS!  Who knew?!

In my own way, I was terrified to move out here:  away from the only home I’d ever known, away from friends and family, away from the comfort of my city, and away from (marginally) gainful employment.  I thought I would be starting over from scratch, alone with only boyfriend to guide me.  It turns out, I already had a family here.  I just had to meet them.