Copies of Copies

Monday always seems to arrive a little too quickly. Work waiting, rhythm resuming. The school keeps changing — people leaving, new faces arriving, small gaps opening where friendships used to sit. Those spaces are always filled eventually, though sometimes with people who seem to test something rather than complement it.

Over the weekend a young woman arrived, a close friend of Blair’s. Knowing I live in Bali, she made the effort to introduce herself. She was pleasant enough. Then she described herself as a content creator — an influencer — and I felt my attention drift.

I asked what that meant to her. Like many, she struggled to answer. It felt as though the question itself had never really been considered. When I asked whether her work was shaped by what an algorithm decides people want to see, the pause that followed suggested the thought was new.

That was more or less where the conversation ended.

I noticed a tightening in myself — a lack of patience for repetition, for people who feel like copies of copies. It can feel unsettling, watching individuality flatten into something easily consumed. And yet, I also caught the edge in my own response, and wondered what it was really reacting to.

Practice, at least, felt grounded. I skipped basics to protect a sore knee and spent the session with the sword form, which is slowly nearing completion. Each day it feels a little more familiar. Or perhaps I do. The form and whatever ego I bring into it seem to be learning about each other, gradually finding a way to coexist.

The session ended with the influencer breaking into cartwheels mid-class — a sudden burst of performance. The younger students laughed. The long-term ones exchanged quiet looks. It didn’t bother me exactly. It just felt familiar.

Maybe that’s age.
Or repetition.
Or recognition.

Actors playing roles they believe will move them forward.

Maybe that was once me.
And maybe that’s why it catches my eye.

Just a thought.