Jen’s Aikido Origin

It is a long story, but in my defense, it does span almost 20 years and covers pretty much my entire adult life. I did manage to cut it down from the original five pages, but eventually got tired of (re)editing it.

I had zero exposure to martial arts growing up. During orientation week of freshman year of college, I went to an activities fair, as you do. I remember a group of people in white outfits doing rolls on a mat. It looked boring and pointless. Naturally, I did not sign up for anything, not being a “joiner.”

Later that week, a dormmate stopped by on her way to some activity and asked if I wanted to join. I surprised myself by accepting; I think I was hoping for better success at an activity where I was supposed to punch people rather than converse with them. This was not Aikido. The activity was Tang Soo Do, a Korean martial art. It was unlike anything I had ever done before. I do not recall immediately loving it, but I continued to go to practices and it grew into a huge part of my life for the next 9 years.

I don’t actually remember why I started Aikido sometime later in freshman year. I do clearly remember an episode from that time, which I think is related. A group of us were watching somemovie in one of the dorm rooms. At this point, I would have been an orange or green belt in Tang Soo Do. I had learned all kinds of techniques and was stronger than I’d ever been andcould do AT LEAST 20 pushups! Right. I thought I was a badass… Teenagers are dumb. Naturally, I challenged one of my dormmates to a wrestling duel for the last beer. 

He was this scrawny, never-been-to-a-gym-class-in-his-life kind of computer nerd. He held me down without even trying. I was trying—hard. He could have done anything to me that he wanted. He was so much stronger simply for being male, that all my training was irrelevant. Just a few seconds of helplessness(in a 100% safe and non-threatening situation with a totally harmless guy) significantly changed my perspective—on a lot more than just my martial arts practice. 

After that experience, an art that does not rely on strength seemed like a good way to round out my martial arts education. It was a little after joining the aikido club that I realized those were, in fact, the same weirdos I’d seen doing rolls at the activity fair that first week. 

I really struggled with Aikido. In retrospect, I’m astonished I didn’t give up on it. It was so frustrating. In the interests of reassuring and/or terrifying the newer students, as well as improving my own mental health, I will go over some of them.

• Complexity

In Tang Soo Do, each technique involves a single step and two positions for each hand. Each movement is precise—the feet and hands placed just so, the elbows and knees at exact angles. For the first year or so of study, there are a fairly limited number of techniques, each drilled over and over in exactly same way. By contrast, each Aikido technique can have 2-5 foot movementsand ~3 different arm positions--all somehow combined into one smooth movement. Then there’s ura. Different techniques or variations are presented EVERY class, not usually drilled repetitively.

• Working in a partnership

Even if I were talented enough to perfectly copy all 12 or so movements of the instructor after a demonstration, it would still be wrong. Since the correct movements for nage rely on the movements of uke, the technique is actually slightly different every time. So, it was apparently impossible to do any technique correctly.

• Trying harder made it worse

In Tang Soo Do, even if my technique was not perfect, if I put more effort into it, then it was better. My effort and determination made the technique better, even if the form was imperfect. In Aikido, if I tried harder at a technique I didn’t quite understand (basically every technique) I just risked hurting people. Not only was I even worse at Aikido when I tried harder; I was dangerous.

The whole thing just seemed completely impossible. As for why I kept at it, I think it was a number of things. Although I didn’t really get the techniques, the instructors and senior students embodied some characteristics that I wanted to develop in myself and a community I wanted to share. These were things like inner peace, self-acceptance, and compassion as an expression of strength (as opposed to being nice to people so they will like you, or because that’s what’s expected of girls). I felt my frustrations to be a symptom of my own immaturity or weakness and so stubbornly kept on with some vague idea that I would overcome it by beating my head against it. I appreciated Aikido as the counter-point to the rigid hierarchy and belt-rank factory aspects of Tang Soo Do. Finally, I remember, very rarely, a sense of euphoria during or just after class. It was as if everything had clicked, just for a moment, and it felt like magic.

While I did stick with it, Aikido class attendance was the first casualty of any other stressors in my life, or of simply being too busy. When I did a semester abroad, though I did see people practicing Aikido, I only practiced Shotokan Karate (my host father was a 5th dan). Now, I really regret not having tried Aikido in Senegal.

When I started medical school in Boston, my teacher’s teacher (Kanai Sensei) had already died and his students split into two dojos. I joined the off-shoot dojo as most of my sensei’s friends had gone there and I had already started Iaido practice there. I continued my on-again off-again Aikido attendance through med school. I also continued my much more faithful practice of Tang Soo Do/Soo Bahk Do.

I remember (after ~5 years of practice) finally preparing for my first ever test and coming to the massive realization that it IS helpful to learn actual techniques and their names. I had avoided testing previously because it didn’t seem relevant.  My solution to the frustration was to stop trying so hard to do or to understand everything perfectly—and also to try to stop caring about whether I was any good at it or not (easier said than done). During class, I would attempt some general movements that more or less resembled what the instructor had done—with little or no awareness of what technique, if any, it was supposed to be. Maybe I was practicing with the true beginners’ mindset every class?

After 5 years (aided by test preparation), I finally had learned enough to start to identify when an instructor was demonstrating a version of a specific technique. Around this time, and over the next few years, I started to be able to really feel the power in thetechniques and, through them, to sense some of that Aikido philosophy I had heard and read about. Prior to feeling it for myself, it just sounded like so much gobbledy-guck.

During my 5 years of surgical residency, I did not do any martial arts at all. After graduating, I found the Aikido club at the University of Iowa and attended practices for a few months, until I found that life as a grown-up surgeon was even busier and more stressful than in training. 

Another couple of years went by, and I tried again with Iowa City Aikikai (no longer university affiliated). This time, it stuck. I was still busy, but I needed the community and the movementat that time more than I needed a few precious hours to myself. I also really enjoyed the sci fi/fantasy book club/film appreciation aspect of our somewhat informal classes. While I value our more focused practice at East Lake, I also believe that being able to perform techniques and ukemi while in the midst of an argument about whether a Klingon-Vulcan hybrid or Klingon-Betazoid hybrid is more ridiculous is a great example of Mushin. Just as with learning meditation, before you are advanced enough to truly empty your mind, you first learn to fill it with something else—like breathing…or Klingons.

My practice now is very different from when I was in my 20’s. Perhaps I just needed to grow up a little. After ~8 years of not practicing, I was suddenly able to feel Uke’s movement in a wayI do not recall being able to before. The frustration is gone, mostly. When I am lost, I can embrace the lost-ness and focus on generally copying the movements, without any expectation of understanding or success, while still enjoying the practice of Aikido. I still have to remind myself not to (mentally or physically) try to grab onto anything too hard, or else risk hurting myself and others. I have learned that for my practice, I develop understanding through movement, rather than from trying to understand. Whatever understanding I am capable of will eventually come to me once my body has learned it (as long as I continue to practice), so there is really nothing to try to figure out. I also now find it relaxing, rather than frustrating, to do something where it doesn’t matter if I’m any good, providing a good counterpoint to my job.

So, Aikido continues to be one of the more valuable parts of my life, for the community and the practice in and of itself. I enjoy the mental focus and the peace that brings, connecting meaningfully with others without having to even talk, the physical movement, and the non-combative/combative nature of it.