Sensei's Notebook
On Preparing for 5th Kyu
Daniel Pollack
In January 2009, after my five-year-old daughter had been in the mini-cranes classes at Two Cranes Aikido for about a month, I began the Introductory Series to explore the practice of Aikido at TCA. I had been aware of the dojo for sometime as my neighbor Gina had been a member for many years and we had spoken numerous times about what the training and the community had meant to her. I’d also had the good fortune to be able to observe a couple of advanced Blackbelt demonstrations the month before I started. Approximately halfway through the eight-week beginner series, I was clearly, and irreversibly, hooked.
Aikido filled many needs that I was already aware of and at the same time opened many new doors for me. It made me part of a caring, supportive and diverse community, given me a much needed regular physical activity as well as an active basis for a spiritual exploration grounded in human cooperation, conflict and resolution. It has provided me with a new perspective with which to examine my relationships and daily encounters with those around me (though I still drive like a New Yorker – my Aikido has no apparent effect on this). It has also given me the ability to become a true beginner again. It is an art where I can exert myself both mentally and physically, and in which (as akin to the practice of mathematics) there is no danger of getting bored or of “mastering” the subject. For me, one aspect of Aikido practice, which I initially found the most challenging, was the need to try to blend with many different people, in essentially intimate ways, one after the other. This has subsequently become one of the more natural and enjoyable parts of my practice.
I recall Sensei speaking to the class early on about the different options after the series was completed: one could of course stop, or take another introductory series or possibly become a regular member of the dojo and attend whichever classes best suited our schedules. In my (over) enthusiasm I spoke to Sensei soon afterwards about my desire to join the dojo and start attending other classes as soon as possible. She was encouraging but clear that I needed to wait until I completed the eight-week series. At some point during that period Sensei also brought up the 5th Kyu exam as something to begin thinking about. She said that the demonstration is representative of the basic techniques that were being covered in the introductory series and that 10 minutes of attention to them daily would help one to prepare.
Once I joined the dojo as a regular student I began attending a variety of classes 3 or 4 times a week. I thought that attending classes would better help me prepare for the demonstration than 10 minutes a day thinking about those particular techniques, and anyway I was very clear in my own mind that the demonstration itself was not the goal, just something one should do as one travelled along the path that Aikido offered. After a number of months a date had been set for my 5th Kyu exam. About six weeks before the demonstration, I had a mock test with my supervising black belt, Sara Snell Sensei, and realized that I was woefully ill prepared to demonstrate these techniques with any sense of detail and precision. Attending classes had indeed improved my waza, and especially my ukemi, which was (and still is) really the focus of my practice. But I had not properly heeded Sensei's advice and without regular attention to the particular techniques on the 5th Kyu curriculum, I had not established any firm understanding, either theoretically or in practice, of how to execute these techniques. This realization lead to a period of more focused attention, which was made a bit challenging by my being away on vacation for three weeks and Sara Sensei being away for a different period of time.
The few weeks before my demonstration became a time of particularly intense study. I finally began doing what Sensei had hinted at much earlier, namely undergoing a daily preoccupation with my exam curriculum. Blending with imaginary partners was a practice that could be done at any time, and which I often did (much to the bemusement of my children). When I made it to the dojo I was fortunate to have the help of many wonderful instructors and Sempai. This brought its own challenges as well however, as it finally dawned on me that different people had their own unique ways of doing each of the techniques, and I had to be very explicit about seeking advice for the kihon waza appropriate for a 5th Kyu demonstration.
Preparing for the test brought on one big surprise however. As I prepared, I mentally ran through an imaginary loop tape of the demonstration, over and over again. This was unfortunately plagued by a preoccupation with a strong desire to “do well." It is worth examining what this meant to me. After practicing for a while we all appreciate the wonderful feeling, for both Nage and Uke, which accompanies a well-executed technique. It all just feels right. Your heart opens, energy bubbles up and you simply want to do it over and over again. This was unfortunately not what I was becoming distracted with. What I found myself imagining, and desiring, was an affirmation, by Sensei and by my Sempai and fellow students, of a job well done. Once I started thinking about wanting others to judge my Aikido as being “good” the practice became dangerously close to being akin to a competition. How can my being “good” be meaningful unless someone else's waza is “bad” or at least “not as good as Dan's”? This was truly disturbing to me, for I had studied enough both on the mat and off, to recognize that this was not what Aikido was about nor did I want my practice to become focused on the desire or need for affirmation from others. The more I prepared for the demonstration, the more I needed to actively face and put aside these unwelcome feelings.
When my demonstration occurred I had mixed emotions regarding the generous complements I received afterwards. The congratulations and "you did great" type comments I received made me very happy, yet at the same time I found these disturbing since I had been working hard to not focus on this and felt betrayed by my own pleasure and hubris. In retrospect, I understand that I should have just relaxed and enjoyed the moment.
From one of my most influential teachers in graduate school, I learned the important lesson of the “walk in the park”, which I believe has relevance here. Good mathematics research is difficult and takes a singular focus and a lot of hard work. As with many worthwhile things, most of the time you do not have success. One typically struggles day after day trying to prove something and perseverance and hard work count for a lot (as well as some measure of skill, some of which may be native, but most of which is acquired through years of study). Very occasionally one might have an “Aha!” moment and feel that one has made a breakthrough. At this point stopping to carefully check the details and make sure it works is exactly the wrong thing to do. Instead one should savior the feeling of accomplishment and take “a walk in the park”. Feel good about what you have done for a while and re-energize yourself (perhaps by literally taking a walk in the park) before you sit down to re-examine your work carefully with a clear head. Of course one then realizes that it was all nonsense, you find where your mistakes are and then you just get back to work. The true breakthroughs (those that stand up to the required scrutiny) are so rare. If we didn’t allow ourselves to momentarily enjoy our short-lived delusions of success we would be simply mired in an endless quagmire of frustration.
After the brief “walk in park” following my 5th Kyu demonstration, I returned to regular training. Having experienced almost daily training in preparation for my exam I realized how much I enjoyed training this often. Thanks to a flexible work schedule and the immense generosity of my family I was able to begin training regularly roughly six days a week. In the short experience that I have had, I have found that more training simply begets a desire to train even more. One hour classes seem way too short, and by the time evening rolls around on the day of a noon class I want to be back on the mat. I now understand that, over the years, demonstrations, and in particular the preparation leading up to them, can serve to bring your practice to a different place (I carefully avoid saying “better”). However, all of us spend most of our time on the broad plateaus between the breakthroughs. The first breakthrough for me was when my ukemi had advanced enough so that training stopped hurting. Now I usually feel better emotionally, spiritually and physically after class. I am still often distracted by feelings of wanting to "do well" in my Aikido and subconsciously wanting to have that success affirmed externally. However these distractions usually take place off the mat. I've taken to heart O Sensei’s dictum to “train with joy in your heart” and I try to bring that attitude with me on to the mat. Still, all it takes is a small bit of praise from Sensei, or one of my other instructor's, to have me feel like my face is lighting up uncontrollably with pleasure and pride. That is a very hard one to turn off. Perhaps I should simply not worry about it?
My 5th Kyu exam made me realize the concrete benefit, in terms of advancing my own waza, in testing. Preparing for 4th Kyu has been notably easier as I have over a longer period been able to more easily file away a model for kiwon waza for the 4th Kyu techniques as I practice from day to day. I have a sense of what I feel mildly comfortable with and what needs a lot of work (at least from my perspective). As I prepare in a more focused way for that demonstration I am still sometimes distracted by the same demon of craving for external “success” and recognition, however it now neither surprises nor troubles me. I know that the correct response is simple: “just train!”
