Twenty-three years ago, I came to Japan to train in Aikido. I had been training in the states for nearly four years and thought it was time to discover more about the art and its origins.
Japanese was my major in university, so I had a solid language foundation. When I arrived, I went directly to the Aikido Headquarters, enrolled, and embarked on my Japanese martial art journey.
Class always started with a bow and some warmups, then we chose our partners, and practiced the technique the sensei had demonstrated. I was new, so nobody wanted to train with me except for an old man. He must have been nearly eighty.
We bowed, and I slowly initiated the strike. I was overly careful, moving cautiously and focusing on the old man, not my technique. He grabbed me by my collar and told me to either train with heart or not at all. I gave him about eighty percent. He took my balance, and I was unable to find my equilibrium while he cast me to the floor in a feathery glide. I’ll never forget that feeling.
That’s when I realized that I knew nothing. I don’t train anymore, but Aikido’s many lessons have contributed to a successful career as a copywriter and creative director. They have made me a better husband, father, and human being.
Figure Shit Out