The other day, I stopped in at the local coffee shop where I bumped into the owner of the local mixed martial arts studio. We've met once or twice before, and our respective martial arts studios are about a two-minute walk apart from one another. But in truth, they couldn't be further apart.
He ordered a protein supplement drink; I ordered a chai tea. While we waited for our drinks, I tried to strike up a conversation by asking him how things were going at his studio.
"Great," he responded. "I think I've got one of my guys a slot in the UFC. We're just nailing down all the final details for his fight."
He was swelling with pride, and I congratulated him for his student's accomplishment. He then asked what I was up to.
"Things are great at our dojo, too," I said. "One of my students is in the middle of a community service project to deliver hand-made winter clothes to needy city kids, and I just wrapped up a diabetes awareness and prevention training class for at-risk youth at the local grade school."
I must admit that I was swelling with pride, too.
Immediately thereafter, though, our conversation sputtered, and died a decidedly ungraceful death. Never in the history of the world, I think, did two extremely passionate martial artists have less to say to one another!
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Friday, October 10, 2008
The Service-Oriented Dojo
In 1998, I was serving aboard the U.S.S. Wasp as part of the 26th Marine Expeditionary Unit on a deployment in the Mediterranean Sea. We had just completed combat operations in Bosnia and port calls in Spain, Turkey, and Greece. Halfway through our six-month deployment, I had visited parts of the world that I never expected to see.
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Being away from home was tough, but I believed that I was living the life of a modern warrior: I was a Marine captain in charge of a 25-person detachment and responsible for millions of dollars' worth of vehicles and sensitive equipment. We had been given an important intelligence-collecting mission, and shipboard life was exciting because our daily operations put us in real danger. Physically, I was in amazing shape. I was good at my job, and I loved it.
As a Marine, I had to understand classical and modern combat tactics and strategies, including battlefield logistics, the principles for deploying troops, the strengths and limitations of various weapons systems, the effects of terrain and weather on operations, and more. I spent a lot of time studying leadership traits and principles and working on my own professional military education.
My lifelong study of the Japanese martial arts, particularly karate, had influenced my concept of what a warrior should be. Naturally, I had read Sun Tzu's The Art of War, Miyamoto Musashi's The Book of Five Rings, and other ancient texts on warfare and fighting. My understanding of bushido affected my way of thinking and acting. I thought of myself as a kind of modern samurai, and I swelled with the pride of serving my country.
As busy as the deployment was, shipboard life provided me with ample time for reading, deep thinking, and introspection. I became obsessed with learning all I could about warriors and warriorship. My martial arts reading included books by the budo masters of the 20th century — men who emphasized the value of the martial arts beyond their physical applications. Gichin Funakoshi taught that the true aim of karate is the perfection of character; Jigoro Kano emphasized judo as a path of service and contribution; and Morihei Ueshiba focused on matters of spirit, expressing his love for all of humanity through aikido.
The works of anthropologists and sociologists taught me a great deal about the archetypal warrior. My personal definition of a warrior expanded beyond combatants and fighting to include those courageous, inspired, and disciplined individuals who dared to live an authentic life. Sun Tzu and Miyamoto Musashi were warriors, but in a broader sense, so were contemporary figures Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Mother Teresa, and Mahatma Gandhi. I discovered that warriors lacking martial prowess could still "fight" by taking committed action for equality, justice, and social change. You won't find this kind of thinking in any Marine Corps manual!
While at sea, I knew that I was doing meaningful work. I was living the life of a warrior. But the more I read, the more I realized that very little — if any — of my Marine training had touched upon the "softer" warrior qualities of mercy, gentleness, and generosity that I found myself reading more and more about. I felt out of balance, and deep inside I knew that a warrior's life — the kind of life that I really wanted to live, anyway — had to be something beyond what I was experiencing as a Marine. The tension between opposite aspects of the warrior archetype — the fierce combatant and the compassionate servant leader — was increasing within me, and soon enough, I was miserable.
I felt particularly melancholy about not being able to spend more time studying and practicing martial arts. Something had permanently shifted inside me. Stuck aboard ship, I realized that I deeply needed to follow a more meaningful warrior's path. Finally, one evening — as I sat on the Wasp's flight deck watching the sun set over the Greek islands — I decided that being a Marine wasn't what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.
A journal entry I made around that time reflected my true passions and goals:
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Being away from home was tough, but I believed that I was living the life of a modern warrior: I was a Marine captain in charge of a 25-person detachment and responsible for millions of dollars' worth of vehicles and sensitive equipment. We had been given an important intelligence-collecting mission, and shipboard life was exciting because our daily operations put us in real danger. Physically, I was in amazing shape. I was good at my job, and I loved it.As a Marine, I had to understand classical and modern combat tactics and strategies, including battlefield logistics, the principles for deploying troops, the strengths and limitations of various weapons systems, the effects of terrain and weather on operations, and more. I spent a lot of time studying leadership traits and principles and working on my own professional military education.
My lifelong study of the Japanese martial arts, particularly karate, had influenced my concept of what a warrior should be. Naturally, I had read Sun Tzu's The Art of War, Miyamoto Musashi's The Book of Five Rings, and other ancient texts on warfare and fighting. My understanding of bushido affected my way of thinking and acting. I thought of myself as a kind of modern samurai, and I swelled with the pride of serving my country.
As busy as the deployment was, shipboard life provided me with ample time for reading, deep thinking, and introspection. I became obsessed with learning all I could about warriors and warriorship. My martial arts reading included books by the budo masters of the 20th century — men who emphasized the value of the martial arts beyond their physical applications. Gichin Funakoshi taught that the true aim of karate is the perfection of character; Jigoro Kano emphasized judo as a path of service and contribution; and Morihei Ueshiba focused on matters of spirit, expressing his love for all of humanity through aikido.
The works of anthropologists and sociologists taught me a great deal about the archetypal warrior. My personal definition of a warrior expanded beyond combatants and fighting to include those courageous, inspired, and disciplined individuals who dared to live an authentic life. Sun Tzu and Miyamoto Musashi were warriors, but in a broader sense, so were contemporary figures Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Mother Teresa, and Mahatma Gandhi. I discovered that warriors lacking martial prowess could still "fight" by taking committed action for equality, justice, and social change. You won't find this kind of thinking in any Marine Corps manual!While at sea, I knew that I was doing meaningful work. I was living the life of a warrior. But the more I read, the more I realized that very little — if any — of my Marine training had touched upon the "softer" warrior qualities of mercy, gentleness, and generosity that I found myself reading more and more about. I felt out of balance, and deep inside I knew that a warrior's life — the kind of life that I really wanted to live, anyway — had to be something beyond what I was experiencing as a Marine. The tension between opposite aspects of the warrior archetype — the fierce combatant and the compassionate servant leader — was increasing within me, and soon enough, I was miserable.
I felt particularly melancholy about not being able to spend more time studying and practicing martial arts. Something had permanently shifted inside me. Stuck aboard ship, I realized that I deeply needed to follow a more meaningful warrior's path. Finally, one evening — as I sat on the Wasp's flight deck watching the sun set over the Greek islands — I decided that being a Marine wasn't what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.
A journal entry I made around that time reflected my true passions and goals:
"I want to open a martial arts school that focuses on character and community. I want to create an organization that can spread budo, assist the community, and create and provide role models. I also want to leave a mark that shows that I sought to be a part of something greater than myself, that I strove to achieve something worthwhile and inherently good. I'd like to touch other lives and share the martial experience with other people."
Shortly after we had returned to the States, I told my Marines that I would be leaving the Marine Corps. I intended to eventually open my own karate dojo so that I could serve the world in a much broader sense. I'm not entirely sure they understood me.
Today, I am the Chief Instructor at Emerald Necklace Martial Arts, the dojo I established in Boston in 2003. The dojo is built on a solid foundation of sweat, effort, and serious intent. I demand a lot from my students, and we cherish our warrior heritage. We train hard, and the physical training we experience together forms part of our common bond.
Teaching students to defend themselves is a responsibility that I take very seriously. As an instructor, I feel it is my duty to accurately and passionately transfer the knowledge of kata and techniques that my teachers have given to me. Physical mastery is a worthy goal for any martial artist, but technical and tactical proficiency is a must for any Black Belt! If push ever comes to shove, I'm confident that when properly applied, the techniques we learn and practice on the mat will work "out on the street."
An understanding of martial arts history and philosophy gives us sorely needed perspective, balance, and wisdom. So in addition to all of the physical training that happens at the dojo, we study hard, too. I ask my students to complete various reading and writing assignments as they progress through the ranks to help develop their character and their appreciation of the martial virtues of respect, loyalty, and gratitude.
But I believe that to be truly relevant in modern times, the martial arts — and the artists who practice them — must transcend physical "self-defense." We must also go beyond book learning and academic knowledge of important karate names, dates, and places. I am called to inspire my students to think differently, to discover their own talents, and then to use those talents to engage and serve the world in a positive way.
For this reason, community service has become part of my dojo's DNA. My students conceive of, plan, and lead their own service projects to earn their karate belts. This project-based approach to rank testing provides my students with opportunities for personal development by building their leadership skills and confidence and by stretching their ability to organize and communicate. Any mistakes they make while testing in the supportive atmosphere of the dojo are part of the learning process.
The projects that my students choose connect their karate training to their world, their life, and the things that they consider important. Our collective portfolio of good deeds includes local park cleanups, fundraisers, food drives, housing builds, and benefit concerts. A few of our projects have been far-reaching: In 2007, we sent 1,000 origami cranes to Hiroshima, Japan, in the name of peace, and more recently, we helped with a translation project to benefit girls and women in Kenya and Nairobi. We are having a positive impact on the world!
Ten years after my overseas deployment, the service-oriented dojo that I envisioned has become a reality. The dojo has become a community that serves the community, and it provides a unique, structured environment — outside of the home, place of worship, and workplace — in which people can connect with one another, form new relationships, share ideas, and creatively express themselves. We engage in rigorous self-defense training several nights each week, but by and large, no one in the dojo is training for a real physical fight. Indeed, the dojo members form a group of warriors that is much different from the Marines I served with 10 years ago! But like the Marines, we are doing important work — and we are making a difference. And I truly believe that we are fulfilling the vision that the budo masters had for the martial arts.
It has become my mission to do something honorable with all of my accumulated martial arts knowledge and experience — something that goes beyond my function as a link in the chain of teachers and students and students who become teachers. The measure of whether or not I have been successful will have nothing to do with how good my side kick is or how many trophies sit in my dojo's window. If my students simply earn a reputation for powerfully serving the community, that will be enough.
Today, I am the Chief Instructor at Emerald Necklace Martial Arts, the dojo I established in Boston in 2003. The dojo is built on a solid foundation of sweat, effort, and serious intent. I demand a lot from my students, and we cherish our warrior heritage. We train hard, and the physical training we experience together forms part of our common bond.
Teaching students to defend themselves is a responsibility that I take very seriously. As an instructor, I feel it is my duty to accurately and passionately transfer the knowledge of kata and techniques that my teachers have given to me. Physical mastery is a worthy goal for any martial artist, but technical and tactical proficiency is a must for any Black Belt! If push ever comes to shove, I'm confident that when properly applied, the techniques we learn and practice on the mat will work "out on the street."An understanding of martial arts history and philosophy gives us sorely needed perspective, balance, and wisdom. So in addition to all of the physical training that happens at the dojo, we study hard, too. I ask my students to complete various reading and writing assignments as they progress through the ranks to help develop their character and their appreciation of the martial virtues of respect, loyalty, and gratitude.
But I believe that to be truly relevant in modern times, the martial arts — and the artists who practice them — must transcend physical "self-defense." We must also go beyond book learning and academic knowledge of important karate names, dates, and places. I am called to inspire my students to think differently, to discover their own talents, and then to use those talents to engage and serve the world in a positive way.
For this reason, community service has become part of my dojo's DNA. My students conceive of, plan, and lead their own service projects to earn their karate belts. This project-based approach to rank testing provides my students with opportunities for personal development by building their leadership skills and confidence and by stretching their ability to organize and communicate. Any mistakes they make while testing in the supportive atmosphere of the dojo are part of the learning process.
The projects that my students choose connect their karate training to their world, their life, and the things that they consider important. Our collective portfolio of good deeds includes local park cleanups, fundraisers, food drives, housing builds, and benefit concerts. A few of our projects have been far-reaching: In 2007, we sent 1,000 origami cranes to Hiroshima, Japan, in the name of peace, and more recently, we helped with a translation project to benefit girls and women in Kenya and Nairobi. We are having a positive impact on the world!
Ten years after my overseas deployment, the service-oriented dojo that I envisioned has become a reality. The dojo has become a community that serves the community, and it provides a unique, structured environment — outside of the home, place of worship, and workplace — in which people can connect with one another, form new relationships, share ideas, and creatively express themselves. We engage in rigorous self-defense training several nights each week, but by and large, no one in the dojo is training for a real physical fight. Indeed, the dojo members form a group of warriors that is much different from the Marines I served with 10 years ago! But like the Marines, we are doing important work — and we are making a difference. And I truly believe that we are fulfilling the vision that the budo masters had for the martial arts.It has become my mission to do something honorable with all of my accumulated martial arts knowledge and experience — something that goes beyond my function as a link in the chain of teachers and students and students who become teachers. The measure of whether or not I have been successful will have nothing to do with how good my side kick is or how many trophies sit in my dojo's window. If my students simply earn a reputation for powerfully serving the community, that will be enough.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Finding the Courage to Lay Low
I, like many people this week, spent some time trying to make sense of the recent outbreak of violence between Georgia and Russia. While doing so, I pulled out a topographical map of the region to get a better feel of the area's geography, and I discovered that Georgia is a lowland country surrounded by mountains. Observing the mountainous area, and the relative sizes of the two nations in question, I was immediately reminded of the advice of the sage Lao Tzu:
I'm left to wonder, can Georgia, the small country, lower itself before Russia, the great one? Can Russia, the great country, find a way to do the same? I read "lowering" in Lao Tzu's passage to mean remaining still and observing situations with humility, awareness, and compassion. An image comes to mind of bending down to listen to the wisdom that's inherent in a blade of grass. And that requires silence. And discipline, too. And perhaps even a willingness to appear vulnerable.
Might these two nations — one great and one small — benefit by following the advice to lay low? Of course. And in our own personal conflicts, can we summon the will to resist the urge to attack or to counter? Can we find a way embrace the feminine, and win by stooping? I think so.
But that's a much harder thing to do than fighting, it seems.
In the news this morning, I receive the wave of reports of troop movements and bombings as well as all the posturing, fault finding, tough talk, accusations, and finger pointing among the leaders of Georgia and Russia. At the same time, the papers and news websites are closely examining the reactions of our own president and presidential candidates, labeling them as "milquetoast," "bellicose," and "measured."A great country is like a lowland,
Toward which all streams flow.
It is the reservoir of all under heaven,
The feminine of the world.
The female overcomes the male with stillness,
By lowering herself through her quietness.
So if a great country lowers itself before a small one,
It wins friendship and trust.
And if a small country can lower itself before a great one,
It will win over that "great" country.
The one wins by stooping;
The other, by remaining low.— Tao Te Ching, 61
I'm left to wonder, can Georgia, the small country, lower itself before Russia, the great one? Can Russia, the great country, find a way to do the same? I read "lowering" in Lao Tzu's passage to mean remaining still and observing situations with humility, awareness, and compassion. An image comes to mind of bending down to listen to the wisdom that's inherent in a blade of grass. And that requires silence. And discipline, too. And perhaps even a willingness to appear vulnerable.
Might these two nations — one great and one small — benefit by following the advice to lay low? Of course. And in our own personal conflicts, can we summon the will to resist the urge to attack or to counter? Can we find a way embrace the feminine, and win by stooping? I think so.
But that's a much harder thing to do than fighting, it seems.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Beware of the Dream Killers
I recently sat down to catch up with a long time mentor and friend of mine, who asked about some of the things I've been working on. Particularly, he asked about my dojo, and about my plans to expand it by growing our membership and moving into a larger, more expensive training space.
Move forward I will. Becuase to not move forward would be to deny my own heart. To not move forward would crush my spirit. (Just imagine asking DaVinci not to create!)
My friend was sincerely curious; He has always given me sound advice. I rely on him because I know he's always got my best interests in mind. But during our conversation, I got the uncomfortable sense that he was hoping that I'd back off just a bit from my ambitious goals. He didn't say these words, but during our conversation I could hear, "Come on, man. Be reasonable. The risk is big, the payoff uncertain, and you've got your career and family to think about... Why don't you just play it safe?"
My dear friend, I hear you. Thank you for your genuine concerns.
My dear friend, I hear you. I promise that I won't do anything (too) rash. I'll develop reasonable plans and strategies as I move forward. I'll be careful, but I can't play it safe. I know there are no guarantees. But I also know that this is something I have to do. It's a calling. I don't expect you to understand.
Move forward I will. Becuase to not move forward would be to deny my own heart. To not move forward would crush my spirit. (Just imagine asking DaVinci not to create!) My dear friend, I hear you. But I'm listening to my heart today, and not (entirely) to you. Today, I'm playing "all out."
So please, I ask, with all the love I can muster: Get behind me, or get out of the way.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
If a picture is worth 1,000 words...
If a picture is worth 1,000 words, then how much is ACTION worth?
Out of the Dojo from Speaking of Faith on Vimeo.
I believe that the martial arts have the power to transform us.
This particular video really resonates with me — it's from Mr. Tom Callos, my mentor and UBBT coach. Like Tom, I believe that the martial arts are more than just knife hand chops. (Don't they need to be?)
But, as I said in my last post, this is only true if we make it so through our words, thinking, and acting. The martial arts have the power to transform us, but only if we're actively — and constantly — looking for the "other" lessons in every class, every repetition, every kata, every bow, every injury, and every sparring match.
And I'll go even further here: if we don't FIND the powerful life lessons inherent in our martial arts training, then might we dare have the courage to CREATE new, original, and meaningful lessons and experiences by taking the essence of our martial arts training and applying it in our daily lives?
Wow, if we could do that, then we really would be "martial ARTISTS," wouldn't we? That's what I think Sensei Richard Kim meant when he talked about becoming an "Artist of Life."
This is becoming the focus of my martial arts training and — for whatever it may be worth — my martial arts teaching, too.
Out of the Dojo from Speaking of Faith on Vimeo.
I believe that the martial arts have the power to transform us.
This particular video really resonates with me — it's from Mr. Tom Callos, my mentor and UBBT coach. Like Tom, I believe that the martial arts are more than just knife hand chops. (Don't they need to be?)
But, as I said in my last post, this is only true if we make it so through our words, thinking, and acting. The martial arts have the power to transform us, but only if we're actively — and constantly — looking for the "other" lessons in every class, every repetition, every kata, every bow, every injury, and every sparring match.
And I'll go even further here: if we don't FIND the powerful life lessons inherent in our martial arts training, then might we dare have the courage to CREATE new, original, and meaningful lessons and experiences by taking the essence of our martial arts training and applying it in our daily lives?
Wow, if we could do that, then we really would be "martial ARTISTS," wouldn't we? That's what I think Sensei Richard Kim meant when he talked about becoming an "Artist of Life."
This is becoming the focus of my martial arts training and — for whatever it may be worth — my martial arts teaching, too.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Some Day It Will All Be Over
I do karate. I've been doing it for years and years. THANKS, MOM, for enrolling me in that first class back when I was six or seven.
But some day, it will all be over. I'll take off my gi and black belt for the last time, and collapse into the rocking chair on the porch — with a knowing smile on my face. Thinking back on my martial arts journey, perhaps flipping through an old photo album, I'll remember all the years of tough training, belt examinations, and tournaments. The long trips, triumphs, defeats, and injuries, too. Ahh, the good ol' days...
But more than any of that, I'll remember my friends — my teachers, dojo mates, and students — who took the journey with me, and helped me to grow.
The martial arts are more than just knife hand chops. Everybody knows that. But it's only "really" true if we make it so through our words, thinking, and acting. The martial arts have the power to transform us, but only if we're actively — and constantly — looking for the "other" lessons. I've come to realize that it doesn't really matter what you "do." It's about what you do WITH what you do that matters.
I do karate. Your particular vehicle could be yoga, or African dance, or music, or golf, NASCAR, basket weaving, or ... whatever. I've come to realize that in the end, it doesn't really matter what we're doing — if we seek deeper meaning, value, contribution, and transformation, we will eventually find it. So, where does "your thing" take you?
Today, I can't help but wonder, "What is my 'karate legacy' going to be?" While I've certainly thrown a lot of kicks and punches, the story doesn't end there. (Actually, the story only starts with the physical stuff... it loses its importance eventually!) Karate has connected me to community, to teamwork, to self-knowledge, to making a difference in the world and in people's lives.
I do karate. But, when I'm done with all of this... When I've thrown that last roundhouse kick… When I finally bow into the Big Dojo In The Sky... What will it all MEAN? Will people remember me for my kata performances, board breaking ability, or my side kick?
Geez, I really hope not.
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