In less than three month’s time I will turn 50. How I got to this age so fast I have no idea: I certainly don’t feel 50 (I look about 70 though!!!). It also feels like I arrived in Japan only a moment ago when, actually, I’m in my 22nd year here. Something that does feel like I’ve been doing for a lifetime, however, is writing kendo-related websites. Anyway, with the big 5-0 coming up something I read by the famous Mochida Moriji sensei many years ago has been brewing in my mind, a copy of which has been pinned to my wall for at least a decade:
“In Kendo, until the age of fifty, one must study the basics with great dedication and make them one’s own.
Most people who think that they have mastered the basics are, in reality, still in the learning phase. This misconception leads many people put study of the basics on the back burner.
It took me fifty years to embody the basics of Kendo. My true training in Kendo began after I turned fifty*. This was because I started practicing Kendo with my mind/heart/spirit*.
At sixty, my legs and hips grew weaker. To compensate for this weakness, I relied on my heart. I worked hard to strengthen my weak points by using my heart.
At seventy, my whole body became weaker. This time, I practiced not moving my heart. When the heart stops moving, the other person’s heart reflects in my mirror. I made an effort to keep my heart calm and unmoved.
At eighty, my heart stopped moving. However, occasionally, stray thoughts still enter. I am now training to keep stray thoughts from entering my heart.”
* In the text Mochida’s “fifty years” is kind of mixed-up between “age” and “time practised.” His father taught him kendo initially, starting from the age of six, so we can infer it to mean “age” rather than length of time.
* Mind/heart/spirit: translation of 心 in Japanese is often not obvious. In this situation maybe “spirit” is the most apt, but I left “heart” in as it is a bit more… poetic.
* Date unknown but we can guess it was sometime between 1965~early 1974 (after turning 80 but before passing away in Feb. 1974)
Yeah, so I am basically 50. Realistically, I have achieved the highest grade attainable to me in kendo. In that sense, I am “done” and my kendo is “complete.” Of course, if you have read kenshi 24/7 over the years you know that I don’t actually think of kendo like this, but I do know people that use grade as a barometer (or at least seem to) to “completion” – which in itself is not necessarily bad, unless you actually do consider that kendo is something that can actually be“completed.”
People with this mindset stop proactively learning and, retreating into their own kendo, shrink rather than expand. Not everyone is like this of course, but I have seen people like this, and continue to meet people like this even today. In the past I would’ve just branded them “lazy” but that is dismissive of their hard work until that point so, instead, I’ve settled on “complacent.”
Fighting complacency is harder than you might imagine. In my case, I feel that I have achieved a somewhat good understanding of kendo mechanics, even if my execution is still only “moderate” at best. It would be relatively easy to just chill out, rest on my laurels, and enjoy my next few years of keiko. In fact, I’ve gone through at lot over the years, so I deserve some chill time, right?
Over a decade ago I wrote about a particular sensei who stated that there was value in attempting kendo’s highest grade, even if there was no realistic hope of passing it. Another time, I overheard a senior hanshi stop someone at the Kyoto Taikai and applaud them for attempting hachidan: “If you stop attempting it” he said, “your kendo will fall to pieces.” Whether the person had an actual chance of passing was irrelevant (often unsaid but sometimes intimated is the value of the attempt increases in proportion to the surety of your failure).
[Actually, I am actually in two minds about this: in theory it sounds solid, but the fact of the matter is it is a burden to attempt something where the chance of failure is 99% or more. Financially, it all adds up: travel, accommodation, testing fees, even a single attempt isn’t cheap (I know people that have tried over 20 times…). Anyway, I digress.]
Over the past few years, first due to the arrival of my daughter then because of the pandemic, I’ve found myself getting complacent (not lazy – I still do loads of keiko), in particular the amount of degeiko I do has been cut drastically: I used to travel to this-and-that keiko-kai and/or dojo in the Kansai region, and very occasionally wander further abroad. Nowadays, I only occasionally manage degeiko – well an adult degeiko that is. With my kendo club we do a lot of renshu–shiai and I do kendo with many different students from all over the area. Sometimes other schools have experienced kendo teachers I can have bash with, sometimes not. I also receive a bit of welcome variation in the guest from abroad that visit. In a lot of these cases, however, because people are coming to me (us) it’s psychologically different than travelling to keiko.
The kanji for SHI-AI (試合) could literally translate to “trying something out together” or perhaps a “trial together” which is relatively close to the English “competition.” When we do renshu-shiai I always mention to the students its not SHI-AI (試合) but TAMESHI-AI (試し合い), which – despite being the exact same kanji – emphasises the “trying” part of the experience. That is, the students should a) test to see how their kendo fairs in front of an (sometimes unknown) opponent; b) not be over worried about “losing” or “winning” as it’s only practice; c) try out various waza or seme patterns to see their efficiency, whether they can actually execute the techniques under stress, and to see what needs improvements, and so on.
“My true training in Kendo began after I turned fifty”
Taking Mochida sensei’s words to heart, and to avoid complacency, I decided it’s time to pack my bag and get out more. This weekend I will head to Tokyo for a mini Musha-Shugyo, my first visit to Kanto for kendo in an incredible nine years. I am going to visit three dojo (this time) and am in full TAMESHI-AI mode. I know that as soon as I step in the dojo that some people will want to see that I am made of: the higher your grade (it’s a barometer for some remember) the more expectation there is, especially if you have to sit at the “sensei” side of the dojo. That’s fine: I relish the chance to put my kendo to the test.
p.s. I fully expect to get a good beating, btw, but I am not going down without a fight.
One reply on “Tameshi-ai and combating complacency”
Congratulations George on reaching this milestone! You’ve achieved a huge amount in your personal kendo journey and I admire you very much.
Along with understanding the difference between ‘laziness’ and ‘complacency’, I think it’s also important to understand differences in ‘opportunity’. Some people would like to train 10x per week, or even 4x, or even once, but their life circumstances (caring responsibilities, injury, illness, distance, work, etc) means that they can’t. This is, as you know, as common in Japan as elsewhere, hence the concept of ‘riba-ken’ (revival kendo). It is painful to see the years fly by with little or no progress. That’s why I believe that not being able to do kendo is also the path of human development. b