I Wish I Could Do More

I've done a lot of amazing things in my life, and still, I wish I could do more.

• I'd like to learn a sword art.
  
  
• I'd like to be more at ease with my yoga and meditation practice.
  
  
• I'd like to be more conversant in another language.
  
  
• I'd like to read more books. (Shoot, I'd like to write more books!)
  
  
• There are UBBT events that I'd like to attend, but I can't get to them.
  
  
• There's a tournament coming up this fall in Sacramento. And as much as I'd like to be there to support the event, I won't be there.
  
  
• I wish I could cure my daughter's diabetes. I never went to medical school, so I'm depending on a lot of good people to get that one crossed off my list.
  
  
• I'd like to go on a month-long backpacking expedition in Peru or Nepal — or both. (And I want to afford college and a comfortable retirement)

I could go on and on. There's so much more I want to learn and experience, but I'm constrained by the realities of time, energy, finances, age, physical limitations, personal choices, and of course, my lovingly upheld obligations to family. Damn!

But then again, so is everyone else.

Every day, we all get the same 24 hours. So no, I'm not making excuses for all the things I've failed to do or accomplish. I'm not feeling sorry for myself, either. Rather, today I'm just facing — perhaps really for the first time — the stark reality that while I know for sure that I can accomplish ANYTHING that I want to do in my life, I can't possibly accomplish EVERYTHING that I want to do.

So some tough choices need to be made.

It's time for me to re-organize and re-prioritize my "big to-do list" based on what I REALLY want. I can do anything I want to do, but I won't get to it all. Because the clock is ticking on my life.

I'm in need of some serious focus. So today I ask myself this: When I'm lying on my death bed (hopefully many, many, many years from now, resting comfortably and content in the company of loved ones who adore me), what will I regret having not done?

Revisiting The Black Belt Traits

In our dojo, we frequently focus on a list of virtues that I have come to call the "Black Belt Traits." The list is designed to help answer the question, "What qualities and personality characteristics should students from our dojo exemplify in their lives and daily actions?"

A few years back, I assembled the list of Black Belt Traits (respect, compassion, gratitude, patience, integrity, discipline, responsibility) from my own experiences and introspection, plus a number of martial sources, including the samurai code of Bushido, the European feudal knight's code of chivalry, and the leadership principles and core values of the United States Marine Corps. It's not a bad list, but is it a complete one?

I recently participated in an interesting conversation about the classical and modern martial virtues, in which a number of other values and character traits were mentioned. "Honor," "courage," and "right action" were discussed. (There was even an interesting digression about the virtues of "revenge" and "ritual suicide," but the conversation eventually got back on track.)

Opinions were all over the board. But it all got me thinking: There's certainly lots of value in our classical and modern martial virtues, but as modern-day martial artists (i.e., individuals not engaged as professional warriors, living lives in which, generally, the likelihood of facing mortal combat or deadly physical assault is fairly low), might we also add some positive, but decidedly non-martial qualities to our list of the values that we seek to embody?

Today, I'm thinking about "Generosity" and "Kindness."

On Community Activism and the Martial Arts

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You Can't Push A String!

On Friday mornings during the school year, I teach an hour-long "enrichment" karate class to a group of 4th and 5th graders at a local elementary school before I head into work for the day. It's usually a fun and rewarding class: I get to do what I love with a great group of enthusiastic and energetic kids. We practice kicks and punches, we talk about martial arts in the movies, we have great conversations about respect and discipline, and I teach a little about karate history and philosophy along the way.

Last week, however, I started to teach a new group, and it was a total nightmare: the kids were inattentive, disrespectful, and noisy from the very beginning. It must have been the nice weather on a Friday before a long weekend, or so I thought. The students' poor behavior spiraled quickly downward to the point that I felt that I could no longer conduct a safe class. I made several attempts to regain control, but I failed each time. So as much as I hated to do it, I retreated to my last resort: I brought the kids back into their classroom, and I directed them to sit down and read silently at their desks for the rest of the period. And at the end of the hour, I left the school feeling defeated and dejected.

Ugh.

So last night I found myself dreading returning to my Friday morning class to endure another frustrating and disappointing experience. While preparing dinner, I sighed and said to my wife, "Man, I just don't know what I'm gonna do with these kids tomorrow."

She simply responded with a smile as she chopped the vegetables for our salad. "Well, dear, you're going to teach them," she said.

And, bam, it hit me:

How ironic was it that I could be confident facing an armed aggressor, and yet be apprehensive about the prospect of engaging a small group of unruly 11-year olds? Had all my years of training taught me nothing? Where was the all fearlessness and determination that I've learned in the dojo? Where had my ability to endure hardship gone? Where was my mastery? Had I lost the desire to help and inspire others with and through my art? No!

So I put on a new attitude on my way to class this morning. I assembled a lesson plan that would engage and amaze even the most unimpressable child. I downed a cup of coffee, and headed off to class full of energy and excitement.

Within the first 5 minutes of class, I got some feedback:

"This is stupid."

"Can we do something else?"

"I don't like karate."

"This is so boring."

Then the side conversations started, followed quickly with fooling around that led to pushing and shoving and posturing among the children. %@*#&! I'd lost the class again!

Once more I stopped teaching, directed the kids back to their desks, and had each of them open a book for silent reading. And then I realized that that's probably exactly what they wanted to do this morning in the first place.

My sensei once told me, "You can't push a string." He's right. No one learns karate or appreciates what it has to offer unless they truly want to. It's something that can't be forced. You can't win 'em all, I guess. But what the heck am I gonna do for next week's class?

The Albert Einstein Theory of Self-Defense

I received an interesting phone call last night: A gentleman called our dojo to ask how long it would take him to become proficient at self-defense if he were to begin training with us. I resisted the urge to babble on about the history of our art. I didn't want to tout the effectiveness of the techniques that I teach when they are applied to "real-life street situations." And, I also didn't want to give a vague, "well, that depends on a number of factors..." kind of response.

I was curious, so I decided to listen.

"That's a great question," I said. "Can you tell me why you're asking it?"

The answer I got was interesting:

"Well, I just think that the way things are going in the world today, I think it would be a good idea if I learned how to take care of myself."

Hearing this, I asked a few quick probing questions to try to determine if the man on the phone was in any immediate danger. Given my background and experience, I feel an obligation to provide training, information, and resources to anyone in need. Physical safety comes first, before trying to enroll a new student or impress someone with my knowledge and/or personal skills.

But I got the sense that the man on the other end of the phone was not specifically threatened. Rather, he seemed to be feeling pessimistic and increasingly insecure about the world we live in. And who can blame him? There are shootings and muggings in the city every day. People are tense and nervous about the economy and its inevitable effect on civility. The evidence of impending doom is all around us, and it all gets piped into our homes in multimedia, full-color, high-definition — with stereo surround sound to boot.

I told the man that if he was interested in learning about physical self-defense and safety, we could certainly accommodate him. After all, we are a karate school, and we are in the business of teaching blocks and strikes to people of all ages and levels of ability. "But," I told him, "true self-defense is about awareness and avoidance of physical conflict, even if you are very good at punching people in the face."

Even as the words left my mouth, though, I was reminded of a quote often attributed to Albert Einstein, wherein he supposedly stated that the most important decision we make is whether we believe we live in a friendly or hostile universe. The thinking goes that one's answer to that question will determine one's destiny.

So, I then started to talk to the man on the phone about the underlying values of our dojo, and that while we take the study of our art very seriously, we are also committed to changing the world by making positive contributions to it.

"We also practice self-defense by getting involved in our neighborhoods and our communities and by hanging around people that share common values and a desire for peace. I believe that our actions make a difference, and that by taking these positive actions, we ultimately make ourselves — and our families and our communities — happier, and healthier, and safer."

Before he hung up the phone, the gentlemen thanked me, and he told me that he would consider coming in for a trial class.