This past week, I taught my first class for Aikido Kokikai OC! I played around with teaching a bit, since it was just myself and one advanced student. I did an experiment, and I think it worked! We were breaking down some of the more "basic" techniques, because the devil is in the details with those. After a while, I could tell that we were both getting frustrated: why did basic tsuki kokyunage (timing throw from a punch) feel so awful to a brownbelt and a blackbelt?! So, what I suggested that we do was stop practicing the throw slowly, and just throw sets as quickly as possible, focusing on breathing. I even had us sing while throwing, both to illustrate the principle of "one-breath throw" (a near-translation of kokyunage), and to distract us even more from form. When we went back to slowing things down a few minutes later, some of the problems were more exaggerated and therefore easier to spot and fix, and I think we both were able to face the issues with a clear mind.
Though it is always awesome when teaching works exactly the way you hope, I use this not to brag, but actually to demonstrate a personal failing: when I am too close to the nitty-gritty of a problem, I tend to get caught up in it, unable to see a way out. I think this is why taking breaks, varying attack, talking to other people for their thoughts, etc, are such useful strategies.
This week also marked one of the first times I've really gotten down to work since my move, rather than just fussing through this and that. The way I got through it was forcing myself to use "Pomodroido" on my phone. This app uses the Pomodoro technique - it chunks time into 25-minute work sessions and 5-minute break sessions. I have the basic version, which doesn't block anything else, but since I started using it about a year ago, I've found that just having the timer sitting there helps me keep focus. Looking at "I have to get a ton done today and read this whole stack of books!!!!" always sends me into the sort of tailspin that means very little gets done, outside of a lot of Facebook browsing. Focusing on reading one chapter, or however much I can read, for a solid 25 minutes is easy, though. In my 5 minute breaks, I try to vary my activities entirely - play a round on Duolingo to think in Spanish for 5 minutes, get tea, check that same devilish Facebook, respond to e-mails, etc. Shifting my focus entirely for a few minutes always helps me get a clearer head so that I can focus entirely again for my next 25-minute chunk.
All of this is to say that personally, getting too fixated on tasks can be harmful, whether that fixation is on nit-picking a technique (or a paper), or on how much needs to get done. In aikido, we like circular motion, but I don't think circular thinking works nearly so well. For me, changing the topic and clearing the mind works so much better - it enables the return to a state of focused mu shin, or no-mind, which in turn enables productive work.
Friday, August 28, 2015
Sunday, August 16, 2015
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Sometimes, life hasn't caught up to thought. Right now, I'm in one of those spots. I'm waiting for my new dojo to take off (more on that later!), I'm waiting to get a library card at my husband's new university because I'm waiting to get some books, I'm waiting to get closer to my new friend group here which means waiting for our schedules to align in any reasonable type of way, I'm waiting to get in touch with the right people to send out feelers for future jobs... It feels like almost everything in my life is on pause for now, and I can't do much but sit it out.
But this is ok, as long as I'm ready for everything to start moving again. In aikido, there is a lot of waiting, though much of it is only for seconds at a time.
For example, in aikido, we follow the theory of "control the first move." This means that a practitioner never hits first, but can do her utmost to make sure any violence happens in an expected way. Thus, we learn to present an arm for a grab, because most attackers will grab a convenient target for example. On a more basic level, controlling the first move without making the first move simply means waiting for the other person - knowing when the ideal time is to react, and ensuring that the rapid reaction will be there when that first move is made. For me right now, this sort of thing translates to getting my job materials ready. I don't know when I'll get to talk to someone about a future post, but whenever that is, I will have sample syllabi to hand them!
One major subset of throws in aikido are kokyunage throws. I have heard this term glossed as "single breath" throws. In general, though, these throws rely on timing. Timing does not just mean knowing when to touch uke and act upon them, however. It also means the space between those movements. If nage acts too quickly, uke will have the chance to change the attack, or their momentum won't be in the right place for manipulation. Similarly, some of our longer, showier throws ("mat techniques") such as katatetori kokyunage (wrist grab timing throw) involve a lengthy pause while uke is moving around nage's static body. If nage moves, the motion of the throw will be changed, and it won't be as powerful.
What I see as the lesson here is that sometimes, waiting is useful, or at least not harmful. Things have to happen in their proper order, and can't be rushed before that. So, my challenge this week to myself and to you is to try to be more patient. Accept waiting, while preparing for action. This can make action more forceful, when it finally does happen. It also makes the intermediate time much less stressful and tense!
Now, a quick change of topic: I have a new dojo! Aikido Kokikai Orange County is just starting to become more official, so please look us up on various media, follow us, review us, and join us! So far, you can find us on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/aikidokokikaioc and https://www.facebook.com/groups/119960775015748/), Yelp (http://www.yelp.com/biz/aikido-kokikai-orange-county-newport-beach), and Meetups. There will certainly be a lot of cross-talk between that experience and my blog, as I will be cross-promoting obnoxiously, and surely getting much of my blog inspiration from my new training friends.
But this is ok, as long as I'm ready for everything to start moving again. In aikido, there is a lot of waiting, though much of it is only for seconds at a time.
For example, in aikido, we follow the theory of "control the first move." This means that a practitioner never hits first, but can do her utmost to make sure any violence happens in an expected way. Thus, we learn to present an arm for a grab, because most attackers will grab a convenient target for example. On a more basic level, controlling the first move without making the first move simply means waiting for the other person - knowing when the ideal time is to react, and ensuring that the rapid reaction will be there when that first move is made. For me right now, this sort of thing translates to getting my job materials ready. I don't know when I'll get to talk to someone about a future post, but whenever that is, I will have sample syllabi to hand them!
One major subset of throws in aikido are kokyunage throws. I have heard this term glossed as "single breath" throws. In general, though, these throws rely on timing. Timing does not just mean knowing when to touch uke and act upon them, however. It also means the space between those movements. If nage acts too quickly, uke will have the chance to change the attack, or their momentum won't be in the right place for manipulation. Similarly, some of our longer, showier throws ("mat techniques") such as katatetori kokyunage (wrist grab timing throw) involve a lengthy pause while uke is moving around nage's static body. If nage moves, the motion of the throw will be changed, and it won't be as powerful.
What I see as the lesson here is that sometimes, waiting is useful, or at least not harmful. Things have to happen in their proper order, and can't be rushed before that. So, my challenge this week to myself and to you is to try to be more patient. Accept waiting, while preparing for action. This can make action more forceful, when it finally does happen. It also makes the intermediate time much less stressful and tense!
Now, a quick change of topic: I have a new dojo! Aikido Kokikai Orange County is just starting to become more official, so please look us up on various media, follow us, review us, and join us! So far, you can find us on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/aikidokokikaioc and https://www.facebook.com/groups/119960775015748/), Yelp (http://www.yelp.com/biz/aikido-kokikai-orange-county-newport-beach), and Meetups. There will certainly be a lot of cross-talk between that experience and my blog, as I will be cross-promoting obnoxiously, and surely getting much of my blog inspiration from my new training friends.
Thursday, August 6, 2015
A Teacher as a Map
I recently got home after an absolutely amazing experience at Kokikai Summer Camp, including testing for and receiving my black belt. Certainly, there will be more to come on that in future, once I've internalized a bit more!
One of the best parts of this camp, for me, was a sudden realization about Sensei's (Shuji Maruyama, the founder of Kokikai, who we all turned out to see) motivations. A part of the camp which I've seen before many times has honestly always irked me: Sensei calls up a strong, stubborn guy for a ki test, throws him easily, and then demonstrates how other strong, stubborn blackbelts cannot throw the same person. While Sensei always emphasizes his smallness and says, "I can do it; you can do it," my perceived message was always the opposite - it always seemed to highlight the apparent inadequacy of some of the fittest, highest-ranked people in the practice. I always wondered why Sensei seemed so fixated on denigrating his own black belts, to the extent that this exhibition occurred multiple times every seminar weekend and camp, sometimes multiple times within a class.
BUT! Finally at this camp, things came together for me. After an entirely different demonstration, Sensei elaborated: (I paraphrase) "You must catch correct feeling. I cannot tell you how to do it, you have to find it yourself. I can be a map and show you how correct feeling works, how to find the way. If you catch the feeling yourself, you do not need the map, but until you do, see what I am showing you."
Suddenly, the rationale behind all of those ki tests became apparent to me. Good aikido is a feeling, and it feels different for everyone. Sure, many of us try to make it metaphorical when explaining to others, but the fact is, it cannot directly be taught. Elements leading towards correctness, yes. But not that tangible embodiment of correct feeling. So, all Sensei can do is take a technique that exemplifies correct feeling to him, and keep showing it. Through this, he can highlight the differences between his own relaxation and the buff men's tendency towards tenseness and conflict.
While this sort of demonstration is still not always my favorite mode of teaching (I'm far too verbal for that - imagine!), I think that it is something that all teachers should be incorporating. As someone who hopes for life as a professor, I spend a lot of thought in teaching, and particularly what made the teachers who inspired me just so inspirational. One thing that I think they all did was this type of leading by example. Tangible things (how to solve an equation, how to pronounce Middle English, how to structure an argument) can be taught through verbal, visual, multimodal instruction. These things take to how-to guides and textbooks very easily. What is not so easily taught, however, is feeling.
I think that this concept of "feeling" enters the classroom in several ways. Perhaps the most important is through passion for a subject. This is not really the feeling Sensei is demonstrating in that it has little to do with bodily configuration, controlled relaxation, etc, but I think is still vitally important. I'm sure everyone can attest to the fact that certain subjects sucked in high school (or middle school, or college) when taught by the person with the monotone voice who seemed to have lost all semblance of passion for anything long ago, and that those same subjects were amazing when taught by engaged people who seemed thrilled to get up and chat about these things inside and outside of the classroom. Passion for a discipline can't be taught or learned through particular steps or from a textbook, but it can be contagious from teacher to student.
Similarly, I think that there is a "correct feeling" for doing the process of academic pursuit. For me, it is a mu shin (no mind) state attained while writing. Ideally, it also includes complete engulfment into texts while reading, but that one is less common for me. I've heard from STEM people that they similarly fall into figuring out problems, getting trapped in their elegance. These feelings too cannot be taught, only learned through experience. Of course, they may not always produce perfect work the way Sensei's good ki produces consistently excellent results, but they are at least a step in the right direction.
I think that in general, there is a lot to be said for the teacher-as-map model, and also for the caveat that if you can find the way yourself, you can discard the map. That latter is not very likely though, so hold on to your maps and value them for everything they show!
One of the best parts of this camp, for me, was a sudden realization about Sensei's (Shuji Maruyama, the founder of Kokikai, who we all turned out to see) motivations. A part of the camp which I've seen before many times has honestly always irked me: Sensei calls up a strong, stubborn guy for a ki test, throws him easily, and then demonstrates how other strong, stubborn blackbelts cannot throw the same person. While Sensei always emphasizes his smallness and says, "I can do it; you can do it," my perceived message was always the opposite - it always seemed to highlight the apparent inadequacy of some of the fittest, highest-ranked people in the practice. I always wondered why Sensei seemed so fixated on denigrating his own black belts, to the extent that this exhibition occurred multiple times every seminar weekend and camp, sometimes multiple times within a class.
BUT! Finally at this camp, things came together for me. After an entirely different demonstration, Sensei elaborated: (I paraphrase) "You must catch correct feeling. I cannot tell you how to do it, you have to find it yourself. I can be a map and show you how correct feeling works, how to find the way. If you catch the feeling yourself, you do not need the map, but until you do, see what I am showing you."
Suddenly, the rationale behind all of those ki tests became apparent to me. Good aikido is a feeling, and it feels different for everyone. Sure, many of us try to make it metaphorical when explaining to others, but the fact is, it cannot directly be taught. Elements leading towards correctness, yes. But not that tangible embodiment of correct feeling. So, all Sensei can do is take a technique that exemplifies correct feeling to him, and keep showing it. Through this, he can highlight the differences between his own relaxation and the buff men's tendency towards tenseness and conflict.
While this sort of demonstration is still not always my favorite mode of teaching (I'm far too verbal for that - imagine!), I think that it is something that all teachers should be incorporating. As someone who hopes for life as a professor, I spend a lot of thought in teaching, and particularly what made the teachers who inspired me just so inspirational. One thing that I think they all did was this type of leading by example. Tangible things (how to solve an equation, how to pronounce Middle English, how to structure an argument) can be taught through verbal, visual, multimodal instruction. These things take to how-to guides and textbooks very easily. What is not so easily taught, however, is feeling.
I think that this concept of "feeling" enters the classroom in several ways. Perhaps the most important is through passion for a subject. This is not really the feeling Sensei is demonstrating in that it has little to do with bodily configuration, controlled relaxation, etc, but I think is still vitally important. I'm sure everyone can attest to the fact that certain subjects sucked in high school (or middle school, or college) when taught by the person with the monotone voice who seemed to have lost all semblance of passion for anything long ago, and that those same subjects were amazing when taught by engaged people who seemed thrilled to get up and chat about these things inside and outside of the classroom. Passion for a discipline can't be taught or learned through particular steps or from a textbook, but it can be contagious from teacher to student.
Similarly, I think that there is a "correct feeling" for doing the process of academic pursuit. For me, it is a mu shin (no mind) state attained while writing. Ideally, it also includes complete engulfment into texts while reading, but that one is less common for me. I've heard from STEM people that they similarly fall into figuring out problems, getting trapped in their elegance. These feelings too cannot be taught, only learned through experience. Of course, they may not always produce perfect work the way Sensei's good ki produces consistently excellent results, but they are at least a step in the right direction.
I think that in general, there is a lot to be said for the teacher-as-map model, and also for the caveat that if you can find the way yourself, you can discard the map. That latter is not very likely though, so hold on to your maps and value them for everything they show!
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