I get this question a lot, along with "how long have you been studying?" I always answer. "i'm a very very low rank." and "i haven't been studying nearly long enough." The questions usually stop after that.
I'm always surprised when I hear students or instructors announce their rank or when they will be tested/promoted.
It's that darn vertical space again.
A dear friend a long long time ago, made the following comment about that...
"There are those people that will ensure everyone knows what rank they are. Those that shout their rank from the roof tops, are not true martial artists. They are just playing at martial arts. It's more important for them, and their egos, for other people to know that they study martial arts."
"The people that really know martial arts, accept their rank, and promptly hide it away. The higher the rank, the more they will hide it away -- finding a way to be less obvious, more hidden -- not drawing attention to themselves in anyway. They will hide their faces and be as inconspicuous as possible. Those are the true masters."
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
How Long Have you Been Studying Martial Arts? ... Conversations with a Buddhist Monk
Apart from being descended from a long line of master calligraphers, the Buddhist Monk was also descended from long lineage of Kyudo Masters. He said that sometimes people ask how long he’s been studying (Kyudo).
He said: "This is a silly question."
As he continued to explain -- he comes from a family that is 800 years old. Every time he picks up the bow, he has generations that have gone before him. His father told him that maybe in 10 generations from now, one of them may be finally able to hold the bow correctly.
He said: "This is a silly question."
As he continued to explain -- he comes from a family that is 800 years old. Every time he picks up the bow, he has generations that have gone before him. His father told him that maybe in 10 generations from now, one of them may be finally able to hold the bow correctly.
The Trouble with Questions ... Conversations with a Buddhist Monk
The Buddhist Monk that I met with came from a long lineage of master calligraphers. When he was a small boy in the monestary, his father showed him a brush that had been passed down through his family, made by his great grandfather.
He asked his father what kind of hair the brush was made of. His father hit him hard on the head.
His father hit him hard -- because in the monestary you don’t ask questions. Because when you ask questions, it’s ego. The more you ask, the more you want to know and you start building in the vertical space – rather than finding the answer and the truth on your own.
He asked his father what kind of hair the brush was made of. His father hit him hard on the head.
His father hit him hard -- because in the monestary you don’t ask questions. Because when you ask questions, it’s ego. The more you ask, the more you want to know and you start building in the vertical space – rather than finding the answer and the truth on your own.
Vertical Space ... Conversations with a Buddhist Monk
Originally I had been put in contact with the Buddhist Monk because he was a master calligrapher -- and I was looking for someone to create a piece of calligraphy for a gift.
Our first initial contact was over the phone. After a few minutes of discussion, he invited me to his office to discuss the matter further. When I arrived. I sat down and was served tea.
He looked at me quietly, took a breath and then preceded to tell me that many many people come to him and ask him to create gifts for people, but that they don't understand. He paused. Fiddled with a few things in office, then continued...
"I try and explain to them. To give a gift is ego. Ego of building yourself up and drawing attention to yourself. It has to do with vertical space. In Japanese, the vertical space is stacking one thing on top of another. Eventually it will topple. That’s why in Japanese gardens you never see vertical fountains going up and down. It's not natural. It upsets the rhythm. That's why Japanese gardens focus on horizontal space, where everything is in a line. The water is more of a stream a trickle."
In an earlier post, I mentioned challenges with Ego. From my conversation with him, I understood ego to mean building yourself up, making yourself seem higher, drawing attention to yourself -- vertical space. But vertical space upsets the rhythm. It's not natural ... and it will eventually topple.
We all struggle with ego at one time or another, expecially in the martial arts -- either our own ego or someone else's. The challenge is to not create vertical space. Horizontal space creates harmony.
Our first initial contact was over the phone. After a few minutes of discussion, he invited me to his office to discuss the matter further. When I arrived. I sat down and was served tea.
He looked at me quietly, took a breath and then preceded to tell me that many many people come to him and ask him to create gifts for people, but that they don't understand. He paused. Fiddled with a few things in office, then continued...
"I try and explain to them. To give a gift is ego. Ego of building yourself up and drawing attention to yourself. It has to do with vertical space. In Japanese, the vertical space is stacking one thing on top of another. Eventually it will topple. That’s why in Japanese gardens you never see vertical fountains going up and down. It's not natural. It upsets the rhythm. That's why Japanese gardens focus on horizontal space, where everything is in a line. The water is more of a stream a trickle."
In an earlier post, I mentioned challenges with Ego. From my conversation with him, I understood ego to mean building yourself up, making yourself seem higher, drawing attention to yourself -- vertical space. But vertical space upsets the rhythm. It's not natural ... and it will eventually topple.
We all struggle with ego at one time or another, expecially in the martial arts -- either our own ego or someone else's. The challenge is to not create vertical space. Horizontal space creates harmony.
One brush, one school ... Conversations with a Buddhist Monk
I'm including excerpts from a conversation that I had with a Buddhist monk, into my blog. Not because I'm Buddhist, I'm not. But because his stories had a lot of relevance to things that happen within the dojo.
One of the first stories he told me, was a story from when he was a child. When he was a child in Japan, he was messing around and playing with some paint brushes, as children are apt to do. His grandfather saw him and told him to stop. As part of his punishment, his grandfather told him to count how many hairs were in the brush. He spent 3 hours counting the hairs in the brush. He counted the hairs in groups of ten and would wrap each group in a small piece of paper as not to lose his count. His grandfather came back some time later and asked him how many hairs he had counted -- he said 4,300 hairs.
His grandfather then told him to put the brush into the paint. He did. The grandfather then asked, how many hairs there were now. He said he couldn't count them now because they were all stuck together. That lesson stuck with him the longest.
As we continued talking it became apparent that he was talking about how we are all one. One, made up of many. The students in a dojo are many, but when we all work together, there are no more differences, there are no more individuals. The hairs in the brush become one in order to create a brush stroke. We are one school, one class, one lineage, one history, one student made up of many.
I took notes on our conversation later. I re-read this story every time I separate myself from the group of students that I study with. There is no separation. We are one in the same.
One of the first stories he told me, was a story from when he was a child. When he was a child in Japan, he was messing around and playing with some paint brushes, as children are apt to do. His grandfather saw him and told him to stop. As part of his punishment, his grandfather told him to count how many hairs were in the brush. He spent 3 hours counting the hairs in the brush. He counted the hairs in groups of ten and would wrap each group in a small piece of paper as not to lose his count. His grandfather came back some time later and asked him how many hairs he had counted -- he said 4,300 hairs.
His grandfather then told him to put the brush into the paint. He did. The grandfather then asked, how many hairs there were now. He said he couldn't count them now because they were all stuck together. That lesson stuck with him the longest.
As we continued talking it became apparent that he was talking about how we are all one. One, made up of many. The students in a dojo are many, but when we all work together, there are no more differences, there are no more individuals. The hairs in the brush become one in order to create a brush stroke. We are one school, one class, one lineage, one history, one student made up of many.
I took notes on our conversation later. I re-read this story every time I separate myself from the group of students that I study with. There is no separation. We are one in the same.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Challenges with Ego
I'd like to think that I'm good with students. The teaching style that I'm comfortable with -- I learned a long time ago. I tend to subscribe to the tough love model. Where I really expect a lot from students, but never more than they're truly capable of. I'm hard on them, but always with a smile. I help them push themselves past their comfort zones so they can feel proud of what they've accomplished. But these statements in themselves -- are pretty egotistical.
Most of the time, the tough love style works, depending on the student's personality. But I'm finding that this teaching style is still fairly naive.
I've never been the kind of student that struggles with presence or commanding a room. I've always thought this was a strength, but I recently realized it's a very severe weakness. Most recently I was asked by my instructor to lead a class in warm up exercises. My Sensei had been gone for awhile and it had been months since I was given the opportunity to lead a group of students. On his night back, and one of the largest attended classes we've had in a long time -- I wanted to make sure I did a good job.
Being in the front of the room -- I started the group in warm up exercises. Immediately I saw that the group was sluggish, everyone was on a different count (not keeping up with my count), and generally not very focused. This is a view I normally don't have when doing the warm up exercises with the group -- but standing in front and leading them -- these issues stood out like a sore thumb.
They made me mad and annoyed.
I didn't stop to consider that the majority of the class was made up of white belts.
Instead -- I started barking out orders, and basically yelling at the group... "stay with my count" , "get into your stances faster", "everyone must do every count, if we don't -- the whole group will need to do it again" etc. It was bad. At the time -- in that space -- my motivation was to elevate the group and get them more focused because our instructor was back -- my stupid ego told me that it was my job and I'd be able to. As soon as the words left my mouth -- I knew they were wrong. I knew it was bad. I knew that instead of elevating the group -- I just yelled at them. They did better -- but it was out of fear -- I wasn't able to truly lead them.
My instructor came up to me later with a few comments of what not to do again. He was surprisingly kind.
I've not been asked to lead class since then. When I am given the opportunity again, you can bet money I'll do it differently.
I'm pretty coordinated, so physical techniques come easily. That is where my focus has been up until now. I finally realized that my struggle, my journey, what I'm supposed to be learning is -- finesse .... among people.
I think about ego a lot -- about how it keeps me from learning what I should be learning. But each mistake is a learning opportunity and a chance to better myself. Times like this always make me think back to a conversation that I had with a buddhist monk. I'm not religious -- but the few things he told me rang clear and I re-read them every time I need to remind myself of the problems with ego. Installments of the conversations will happen in subsequent posts.
Most of the time, the tough love style works, depending on the student's personality. But I'm finding that this teaching style is still fairly naive.
I've never been the kind of student that struggles with presence or commanding a room. I've always thought this was a strength, but I recently realized it's a very severe weakness. Most recently I was asked by my instructor to lead a class in warm up exercises. My Sensei had been gone for awhile and it had been months since I was given the opportunity to lead a group of students. On his night back, and one of the largest attended classes we've had in a long time -- I wanted to make sure I did a good job.
Being in the front of the room -- I started the group in warm up exercises. Immediately I saw that the group was sluggish, everyone was on a different count (not keeping up with my count), and generally not very focused. This is a view I normally don't have when doing the warm up exercises with the group -- but standing in front and leading them -- these issues stood out like a sore thumb.
They made me mad and annoyed.
I didn't stop to consider that the majority of the class was made up of white belts.
Instead -- I started barking out orders, and basically yelling at the group... "stay with my count" , "get into your stances faster", "everyone must do every count, if we don't -- the whole group will need to do it again" etc. It was bad. At the time -- in that space -- my motivation was to elevate the group and get them more focused because our instructor was back -- my stupid ego told me that it was my job and I'd be able to. As soon as the words left my mouth -- I knew they were wrong. I knew it was bad. I knew that instead of elevating the group -- I just yelled at them. They did better -- but it was out of fear -- I wasn't able to truly lead them.
My instructor came up to me later with a few comments of what not to do again. He was surprisingly kind.
I've not been asked to lead class since then. When I am given the opportunity again, you can bet money I'll do it differently.
I'm pretty coordinated, so physical techniques come easily. That is where my focus has been up until now. I finally realized that my struggle, my journey, what I'm supposed to be learning is -- finesse .... among people.
I think about ego a lot -- about how it keeps me from learning what I should be learning. But each mistake is a learning opportunity and a chance to better myself. Times like this always make me think back to a conversation that I had with a buddhist monk. I'm not religious -- but the few things he told me rang clear and I re-read them every time I need to remind myself of the problems with ego. Installments of the conversations will happen in subsequent posts.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Form, Storm, Norm
So I went to business school. One of the first things they do in business school is put you into a group of people that will form your primary group for completing and turning in group assignments. No, you don't get to pick your group. Yes, most assignments are group assignments, not individual. Yes, you must depend on this group of complete strangers for your success and grade. No, you will not like all of them.
Anyway, after they stick you in a group of strangers, they inform you that a few things naturally happen before the group is really able to function normally -- these things are:
1. Form
2. Storm
3. Norm
Any new group, or any change in a group structure goes through these steps/phases.
Why do I bring this up? Well, it's because I see this same process happen in the dojo. It's not fun, and often it's sad -- but it is normal and it does have to happen in order for the new group to be able to function. Sometimes you lose people in the process. Sometimes you gain extraordinary individuals that were once hidden.
1. Forming -- the new group is formed with new members. Even if there is an existing group, the addition of any new member, means there is a new group. This can be in the dojo in general, or per rank as people move up and join others at the same rank. This step is fairly quick.
2. Storming -- there is infighting, posturing for positions/roles/attention, politics, fighting for power, conflict, etc. This step can be fast or long, depending on the personalities in the group. This is where heirarchy and personal functions/roles/power within the group are establised. Most often than not -- it is long. it is painful. it is necessary. during this step people will either leave or find a place/role within the new group.
3. Norming. After the storming phase, however long it takes, the group will settle in and calm down being able to function as a unit.
You may not have experienced this yet. But you will some day. When you are in the throws of the storming phases -- just remember that it's a normal part of working out what needs to get worked out.
Anyway, after they stick you in a group of strangers, they inform you that a few things naturally happen before the group is really able to function normally -- these things are:
1. Form
2. Storm
3. Norm
Any new group, or any change in a group structure goes through these steps/phases.
Why do I bring this up? Well, it's because I see this same process happen in the dojo. It's not fun, and often it's sad -- but it is normal and it does have to happen in order for the new group to be able to function. Sometimes you lose people in the process. Sometimes you gain extraordinary individuals that were once hidden.
1. Forming -- the new group is formed with new members. Even if there is an existing group, the addition of any new member, means there is a new group. This can be in the dojo in general, or per rank as people move up and join others at the same rank. This step is fairly quick.
2. Storming -- there is infighting, posturing for positions/roles/attention, politics, fighting for power, conflict, etc. This step can be fast or long, depending on the personalities in the group. This is where heirarchy and personal functions/roles/power within the group are establised. Most often than not -- it is long. it is painful. it is necessary. during this step people will either leave or find a place/role within the new group.
3. Norming. After the storming phase, however long it takes, the group will settle in and calm down being able to function as a unit.
You may not have experienced this yet. But you will some day. When you are in the throws of the storming phases -- just remember that it's a normal part of working out what needs to get worked out.
I Can Tell Where You Come From by the Way That You Move
The more and more I watch other martial arts practitioners -- the more I realize that one can tell where someone comes from by the way that they move. When you're a dedicated student to one Sensei -- you tend to move like them. All the students under that instructor will tend to have the same approach to movement -- the students will look like they were cut from the same cloth. I don't mean an exact replica -- but there will be an underlying "sameness" a feeling, an approach in everything they do. Even those students that return after decades -- will have the same movement. Their bodies remember being cut from the same cloth.
I don't believe that the students realize it most of the time, but it's apparent to an outside observer.
If you ever go to seminars/clinics with other schools, often times other instructors will be able to tell which instructor you are a student of -- which lineage you belong to. If your instructor is well respected, you will be treated differently.
So what happens when you begin studying under multiple instructors? I don't mean taking clinics here or there. I mean active study under more than one teacher. Well, it affects the way you move. It kind of muddies everything together. Ever heard of the phrase "jack of all trades -- master of none"? You may end up learning more and knowing more techniques, but they won't be attached to anyone or anything -- there won't be a clean, clear, observable trace back to your Sensei. People won't be able to tell where you come from.
Is this bad? That's not for me to judge. Everyone is on their own path and makes their own choices. For me, I don't like it. For me it's a question of breadth versus depth. If you follow my posts at all, you should already know that I think the same fundamental principles are taught in all well rounded martial arts. So I don't think you need to go elsewhere to learn them -- it's just a matter of how much emphasis and time is placed on each in your own particular style. Nothing is new.
Back to my point -- when you are part of a dojo and then study outside of the dojo under multiple teachers -- others can tell. We can tell. When you come work out -- you move differently than the others. You stand out. You look like you haven't found a Sensei to respect enough to follow, that you're forging your own path. That speaks volumes.
You probably don't mean to do it. You probably don't even realize that you are moving differently. For you -- you are excited about learning as much as you can from as many people as you can -- following the path your teacher laid out -- well just isn't that important.
Exposing students to other things is not bad -- at the right time, when they're able to tell the difference. If you're a higher rank, the lower ranks will copy you -- not knowing that you're creating a separate cloth than the one of your Sensei.
I don't believe that the students realize it most of the time, but it's apparent to an outside observer.
If you ever go to seminars/clinics with other schools, often times other instructors will be able to tell which instructor you are a student of -- which lineage you belong to. If your instructor is well respected, you will be treated differently.
So what happens when you begin studying under multiple instructors? I don't mean taking clinics here or there. I mean active study under more than one teacher. Well, it affects the way you move. It kind of muddies everything together. Ever heard of the phrase "jack of all trades -- master of none"? You may end up learning more and knowing more techniques, but they won't be attached to anyone or anything -- there won't be a clean, clear, observable trace back to your Sensei. People won't be able to tell where you come from.
Is this bad? That's not for me to judge. Everyone is on their own path and makes their own choices. For me, I don't like it. For me it's a question of breadth versus depth. If you follow my posts at all, you should already know that I think the same fundamental principles are taught in all well rounded martial arts. So I don't think you need to go elsewhere to learn them -- it's just a matter of how much emphasis and time is placed on each in your own particular style. Nothing is new.
Back to my point -- when you are part of a dojo and then study outside of the dojo under multiple teachers -- others can tell. We can tell. When you come work out -- you move differently than the others. You stand out. You look like you haven't found a Sensei to respect enough to follow, that you're forging your own path. That speaks volumes.
You probably don't mean to do it. You probably don't even realize that you are moving differently. For you -- you are excited about learning as much as you can from as many people as you can -- following the path your teacher laid out -- well just isn't that important.
Exposing students to other things is not bad -- at the right time, when they're able to tell the difference. If you're a higher rank, the lower ranks will copy you -- not knowing that you're creating a separate cloth than the one of your Sensei.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Mouth Like a Truck Driver
No offense to truck drivers, but I used to have a mouth like one. Before I started martial arts my vernacular and vocabulary were heavily inundated with off-colored phrases and curses. I think I kinda thought it was cute to wear a skirt and have a foul mouth.
When I started the dojo -- an early lesson along with "there is no such thing as can't" was the lesson of there is no cursing in the dojo. Initially I think it was a shock to my system. I came in independent, hard headed, and full of my own ideas of what kind of person I was -- some may claim I am still this way. :)
At first, stopping cursing was just part of following the rules of the dojo. Then it became part of following the etiquette of the dojo. Then it became something else.
I was taught that the purpose of martial arts is to work towards the perfection of character. Although I know that I have just begun to scratch the surface in my own training -- this phrase continues to come up.
I always used to wonder why those that came before me seemed very careful in their word choices, phrasing, and interaction with those beneath them. Now, when I consider myself and how those beneath me relate to me -- I understand the need to be careful.
It is true that people are watching and learning even when you think they are not. I now understand that part of not cursing is that to curse diminishes the dignity, honor, and decorum that one should carry and possess when they are both a serious practitioner of the martial arts and a student of an instructor -- whose ways they are expected to carry forward.
Does this mean I never curse anymore? Mostly I never curse anymore.... except when I stub my toe on my coffee table. What you learn in the dojo begins to carry forward into other parts of your life. Does this mean I never relax and let loose? Sure I do, but not with you.
Not because I don't like you, but it's my responsibility to teach the way I was taught -- it's part of the training so that same sense of dignity, honor, and decorum can be passed to you and to those beneath you.
When I started the dojo -- an early lesson along with "there is no such thing as can't" was the lesson of there is no cursing in the dojo. Initially I think it was a shock to my system. I came in independent, hard headed, and full of my own ideas of what kind of person I was -- some may claim I am still this way. :)
At first, stopping cursing was just part of following the rules of the dojo. Then it became part of following the etiquette of the dojo. Then it became something else.
I was taught that the purpose of martial arts is to work towards the perfection of character. Although I know that I have just begun to scratch the surface in my own training -- this phrase continues to come up.
I always used to wonder why those that came before me seemed very careful in their word choices, phrasing, and interaction with those beneath them. Now, when I consider myself and how those beneath me relate to me -- I understand the need to be careful.
It is true that people are watching and learning even when you think they are not. I now understand that part of not cursing is that to curse diminishes the dignity, honor, and decorum that one should carry and possess when they are both a serious practitioner of the martial arts and a student of an instructor -- whose ways they are expected to carry forward.
Does this mean I never curse anymore? Mostly I never curse anymore.... except when I stub my toe on my coffee table. What you learn in the dojo begins to carry forward into other parts of your life. Does this mean I never relax and let loose? Sure I do, but not with you.
Not because I don't like you, but it's my responsibility to teach the way I was taught -- it's part of the training so that same sense of dignity, honor, and decorum can be passed to you and to those beneath you.
Outside Perceptions
I was taught a long time ago that there are two kinds of martial artists:
1. Those that play at martial arts and want everyone to know that they study martial arts
2. and those that don't
I'd like to think that I fall under the second category. In general, I was taught that if you're a serious practitioner -- you keep it relatively secret from others. One reason being that it takes away an advantage of surprise if others know your capabilities.
Sometimes people find out that I study martial arts. My family mostly knows because of the numerous scheduling conflicts that arise -- after awhile they want to know why I'm unable to attend festivities with them on Mondays, Wednesdays or Fridays and some Saturdays and why I take trips to obscure places that have no obvious travel appeal. Once in awhile -- they tell someone they know about me.
Sometimes I bring it up in conversation -- when I'm trying to convince a woman to try class or take a women's self defense clinic. The truth is that I have a difficult time keeping my secret because I want people to try class.
I'll tell the woman next door about it when she complains that her husband belittles her and that she has to live with his physically aggressive daughter (that also happens to be in a local gang). I'll tell the meek woman down the street about it who allows her young teen sons to bully her and be disrespectful towards others. I'll tell the shy, scared, low-self-esteem woman about it. I'll tell the parent about it that has a shy child that's lacking social skills. I'll tell the person that has a negative, pessimistic outlook on life. I'll tell the woman that just had her house broken into, and almost walked in on the crime. I know it can help all of them. I want it to help all of them.
I imagine if they only saw how much class can help -- that they'd be life long practitioners.
That's most often -- not the case.
I've found that most people I talk to about the martial arts, including family, fall into the following categories:
1. 90% will think it's weird, although most will not say it
2. 9% will think it's neat, but will never try it (because secretly they think it's weird)
3. 1% may think it's neat enough to try
For the majority of people that think it's strange, they will think it's additionally strange if you're a girl that chooses willingly to study what they consider to be "fighting." They don't see it as "self-defense" or confidence building skills. They equate martial arts with violent fighting -- and for a girl they don't see the interest.
I do have to say -- that the vast majority that I've encountered that feel this way -- are women. The men that know, think it's cute, even though they don't understand the appeal. The women, however, are different. I've heard the following comments from my mother, grandmother, cousins, friends, acquaintences...
-- "I'm a woman not a man, i have no interest in being like a man"
-- "that's not for girls"
-- "why do you do that to yourself"
When they say these things, they often don't realize that they're saying it to a woman that actively studies the martial arts and likes it. They don't see that. In their mind: martial arts = for men. But the women who say these things are exactly the type of women that would benefit from class --- they're fearful, afraid of being alone, co-dependant, lack self-esteem.
Studying martial arts doesn't make you a man. Just like male chefs aren't women.
The sad truth is that the women or people that need class the most, will never try it.
But do I continue to try and help the women I know? Yes. Do I continue to get shot down? Yes. I guess I learn the hard way. But I don't want to give up on them. Just as my instructor has not given up on me.
1. Those that play at martial arts and want everyone to know that they study martial arts
2. and those that don't
I'd like to think that I fall under the second category. In general, I was taught that if you're a serious practitioner -- you keep it relatively secret from others. One reason being that it takes away an advantage of surprise if others know your capabilities.
Sometimes people find out that I study martial arts. My family mostly knows because of the numerous scheduling conflicts that arise -- after awhile they want to know why I'm unable to attend festivities with them on Mondays, Wednesdays or Fridays and some Saturdays and why I take trips to obscure places that have no obvious travel appeal. Once in awhile -- they tell someone they know about me.
Sometimes I bring it up in conversation -- when I'm trying to convince a woman to try class or take a women's self defense clinic. The truth is that I have a difficult time keeping my secret because I want people to try class.
I'll tell the woman next door about it when she complains that her husband belittles her and that she has to live with his physically aggressive daughter (that also happens to be in a local gang). I'll tell the meek woman down the street about it who allows her young teen sons to bully her and be disrespectful towards others. I'll tell the shy, scared, low-self-esteem woman about it. I'll tell the parent about it that has a shy child that's lacking social skills. I'll tell the person that has a negative, pessimistic outlook on life. I'll tell the woman that just had her house broken into, and almost walked in on the crime. I know it can help all of them. I want it to help all of them.
I imagine if they only saw how much class can help -- that they'd be life long practitioners.
That's most often -- not the case.
I've found that most people I talk to about the martial arts, including family, fall into the following categories:
1. 90% will think it's weird, although most will not say it
2. 9% will think it's neat, but will never try it (because secretly they think it's weird)
3. 1% may think it's neat enough to try
For the majority of people that think it's strange, they will think it's additionally strange if you're a girl that chooses willingly to study what they consider to be "fighting." They don't see it as "self-defense" or confidence building skills. They equate martial arts with violent fighting -- and for a girl they don't see the interest.
I do have to say -- that the vast majority that I've encountered that feel this way -- are women. The men that know, think it's cute, even though they don't understand the appeal. The women, however, are different. I've heard the following comments from my mother, grandmother, cousins, friends, acquaintences...
-- "I'm a woman not a man, i have no interest in being like a man"
-- "that's not for girls"
-- "why do you do that to yourself"
When they say these things, they often don't realize that they're saying it to a woman that actively studies the martial arts and likes it. They don't see that. In their mind: martial arts = for men. But the women who say these things are exactly the type of women that would benefit from class --- they're fearful, afraid of being alone, co-dependant, lack self-esteem.
Studying martial arts doesn't make you a man. Just like male chefs aren't women.
The sad truth is that the women or people that need class the most, will never try it.
But do I continue to try and help the women I know? Yes. Do I continue to get shot down? Yes. I guess I learn the hard way. But I don't want to give up on them. Just as my instructor has not given up on me.
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