I love my training.
I don’t get to class as often as I’d like – generally, twice a week is about all my schedule will allow. But I love showing up on the mat and working with my fellow deshi. I enjoy the classes, and I honestly wish I could have started my training years ago.
I don’t get to class as often as I’d like – generally, twice a week is about all my schedule will allow. But I love showing up on the mat and working with my fellow deshi. I enjoy the classes, and I honestly wish I could have started my training years ago.
A student should love to train.
Sounds obvious, right? But anyone who has ever spent any time in a dojo knows better. Any deshi of just about any school has seen those students who show up just to make an appearance, those who are more interested in joking and playing around, and those who apparently live for the opportunity to throw their ego around the mat like an unwilling uke.
And we all have to put up with them. But watch what happens:
Sounds obvious, right? But anyone who has ever spent any time in a dojo knows better. Any deshi of just about any school has seen those students who show up just to make an appearance, those who are more interested in joking and playing around, and those who apparently live for the opportunity to throw their ego around the mat like an unwilling uke.
And we all have to put up with them. But watch what happens:
In my school, there might be someone whose personality grates on the nerves of the other students. But if this were true, I wouldn’t want to use that person’s name here (it might be me – who knows?), because I don’t want to offend him or her. I certainly wouldn’t want anyone to thing I’m using my essays to bash my fellow students. Of course, the bashed students would be right in taking offense to that. Not everyone who gets on other people’s nerves does so intentionally.
In my school – as in most other schools, I imagine – it would take a pretty serious breach of etiquette for someone to be asked to leave. I’ve seen it once or twice, and it’s not something I’d want to visit upon just anyone. Being kicked out of a dojo is – and should be – a punishment reserved for the most egregious offenders.
Most students fall somewhere in between. They’re not super-devoted, just-wanna-train types, but they’re also not getting kicked out for rudeness on the mat. Most folks in the dojo are just there, for whatever reason.
In my school, we do have some attitudes, but we also have a good number of real, serious students. These are folks who have a good time while training, and genuinely enjoy their time on the mat – but who also take their practice very seriously, and it shows in the quality of their art. These are the students who eventually become the embodiment of their school.
But there are also the students who place belt ranking above technique practice. Being a black belt is more important than becoming truly proficient.
And unfortunately, it is within this framework of psychoanalysis that new students begin their training. There’s so much going on between the different personalities that new students can be turned off in their first year. This person didn’t want to work with me; that person said something rude.
So there's this kind of student, and that kind of student; this kind of attitude and that kind of attitude. I've been guilty of it myself, and it's not good. All of this nonsense can detract from your work on the mat, and can eat into the quality of your art. And none of it is conducive to a positive training experience.
Here’s an exercise. Look up the shodan requirements for your school or art form. You have so many hours on the mat, so many performed kata, maybe even a specified number of competitions or demos. Time in ikkyu is measured as well, as is the required amount of proven knowledge and understanding about your particular ryu or style. There are also some intangibles, like the flow of a particular technique that other can’t seem to get right. But nowhere in the requirements for shodan do you see “worrying about what other people think of you.” In between kata and specific techniques, it does not say “popularity contest.”
Morihei Ueshiba (1886-1969), the founder of aikido, once told his students that they should always practice in a spirit of joy, and use their art to reconcile the divisions in the world. But he also said that we should train just to train, and that our training should be its own reward.
So enjoy your time on the mat. If you’re training with me, I’ll try to ensure that you have a good time. But the training itself is an important part of my life, and I need to be sure that it’s genuine, and not tainted by attitudes or some antisocial nonsense. Just train. If you’re on the mat for the right reason, you can’t help but love it.
In my school – as in most other schools, I imagine – it would take a pretty serious breach of etiquette for someone to be asked to leave. I’ve seen it once or twice, and it’s not something I’d want to visit upon just anyone. Being kicked out of a dojo is – and should be – a punishment reserved for the most egregious offenders.
Most students fall somewhere in between. They’re not super-devoted, just-wanna-train types, but they’re also not getting kicked out for rudeness on the mat. Most folks in the dojo are just there, for whatever reason.
In my school, we do have some attitudes, but we also have a good number of real, serious students. These are folks who have a good time while training, and genuinely enjoy their time on the mat – but who also take their practice very seriously, and it shows in the quality of their art. These are the students who eventually become the embodiment of their school.
But there are also the students who place belt ranking above technique practice. Being a black belt is more important than becoming truly proficient.
And unfortunately, it is within this framework of psychoanalysis that new students begin their training. There’s so much going on between the different personalities that new students can be turned off in their first year. This person didn’t want to work with me; that person said something rude.
So there's this kind of student, and that kind of student; this kind of attitude and that kind of attitude. I've been guilty of it myself, and it's not good. All of this nonsense can detract from your work on the mat, and can eat into the quality of your art. And none of it is conducive to a positive training experience.
Here’s an exercise. Look up the shodan requirements for your school or art form. You have so many hours on the mat, so many performed kata, maybe even a specified number of competitions or demos. Time in ikkyu is measured as well, as is the required amount of proven knowledge and understanding about your particular ryu or style. There are also some intangibles, like the flow of a particular technique that other can’t seem to get right. But nowhere in the requirements for shodan do you see “worrying about what other people think of you.” In between kata and specific techniques, it does not say “popularity contest.”
Morihei Ueshiba (1886-1969), the founder of aikido, once told his students that they should always practice in a spirit of joy, and use their art to reconcile the divisions in the world. But he also said that we should train just to train, and that our training should be its own reward.
So enjoy your time on the mat. If you’re training with me, I’ll try to ensure that you have a good time. But the training itself is an important part of my life, and I need to be sure that it’s genuine, and not tainted by attitudes or some antisocial nonsense. Just train. If you’re on the mat for the right reason, you can’t help but love it.
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