Grab My Wrist

Hearing My Own Advice

My 2nd kyu exam is coming up in two weeks. Today a friend sent me my own advice, from my email to her before her first exam, a while back. If you are an aikidoka, you might hear echos of Robert Nadeau Shihan, via George Leonard Sensei’s book “The Way of Aikido”. If you are a horseperson, you might recognize the teachings of Olympic Dressage Coach, Jane Savoie. I try to train this way, and it’s always good to be reminded:

“Meanwhile, between now and your test (especially if you are getting stressed out), visualize the situation (dojo, Sensei, fellow students, etc.), and practice being calm, happy, and deliberate.

Worry/anxiety is just negative visualization - rehearsing in your mind all the things that could go wrong. When you catch yourself doing that, stop, take a breath, and rehearse in your mind everything going beautifully. :-) Breathe, smile, stand up straight and feel your feet rooted in the ground.

Try on the feeling of saying, in your mind “For the next few minutes, this is my mat. Get ready, because you’re about to see an inspiring test!” :-) And be prepared, if anything during your test should throw you off momentarily (getting dizzy, doing a different technique from the one Sensei asked for, or whatever), to simply re-center, take a breath, and keep moving forward with your test, calmly. Just let it go (“Oh well. Next!”) and keep going.

It’ll be fun. :-)”

Expectations, Failure, and Persistence

A friend from work shared a link today to this article: The Trouble with Bright Kids. It describes some research on the kind of positive, praising feedback we get when we succeed, and how that can influence our chances of success on future attempts. It’s also interesting to read how girls/women and boys/men are affected differently.

It really rings true for me. Or hits a nerve. Or maybe it’s both. I was one of the “high ability” kids (possessing an innate quality, as opposed to making a “strong effort”). I went through school accompanied by a litany of desperate admonishments by my teachers: “You’re one of the brightest students in the class. You should be getting better grades.” Mind you, no one in the school system did a thing to help me learn how to do that, they were just constantly disappointed in me.

It wasn’t until college, when I took Cognitive Psychology, and Psychology of Learning & Perception, and put the principles into practice, that I figured out how to succeed in school. Went from Cs and Ds, and academic probation, to all As, on the Dean’s List.

What I realized after reading the article, and thinking it over on the way to the dojo, was that the whole issue is skill-area dependent. Or at least it seems that way to me.

No one ever told me I was athletically gifted (in spite of being a very physical, coordinated kid). I was never on any teams, or competed at anything. And here I am being patient with myself, and sticking to it, learning Aikido in my late 40s, and loving it.

I hear about people who have gotten the message (I would assume) that they are physically talented - like people who have been very successful in team sports - who get discouraged quickly when they try Aikido. “I’m supposed to be athletic, but this is difficult for me, I must really be a failure.”

I would guess it would be the same kind of pattern with anything: music, art, math… If you start out thinking something should come easily to you, it could be easy to feel like a failure for doing merely ordinary work - or worse, finding it seriously challenging. But if you expect it might take real effort and time to achieve even basic proficiency, then it’s not a disappointment to have to make that effort, and it’s easier to let it take as long as it takes.

For teachers (academic or martial arts) it’s something to keep in mind when working with children. And it’s something to consider when judging our own “failures” harshly, and something to look at when we’ve given up on ourselves. 

Train as Fast as You Can

One of the things we focused on in Cyril Poissonnet’s class tonight was speed. We worked on training only at a pace where we could still do the technique well. We noticed how we would often get impatient and rush, and our form would fall apart. It was a really useful exercise to train keeping an awareness of that. I should incorporate it into my day-to-day training.

Cyril demonstrated doing a few things slowly, and correctly, and then speeding up to the point where they fell apart. He instructed us to go “as fast as you can,” but only as fast as you can. If your technique gets sloppy, slow down to a speed where you can do it well.

It reminded me of something similar Patrick Cassidy Sensei told us during his most recent seminar at Aikido of San Diego. Cassidy Sensei asked if we knew what speed people are supposed to drive on the winding mountain roads of Switzerland. No one knew. The answer, he said, was “as fast as you can.” I’m sure you can imagine the confused looks! 

“And no faster.” 

Of course Cassidy Sensei was making the same point. Don’t go faster than you are able. Important advice in many areas. We all feel pressured, we all rush, we all want to get there sooner. And as the saying goes, “the hurrieder I go, the behinder I get.” We often need to slow down to do it right.

In the arena of horse training (if you’ll forgive the pun), you’ll hear “the more you rush, the longer it takes.” I have a t-shirt from Robin Shen of Enlightened Horsemanship that says “I train my horse slowly because I do not have the patience to do it quickly.” You can’t gloss over important steps in training. You need to do them correctly, or you’ll spend ages later trying to undo your mistakes. Or you’ll end up in trouble when you suddenly discover one of the “holes” in your horse’s education.

In military firearms training they say “slow is smooth, smooth is fast.” I like that way of putting it. The way to get to fast is through smooth. The way to get smooth is to go slowly. Hurrying won’t get you there at all.

In my musical training, teachers constantly reminded me to slow down, play it correctly, use a metronome. Oh, the tedium! “Yeah, yeah… OK sure, I’ll do it.” And then I’d “practice” playing faster than I could. I was imprinting playing badly, of course. I was learning how to screw up, not how to play well, at speed or otherwise.

The thing that finally got the point across, for me, was a week-long fingerstyle guitar workshop with Woody Mann, at the Augusta Heritage Center’s Blues Week in West Virginia. I knew he was an incredible player (treat yourself, listen to him in this YouTube clip). What I discovered was that he’s a brilliant teacher as well. It just didn’t look anything like I expected. Here I am, having flown across the country and driven for hours to the Middle of Nowhere to Learn to Play The Blues. Awesome! First day of class we get acquainted, get comfortable, and start playing. Slowly. Really slowly. With a freaking metronome. Seriously? “One and two and three and four and…” I came all this way to do this?

But we all did what he said. Our little group class worked through about 4 tunes, practicing together several hours every day with Woody’s guidance and instruction. We learned a lot, of course. New techniques, tips, cool sounds… But mostly we played the songs, slowly, together. And smoothly. Cleanly. With expression. It was almost hard to notice that we were playing a little faster each day. We never did fall apart. By the end of the week we were all playing all the tunes… well! And up to speed! Amazing.

I never would have really gotten it about slowing down enough to play correctly if I hadn’t been essentially “stuck” doing it for a week. 

I know this works, this training slowly. I just need to remember every day to do it. Thanks, Cyril, for reminding me today.

Knowing the Principle

This excerpt from The Book of Five Rings reminded me of something Sensei said in class recently, in the context of techniques versus principles. My recollection of the point is that if you hunt for techniques in jiyuwaza (“When my partner attacks like x, I should do technique y.”), you will be limited in the freedom, flow, and appropriateness you can achieve. Even if you get really good at it, you will still be only really good at a self-limiting system of operating. Your mind will always be getting in the way of free expression. Instead, by internalizing the principles, the appropriate techniques will appear easily. 

“The Great Learning speaks of consummating knowledge and perfecting things. Consummating knowledge means knowing the principles of everything that people in the world know. Perfecting things means that when you know the principle of everything thoroughly, then you know everything, and can do everything. When there is nothing more you know, there is nothing you can do either. When you do not know the principle, nothing at all comes to fruition.

In all things, uncertainty exists because of not knowing. Things stick in your mind because of being in doubt. When the principle is clarified, nothing sticks in your mind. This is called consummating knowledge and perfecting things. Since there is no longer anything sticking in your mind, your tasks become easy to do.”

From The Book of Five Rings - A Classic Text on the Japanese Way of the Sword
By Miyamoto Musashi
Translated by Thomas Cleary

The Stillness After the Seminar

So about that seminar, finally… I had a great time at the Aikido Bridge Friendship Seminar a couple of weeks ago. Doran, Ikeda, and Tissier Sensei taught again, and this time each also did a tanto (knife) class. I got to train and hang out with some really nice folks I met there last year, several of my Aikido rock star heroes, and some new friends I hope to see again soon. I even got to have a house guest for the duration. On the basic “having a good time” scale, it was way up there. Lots of fun.

I love training at the level of intensity available at seminars - really focusing on nothing else for several days, without distraction. I definitely plan to be back next year, and am looking forward to 4 days with Patrick Cassidy Sensei in February, the Aiki Summer Retreat at Menlo Park in June, Robert Nadeau Shihan some time this summer, and our dojo retreat in the mountains in the fall. And some day, on my wish list, George Ledyard Sensei’s Weapons & Randori Intensive. There’s something about that removal from everyday life to just train that allows for breakthroughs. 

It was interesting to notice that this year I got more frustrated and impatient with myself. Last year I was only a 6th kyu with about 6 months of training behind me. My most fervent wish at that point was to not make a complete fool of myself - to clap at the right time when bowing in, address the instructors appropriately, and to not be an embarrassment to my dojo or teacher. This time around, as a 4th kyu training for 18 months, I thought I should know something. Not in the “yeah, yeah, I already know how to do ikkyo” sense (I’m not that thick headed), but when I missed the point of an exercise at first, or failed to execute a technique as smoothly as I’d just seen demonstrated (or flat out screwed it up), I found I was kicking myself, thinking I should be able to do better. Many, many (many) times I had to remind myself that the instructors and almost everyone else on the mat have been doing this for much, much longer than I have. There’s a little voice in my head, reminding me: “Patience, Grasshopper.” 

People now have been asking me what I learned. It’s hard to say. Yes, there were some cool new (to me) techniques, new (to me) ways of doing familiar techniques. There were reminders, about atemi, dealing with different energies, what-ifs, and so on. And there was a lot of really interesting work with the tanto.

It was a great opportunity to see and feel a lot of different kinds of ukemi. There had been a very good discussion going on AikiWeb about ukemi at seminars, and in particular one where Ikeda Sensei was teaching. So I had that on my mind, and was more aware of various styles and philosophies of ukemi than I would have been otherwise. Right from the start there was plenty to pay attention to. There was one person who repeatedly walked right through me, zombie-like, instead of doing the connection exercise we were shown. A couple of others basically launched themselves into breakfalls when I showed some intention of doing a technique. But the vast majority tried to give honest feedback - not fighting, but not letting me continue in ignorant bliss if I didn’t have them. And many, bless their patient and generous hearts, coached me in being a better uke - in particular providing better attacks. Ukemi and connection was a major focus in Tissier Sensei’s classes, with one really valuable exercise taking most of a 75 minute class. I like to think my ukemi got a little better from all this. A little… I hope.

Mostly, the seminar somehow seems to have left me more open, more receptive - left some cracks that let a little more light through. There’s a kind of clarity and stillness, like when you can hear sounds you never noticed before after living in a quiet environment for a while. Or maybe it’s more like the peaceful pre-dawn silence after a loud concert. It’s hard to describe. The past couple of weeks at my own dojo have been particularly intense. My mind has been quieter, and I find I am hearing things in a new way. Exercises I’ve done before, words Sensei has said before, hold new levels of meaning, as if I were going back and re-reading a book I read as a child, and am finding that there was much more to it than I realized then. (“Oh… That’s what that whole scene was about…”) Another layer of the infinitely-layered onion has been revealed. 

Day Three - Whew!

An intense day today. Not physically, hardly broke a sweat, in spite of the heat. But a lot to assimilate. On the mat I compared a few of techniques to sounds that aren’t present in your native tongue - it’s hard to even perceive them, never mind pronounce them correctly. But I did get a lot of it - at least managed to grasp or improve some aspect of what was demonstrated each time we would work on it. Received a couple of very kind complements. Saw and attempted lots of new stuff, some familiar stuff, and some things I remember seeing from last year, and am seeing in a new light this year. Got to just sit and chat with some very nice people. Found several new ways to humiliate and embarrass myself. Received a lovely, and very thoughtful gift. Got to train with people from all over California, Salt Lake City, Phoenix, Houston, New York, The Netherlands, Seattle, and I’m sure a dozen other places. Last year I didn’t expect much of myself, I just wanted to go with my eyes open, get exposure to a variety of things, and not do anything too obviously stupid. This year, with a little more training behind me, I’ve had to keep reminding myself every time I got frustrated (every few minutes!) that I’ve not even been at this for two years. Patience…

Uke and Schoolmasters

There is a very good discussion on the AikiWeb forums, about uke collusion in practice/training. It’s particularly relevant for me, because I will be participating in the Aikido Bridge seminar later this week, where Ikeda Sensei will be teaching, and where there will be lots of opportunities for refining my own ukemi, and observing the ukemi of others.

One of the comments there, about how professional athletes train, brought something to mind: In horseback riding the relationship between the rider and the horse is very much like the relationship between Nage and Uke. 

The rider (Nage), through their cues, posture, weight shifts, placement of attention, and so on, is able to affect the balance and motion of the horse (Uke). It should not be a battle - it should be a partnership. They are not in opposition. Horse training essentially is training the horse to be a good uke - sensitive, not reactive, not anticipating, but moving as directed when the rider makes a request correctly. 

Of course, beginning riders are hopelessly uncoordinated about their weight, center, attention, posture, hands, feet, etc. A horse that refuses to budge, or who can’t understand what is being asked, would only frustrate them. Thankfully there are talented, experienced, angelic horses referred to as “schoolmasters” who and understand, and who happily play along with these fumbling newbies. A good schoolmaster lets the rider get the feeling of what a correct trot, balanced halt, or smooth canter depart should feel like, even when the rider doesn’t know how to ask perfectly yet. 

These horses, bless their hearts, can also perceive the skill level of their riders. While they may jog along sweetly for a little kid flopping around on their first ride, they may just as well require quite correct riding from someone more advanced.

In essence, the schoolmaster colludes, but only as much as is appropriate for the level of the rider. Pretty amazing ability, for a horse, but they do it regularly.

My understanding is that a good uke should provide that same kind of feedback to Nage. With a beginner, one may have to essentially guide them through the motion at first, by doing the ukemi as though Nage had performed the technique correctly, even if Nage didn’t really have their center, or didn’t take their balance. With a more advanced nage, feedback more along the lines of “Nope, I ain’t goin’, you don’t have me” might be more appropriate. 

Of course, there are good-natured, willing horses who simply do not understand, perhaps through lack of experience, what the rider is trying to ask. And there are others who know exactly what the student is requesting of them, but who have a “betcha can’t make me” attitude. The former may grow into happy and useful schoolmasters with experience. The latter will likely end up paired with riders who have similarly been trained in the “make ‘em mind you” philosophy of horsemanship, where force, conflict, and opposition are just the way things are done.

As a human uke, I’d sure rather work toward being more like the schoolmaster.