What Am I Practising Here?

Self-defense, fitness, flexibility, confidence, discipline, conflict resolution, inner calm, centeredness, just some of the benefits frequently touted to encourage new participants to try the art of Aikido. Whether we are addressing an interested individual or marketing to the masses there is a tendency to tell our audience what we think they are looking for, what we think they will comprehend. The actual reasons each of us continues to train are many and varied, often complex, often changing and frequently not fully comprehended even by ourselves.

My initial intention was to investigate the real reasons we train. I wondered, if we call this practice, what is it that we are practising for? This made me confront an obvious truth that's been trying to get my attention for a while; this training has no ultimate goal, no final purpose. After all, I am unlikely to be set upon by half-a-dozen compulsive wrist grabbers on my walk home from work. I will probably never be attacked with bokken or jo as I peruse the supermarket aisles. I don't expect I'll attain enlightenment from pursuing Aikido, and I've reluctantly abandoned my closet fantasy of being the next Steven Seagal or Jackie Chan.

If there isn't an end game, no ultimate goal, then the practice must be an end in itself. Sensei Henry Lynch frequently exhorts us, as we perform techniques, not to rush to completion, to enjoy the journey. It's clear that this insight goes beyond individual techniques. It must apply to our entire Aikido experience.

Suddenly my initial concept for this essay was in disarray; it seems there are as many reasons for practising Aikido as there are Aikido practitioners. I decided to refocus and share the things that have kept me going for eleven years of mostly steady practice, and in doing so found a little more than I was expecting.

Initially there was the desire to be capable of defending myself, inextricably tied up with a desire to be a 'black belt', as if this label was in itself a motivation for the years of study that would be required. Quickly this was supplanted by a sense of awe at the spectacle of Aikido witnessed through untrained eyes, and even greater wonderment at the implicit promise that one day I could do this, if I just stick with the program.

Since the beginning there has been the physical joy of unrestrained movement, of using my body in ways not encompassed in my everyday routines. The freedom of being tossed through the air and landing without harm. The stress release that comes with physical exercise, even more so in an art that occupies both mind and body together.

But as I look harder I realise that more significant than any other benefit, Aikido has in many different ways contributed to my confidence. I describe a confident person as someone who accepts, sometimes seeks out, life's challenges and strives to do their very best to turn each challenge into an opportunity.

I feel confidence in my ability to extricate myself from any likely threat of physical violence. That's no small thing, but it's not a life changing experience. With luck and good management I should never need to exercise those skills.

I have confidence because I know I can stick something out and achieve a personal goal I have set myself. My Aikido journey did not go the same way as my tenure at Cubs - I quit because Cubs night clashed with Star Trek - or my earlier dalliances in Karate and Kendo. I found something that's right for me and it would be hard for me not to stick with it.

I have gained confidence through knowing myself better. I am someone who loves Aikido, it's part of how I define myself. When I share my appreciation of this art through teaching, there are people who want to learn. That is a huge reward in itself, to realise this thing that I do has value for others.

But most importantly I have learned through my Aikido training, in theory at least, in practice a little, that there is nothing to be gained in life from shortchanging myself. Rather that there is much to be gained from striving to be all I am capable of being. This lesson has been included with every unfamiliar movement and new technique learned, in the harsh spotlight of gradings, in my often clumsy attempts at teaching - a whole new art in itself - what I am still struggling to learn.

However the point was most graphically demonstrated for me when a past teacher performed the following test. He asked two junior kyu grades to perform a technique in front of the class. After a couple of somewhat hesitant and self-conscious iterations he asked them to do it again, but this time with the added instruction "as if you are a black belt". The difference was dramatic, as much as the first demonstrations were below par, the subsequent demonstrations were amongst the very best technique these students had ever performed.

Why don't we do our very best all the time? Perhaps it is through fear that our best won't be judged good enough, so that we can always claim to have held something in reserve. But the lesson I have learned that I would like to share, is that it is what we actually do that counts, so just do it...

...as if you are the CEO

...as if you are Romeo (or Juliet)

...as if you are the greatest parent ever

...as if you are a black belt

Roban for Nidan, Riai Aikido Wellington, July 14th 2003