"Refreshing."
My mistakes.
JUNE 17—I am standing in my socks on a polished wooden floor in the dark interior of Battell Chapel in the village of Norfolk. High above a shallow dais are three magnificent windows set with opalescent glass and ablaze in the afternoon light. Opposite them—down the length of a short naive and facing the morning sun—are five additional stained glass windows. These were designed by Louis Comfort Tiffany and are the more famous. Set in colors that dazzle the eye, they depict a sunrise bracketed by the four seasons.
But I am not here to study sacred architecture and ornamentation. Church of Christ Congregational, sitting grandly on the Village Green, makes the chapel available for communal use and I am practicing T'ai chi ch'üan. Most days I stand toward the back and mimic those around me—in absolute silence, without any instruction. For more than an hour I do my best to imitate an ancient martial arts dance I am wholly unfamiliar with.
Today my good fortune is that there are only two of us and John, who leads the Norfolk practice, is breaking with tradition to offer spare and gentle verbal guidance. He has been studying and practicing T’ai chi for only three years but is already a patient and skillful instructor.
Move the right foot back. The OTHER right foot.
I stand behind and to John’s left, and though I am rarely within his direct line of sight he is keenly aware of my every movement. Even as a beginner I sense the energy and synergy moving between us.
Circle the left hand over the right. The OTHER left hand.
John drills me again and again, breaking down the complex sequences so I might learn more quickly. It is meditation in motion. My mind is focused to such an unusual degree that all the usual mental chatter has gone silent.
Within that silence I notice John has stopped moving. Why? I assess my posture and compare it against his frozen stance. Ah. I adjust my arms and hands, see his barest nod of approval, and we are dancing again.
I make many wrong moves. And each one—those I am aware of or that John points out to me—resounds like a musical grace note, shimmers like the light of a stained glass window. Wakeful. Refreshing. Beautiful in its own way.
Each error heightens my awareness, clarifies my understanding, deepens my knowledge. There is no embarrassment or shame.
And I find myself thankful for my mistakes.