In my 30 years of training and 15 of running an aikido dojo, I’ve noticed some tendencies in the way people progress through their practice—or not. I have personally lost my way and found it again many times, and after years of practice I’ve found that the answer often lies closer than you think.
The Early Stages of Training
When first starting their practice, people tend to enjoy the visceral, physical aspects of martial arts training. It’s fun and challenging to gain the new skills of punching, kicking, throwing, grappling, or whatever your style may offer. For a while, this is sufficient for people to come back for more.
Continuing in this way, at some point, a student begins to accrue technical knowledge and progress through the ranks. In a traditional martial arts school, this stage of learning basic forms is essential because without clarity and consistency of technique one will never be proficient in their art.
After many years of focused, dedicated training, the student will earn their black belt. This is a great accomplishment and requires years of commitment. However; contrary to popular belief a first-degree black belt, 初段 shodan in Japanese, means ‘beginning level.’ When I earned my first black belt, my teacher said—half sincerely, half tongue-in-cheek—”Now you can begin your training.”
The Middle Stages of Training
After shodan, things naturally become a bit more complicated. Depending on the school, the student may move on to learning advanced techniques or how to apply basic techniques under greater duress. This stage can still be quite rewarding because the student gains depth and develops their practical skills, though it is still primarily technical in nature.
On one hand this stage still holds potential for growth, but when students reach the mid-level stages of black belt I often see deeper issues begin to arise. It feels good to be competent in form, but staying fixated on technique much past nidan or sandan can be quite limiting. Too often, it’s as thought students at this stage have mastered the rules of grammar but find themselves not knowing what to say.
To break through this barrier, I find it’s necessary to concede some degree of technical proficiency. It is common at this point, if not necessary, to wonder what you’re doing and not really have a good answer. If one is patient and can sustain a consistent level of training at this stage, they can begin to discover what’s contained in those forms and come to understand the principles they embody.
Though revelatory, this realization isn’t primarily intellectual. One way to say it is that when you’ve reached this later stage the techniques simply become a part of you. The Japanese describe this as 身に付く mi ni tsuku, literally the techniques ‘stick to your body’ and your actions come to exemplify the principles contained within the forms.
Add a Dash of Complexity
Sounds great, right? Sign me up! Well, it never goes that smoothly. In fact, overcoming these barriers requires more than perseverance—it requires self-discovery and a healthy dose of humility.
In my experience, each student tends to have some challenge or blockage that prevents them from making progress—sometimes, multiple barriers stand in their way. Maybe they previously experienced some trauma and now struggle to assert themselves. Others become fixated on competition and can’t let go of their desire to win enough to discover the finer details of the art.
These barriers manifest themselves in many ways. Of course, the ego looms large here, and whatever patterns we have gotten comfortable with, the person we have come to know of as our self, actually stands in our way.
You don’t walk out the same person as you walked in. That is the nature of a transformative practice. A good teacher must be able to spot a student’s intrapersonal hindrances and help them move through them. Some teachers approach this barrier quite aggressively, trying to smash through that inflexible concept of self. Others are more gentle. Let’s hope you find the right teacher!
At the end of class once, William Gleason Shihan said, “A good teacher doesn’t give it to you; a good teacher helps you find it.” The martial arts offer us the opportunity to discover something. This discovery is both of the practice and within ourselves. It sounds complicated to say in words, but simply put the thing that seems to stand in our way often holds the greatest potential for growth.
Getting Back on the Path
When you find yourself lost, looking back to how and why you got started can be a valuable reference point. Any martial artist can tell you the story of how they found their way onto the mat. For some it was a way out of being bullied, for others it was a means to health, and for others something else.
For me, my kikkake, or ‘opportunity to begin,’ was that I came to aikido from a place of spiritual/philosophical searching. In high school, for a period, I was depressed and suicidal, and one day I happened to find a copy of Zen Flesh, Zen Bones in my hands. As I read, with each successive parable I forgot my worries and my eyes opened to the incredible possibility of here and now.
From there, I continued to read more on Zen, Taoism, and Buddhism. As I made my way, each new book would stress the importance of proper practice. It sounded great, but the problem was I didn’t have a practice. I spent some time frustrated, spinning my wheels. Then one day I was walking down an alley and saw a flier for aikido classes at the local YMCA, and the rest is history.
Flash forward to today, and now I’m an instructor—always a student, but often in the role of teacher and role model. More so than ever before, I wake up in the morning these days with no idea what I’m doing. I know dozens of technique and am magnitudes more effective at applying them than in the beginning, but it’s hard to tell what’s important.
On one hand, I feel a small sense of pride that I still have 初心 shoshin (beginners mind). On the other hand, I feel like I should know what I’m doing, especially when I’m standing in front of the class!
When I feel lost, it can be helpful to seek guidance from an instructor or sempai. There’s always someone better than you out there—go find them while you can!
Alternatively, reading the words of the masters of the past can help illuminate your path. What did the founder of your art say? What texts did they study to help them gain insight?
These days, more often than not, I find the best way to get back on track is to look within. I sit down, ask myself what I’m doing, and see what comes. It’s a slow process and rarely goes as planned, but this is where I tend to find the most growth. And if I know where I came from, it can be a helpful reference point to discovering where I’m going.
The Next Step
At first, we train to punch, kick, and throw, but later on, our training becomes deeper, more amorphous. I have walked part of this road and know I have much further to go, my path blazed by those before me. It’s not always easy and the direction not always clear, but I seem to enjoy it well enough to keep coming back.
If you find you’ve lost your way, take a moment to look within and ask what might be standing in your way. Your teacher and those who know you best have probably already tried to tell you about it, though it is the thing we’re least likely to really hear!
Enjoy where you are now, even when it’s hard. Know that over there, on the other side, is something great—that you are something great.
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Thank you for reading this. I’m happy to be getting feedback that this article resonates with people, but after putting it out there I realized I had glossed over something of great importance and wanted to clarify.
For traditional martial arts to function, students MUST reach proficiency in the basic techniques of their style, and this is no simple feat. As much as I am now fascinated with discovering the nuances of my practice, the traditional martial arts lose value without a solid foundation.
In my art in particular, aikido, I see too many people get bored too soon and start tinkering with things when they are not yet proficient in the basics. This is as big a mistake as being rigidly focused on form.
It’s a delicate balance, so I wanted to clarify my position. Happy to hear your thoughts.
Thank you Sensei Aaron! I found this to be very well written, thoughtful, and relevant to me personally. Really appreciate you taking the time to write and share. Hope you have a great day!