save your sanity for later.

Over time, I've become very interested in Buddhism and am compiling a primer of the basic tenets and beliefs of Buddhists, in order to hopefully become a Buddhist myself. This is the second of a few lessons in what I'm calling Buddhism 101.

( The Noble Eightfold Path )

I'm not exactly athletic. Oh, I've done a little, but when I mention that I was in gymnastics (yes, I was), or that I used to referee soccer games and would run about 10 miles a weekend (yes, I did), most people are... well... shocked.

It's not really surprising. About the most strenuous thing I do nowadays is walk the dogs—outside the house, that is.

The bottom line is that most physical activity just isn't fun for me. I don't like being out of breath. I don't mind sweating but I can't stand feeling warm. As I've gotten older I've gotten more and more self-conscious. In my younger days, I would have been aghast at the very idea of ever succumbing to what "other people think".

It's not so much what other people think as what they do, younger Erika. I don't care what they think, but I cringe in horror at the idea that they might, for example, stop someone gasping for air and ask if I'm okay, only to have to stifle a laugh to be told when I'm exercising. Ew. The very idea makes me feel ill.

You can imagine how I felt about high school gym class. (Or Physical Education, as it had been euphemistically renamed.)

For years after I graduated from high school I had a recurring nightmare that I would be forced to make-up gym class. I would get a phone call or, before I graduated, I would dream that they would stop me from walking across the stage with a loud whisper of "you have to take more gym!"

This wasn't actually that bizarre a fear—I seem to recall taking three classes of gym my senior year (norm being one) because I'd failed it other times, probably because of absences. This meant if I missed three days of school I could expect to be in gym twice a day for the rest of the week and the next Monday too.

Gym teachers could have made it better. Unfortunately, in general they made it worse. For some reason, people who teach gym seem to take an unholy delight in inflicting agony on their students in the name of "physical fitness."

Except for one.

Everyone called him Holly.

He had been teaching at my high school since it opened, and his picture in the earliest yearbooks was still instantly recognizable, despite it being nearly 40 years later. Granted, now he had creases on his face, and his limbs in the summer were the leathery sinew of a man who'd spent a great deal of time in the outdoors as opposed to the smooth tan of the students, but he hadn't really changed.

His ideals hadn't really changed either. He was unfailingly chivalrous, despite being taken advantage of on occasion. He knew it, too. Although he maintained an air of bumbling ineptitude, every so often he'd wink at you and you knew you were in on a great joke on the world.

I always wanted to hug him. I never did, because it would have embarrassed him, and I actually liked him.

Sometimes you'd have to remind Holly of your name but he would never forget who your siblings or your parents were, if he'd taught them. He also worried about the injuries and infirmities of his students, and actually cared. When someone had a problem, physical or mental, with doing something, Holly actually worked around it, as opposed to just brushing it off.

Granted, his workarounds were usually just to go slack off, but it wasn't so much that he cared not at all whether or not you did something, more that never denied the possibility you could do whatever it was another day.

Unlike every other PE teacher in the history of the world, Holly never made fun of anyone no matter how poor their coordination. He would cheer on great players, sure, but he also took the time to teach uncoordinated frosh boys how to hold a tennis racket without racking themselves. His patience was unbelievable and legendary, and he rose at 5AM every morning to go running.

I don't know what he's doing now, and I don't know why I'm thinking about you today, Holly, but I appreciated you.

If there is a god, it would be nice if he were like Holly. Able to take a joke, more than willing to let the small stuff slide, good at cutting you some slack, and great at encouraging and bringing out the best in you. Mildly forgetful, like Holly, would be nice too.

A Being like that I would never mind reminding of my name, because I'd know that the important stuff about me he'd remember—

Buddhism is so confusing yet so compelling.

---

In other news, forgot to eat, but had some crackers. Later, some soup. Saltines are very salty—should get some that are not quite so.

Watched Amélie, had faith in humanity restored.



I was going to have my typical footnote style here, but the macro to do it is on my laptop and I'm on my desktop. Also, I have no clue how to position a div. so fuck it.