A Beginner's Journey

Perhaps in American culture we’re a bit too narrow in the message we send to kids about hard work.  The myth goes something like this: get good grades, work hard, and you’ll be able to raise a family in a nice house and retire in style.  Here’s the thing – sometimes hard working people don’t recover from the job loss, the hurricane, the medical condition, the war, or any number of things that could strike any of us at any time.  Some of the hardest working people live poor and die poor.  I think a better message would be, “Do the best you can with what you have.”

Karate certainly teaches us to do the best we can with what we have.  My lowly belt rank should remind me of where I am – yeah, I don’t have all that much skill.  Therefore I must maximize what little I have.  As long as I show steady improvement over time it’s all good.  At each promotion the understanding is I’m not perfect – I’m good enough to be ready for the next level of training.  Be that as it may, I am most definitely expected to show my best effort.

When I’m faced with a sparring partner who outranks me by a couple belts (or more – YIKE), it’s a given I’m going to get clobbered.  The expectation is that I will simply do the best I can with what I have.  If I focus on the “she’s gonna wipe the floor with me” part, I rob myself of an opportunity to learn just how well I can do.  I tense up, I can’t think strategically, and I miss everything that’s coming at me.  I perform a teeny bit better if I focus on wise use of my resources – I might actually manage to dodge a kick or hit my partner.  More to the point – I’ll be in a better frame of mind to learn whatever lesson I’m going to learn.

Doing the best I can with what I have is a very liberating concept.  It blows perfectionism out of the water and calms fear.  When I take a good hard look at the resources I have my focus shifts away from the negative.  I become proactive, even creative.  Even if it turns out what I bring to the table isn’t good enough, I’ll know that I tried.  That’s a lot better than shooting myself in the foot by giving up before I even begin.  And yes, my best effort will break down somewhere, but that’s OK – it means I’ll learn to be better.

Yes, I still have to work hard (my stinky sweat-soaked gi proves how hard I work), but working hard isn’t the end all and be all of my success.  Yes, I’ve written about success before, and nothing I’ve written in this post negates any of that.  Doing the best I can with what I have isn’t my latest magical formula for guaranteed success.  It is another tool in the toolbox – along with plenty of time, hard work, and help from others.  I’m not dissing striving for perfection either – I’m simply putting my drive to improve into a realistic framework.  Don’t worry – I am constantly being encouraged to improve.  As proof of this I offer the bruises from sparring and the stronger arm muscles from pushups.

The best I have is improving, and more so as I’ve recently discovered how freeing it is to focus on using whatever resources I have to the best advantage.   As long as I’m putting one foot in front of the other I’m on the right track.  I could even get knocked to the ground while I’m doing my best – proof positive that doing my best doesn’t automatically guarantee success.  The trick with that is getting back up again.

I could constantly complain about just about everything in Karate.  I could even make a case for quitting altogether.  I’ve been subjected to the tender mercies of Sempai Drill Sergeant – and that was just warming up.  I’ve been clonked on the nose, dumped on the floor, and grabbed (not inappropriately, but still).  Aching muscles and bruises have been a constant part of my life for about a year now.  I’ve been hit so hard I’ve had the wind knocked out of me.  And let’s face it, I’m not exactly a spring chicken anymore.  I don’t heal in ten minutes like I did when I was a kid – more like ten days!  None of this is fun.

Assuming a good dojo the reality of Karate is training is far more gentle than a street thug or two would be.  We’re learning how to defend ourselves and that’s going to involve some hard knocks.  Could I train without all the unpleasantness mentioned above?  There’s plenty of room for opinions on this but what it all boils down to is any effective, legitimate training method is better than winding up in a shallow, hastily dug grave somewhere in the forest.  I’ve made my decision about where to train and it is the right one for me.  Otherwise I’d have long since walked out the door or never started.

Do I see the hard things about the system as opportunities for personal growth, or do I walk away to live the second half of my life sour, cynical, and maybe even fat?  How can learn to overcome adversity if there is no adversity to overcome?  I could say I’m too old for Karate or I could take the bull by the horns and learn some really awesome skills.  I could be more vulnerable to criminals or I could increase my odds of survival by training as hard as I’m expected to train, taking the lumps, and falling down seven times, standing up eight.  Yes this is tough talk.

Some of these things are what I say to myself during meditation at the end of a class if I’ve taken some lumps and am hurting physically and/or emotionally.  Then I recall the happy times.  I recall what it’s like to perform kata well.  I remember “the fierce joy” that comes on me from time to time.  I remember Gasshuku, the Christmas party and getting to watch Shodan testing right after being promoted myself.  I remember the clanking sound of medals on my chest.  I have hundreds more precious memories in my treasure box.   Yes, there are memories of hard lessons learned in that treasure box too.  After my self-talks I find I can continue, I can overcome, I can be the best that I can be.  To do otherwise would be to turn my back on a whole lot of potential that is waiting inside me.

I have a feeling the testing of my mind, body, and spirit is going to get harder as I continue in my training.  I know I have absolutely no clue about just how hard it’s going to be because, obviously, I’ve never “been there.”

Bring it.  Because the cold, hard reality is that a fight for my life could come at any time – maybe even in the parking lot after class when I’m already bruised and exhausted.  Some day I will break down and cry in the dojo,  but I will put the pieces together again and come back – as many times as necessary.  I have too many happy memories not to do so.  I am determined to bloom where I’m planted and gather many more wonderful memories.

Dog tired, I slogged into my home dojo.  I’d been training three days straight at sister dojos and my body wasn’t used to the intensity yet.  I remembered I’d promised to get equipment out of the storage closet and to grab the newly instituted attendance roster from the office.  That ate up some time.  I stretched and that got me through until the start of class.  Normally I practice kata for a bit before the start of class, but that night, I didn’t feel like it – not one bit, and I love kata.  I made it through warmups.  Then Sensei started us on a sparring drill with partners.  I confess I shlepped my way through the first rounds of that drill.

Sensei called a halt.  I wasn’t the only one dragging.  Sensei upped the ante and made some rules involving pushups for penalties.  Suddenly I remembered a drill I’d done earlier in the week that I knew would be of great help in this drill.  Between the challenge of not getting pushups and the realization of exactly how I could do better, I began to have fun.  My partner caught my energy and we really pushed each other hard.  I felt what I call, “the fierce joy.”  I even laughed as I did my pushups (and I’m not fond of pushups).

After all of us completed our pushups, Sensei said, “Now that was a lot more exciting to watch!”

Wait – didn’t I say I was dog tired?  What about the sore muscles I came in with?  All that was lost in “the fierce joy.”

I know many of my blog posts have been about the fear and anger I’ve been facing down.  But from time to time – and these times are getting more frequent – I feel “the fierce joy.”  It’s hard to describe this emotion.  It’s a wild sort of calm.  I know I perform better under the influence of “the fierce joy.”  Every successful technique brings elation, and every unsuccessful attempt at something puts a fire in my heart to do better.  I’ve felt this “fierce joy” in tournaments, while practicing kata, in seminars, during drills, and even when I sparred with, er, well, truth be told I played the role of “mouse” in a game of “cat and mouse” with someone who is vastly better at Karate than I am and has the rank and trophies to prove it.  I’d love to feel “the fierce joy” every time I set foot in a dojo.

Sometimes I find “the fierce joy” when I’m exhausted.  The other day, a senior student at another dojo said, “When you reach that place – when you’re so tired that you’re at the point of ‘fight or flight,’ it’s a bestial thing but there’s a kind of purity there.”

Bestial – I suppose scientists could put electrodes all over my skull and tell me exactly which parts of the brain are activated when I feel “the fierce joy.”  They’d probably tell me the more “primitive” areas are lighting up like Christmas trees.  Purity – yes, there’s nothing duplicitous about the fierce joy.  It comes straight from the heart and spirit (and maybe a cocktail of hormones too).  The fierce joy lives in the moment and therefore is undiluted by the baggage of our past or the worries about our future.

“The fierce joy” is the opposite of panic.  “The fierce joy” takes the bull by the horns, pushes through fear and doubt, and exults in triumph.  This is a gift for us fighters – I know I learn better when I’m in that place.  Yes, “the fierce joy” can be quenched. Pain, a reprimand, an injured comrade, or a fire alarm can end it very quickly – and that is a good thing because sometimes it is vitally important to switch modes of operation!  But on the whole, “the fierce joy” is a fantastic emotion that helps me push beyond where I once thought my limits were.

How often do you experience “the fierce joy?”

Today is the 35th anniversary of the eruption of Mt. St. Helens.  I always remember on this day that sometimes not getting what I want is a good thing.

My father had camped near the mountain sometime in the month prior to its eruption.  He came back with some pretty amazing photographs.   I was ten years old and didn’t think about the hazards.  I begged and begged and begged to go camping there so I could see the gentle little puffs of ash for myself.  We set the date but then something came up and we couldn’t go.

I was crushed and spent a good bit of Friday and Saturday sulking.  I remember Sunday I was sitting in the back seat of our asthmatic old station wagon with a little black raincloud over my head on the way to some stupid boring errand.  Because we were driving on the freeway we didn’t hear the noise of the eruption like others in the region did.  One of my parents noticed a smudge on the horizon and turned on the radio.

Some people made it out of the campground we’d planned on – there’s a very famous series of photos from Strawberry Ridge taken by a guy with a motor drive on his camera.  Obviously he made it out.  But some people didn’t make it.  Our station wagon wouldn’t have gotten us out in time.

Am I prepared for not getting what I want?  I want to earn Shodan – and learn and grow even more after that.  I want to teach Karate.  These are big dreams, but let’s face it – any number of things could happen to bring that dream to a screeching halt.  Does that mean I should just give up?  Absolutely not.  Yes, I’ll be crushed if something happens and I can’t continue with Karate.  But I need to believe that I will adapt and even thrive if the worst should happen.

I have a number of things in my life that are worth pursuing.  I still enjoy beach combing, photography, and digital art.  I am a substitute water fitness instructor, so I’ve seen roughly twenty five brave people exercising in spite of a wide variety of medical conditions.   I have my dog and my family.  And who knows, if ever I can’t do Karate, maybe I’ll go back to playing flute!  All this will still be there for me if the worst happens.

I know – I could bounce back.  There are some great stories out there.  I met a man who had a terrible motorcycle accident years ago – he’s still an awesome Karate instructor.  If something happens I will make every effort to bounce back.  But still – there’s always the possibility that I won’t get what I want.  Am I prepared for that?  Yes – because of that lesson I learned on Volcano Day, I am prepared.

Are you prepared?