Confidence and its Necessity in Karate-Do
By Eli Jones
Image
of the various brush-stroke styles for the kanji for self-confidence
Religion calls its faith, commerce calls it security,
athletes call it tenacity, and general society calls its
self-assurance. The Japanese word for it is jishin
which, depending on the kanji, can mean earthquake.
Regardless of moniker, confidence is an
element of the human mind that is dependent upon a combination of two
factors: an individual’s perception of a given scenario (whether
spontaneous or routine) and his or her perceived ability to take
appropriate action as necessitated by a situation. In daily life
this can mean anything from trusting family and friends to provide
emotional, spiritual, or financial support when required (general
confidence) to a warranted standing of one’s ground with peers,
colleagues, or superiors on the basis of a technical, practical, or
personal issue (self-confidence). Generally speaking, an
amalgamation of common and life-changing experiences and how they are
handled is what ultimately shapes an individual’s self-perception
while establishing a perpetual pattern of action, or lack thereof.
That is to say, if a person learns to handle undesirable situations
with quick resolve, they will retain the confidence to do so, and if
one becomes used to mistreatment, it is unlikely that he or she will
ever gain enough confidence to break the cycle.
With that said,
confidence presents itself in a number of ways with regard to martial
arts. In karate specifically, karateka are often given opportunities
to demonstrate their ability before sensei, students, and spectators;
challenged to learn new forms and applications; charged with the task
of sharing knowledge with others seeking karate-do; required to apply
learned skills in a controlled environment in both prearranged and
free-style scenarios; and, with time, tested to gain the privilege
and responsibility of acquiring new knowledge. Needless to say, as
the student spends years learning his or her respective style,
self-assurance tends to be a product of the physical, mental, and
spiritual growth that karate-do affords its practitioners. Such
confidence typically translates to the student’s life outside the
dojo as a tendency to welcome new experiences, handle daily stresses
in a productive manner, take leadership roles in his or her
community, strengthen ties with family and friends, establish healthy
relationships, and, should the unfortunate situation arise, defend
one’s self and loved ones to the fullest extent.
I am
thankful to say that the cumulative product of my twenty-one years in
karate training has led to a more confident me than would have
resulted had I never discovered the Okinawan art. As with many who
find their way into the arts, my interest was sparked by way of
American commercialism. In my case, it was the 1984 movie The
Karate Kid – which I first saw in 1987 –
that sent me relentlessly begging my parents to let me take karate.
Five years later, I found myself in a traditional Shorin-ryu dojo
training under Major J.D. Perry, USMC (retired) who was then a fifth
dan in Nakazato Shugoro’s Shorinkan style.
As with most kids
starting off in karate, my initial goal was progression – to ascend
the ranks, learn techniques to impress friends, and essentially
become the next Daniel Russo. I very quickly discovered that true
karate was not designed as a mode of status or entertainment, and, as
one might guess, lacks the commercial elements presented by
inspirational underdog movies of the 80s, comedic anthropomorphic
reptile cartoons of the 90s, and (as recently noted) octagon-oriented
ultraviolent free-for-alls of the new millennium. Conversely, karate
is a personal commitment and lifelong pursuit to better oneself
through training; a term that typically refers to a continued
dedication to the analysis, interpretation, practice and overall
comprehension of the form. It was through these points that I was
able to understand, even at a young age, the substance of empty hand
and the emptiness of preconceived substance.
At around age
twelve, I witnessed other kids boast about black belts they had
obtained a year after joining whatever commercial dojo they were a
member of, only to lose in the numerous fights they inevitably got
themselves into. Upon speaking to one of these young karateka, I
found that their dojo trained with safety proofed and artificial
weapons, based a great deal of importance on competition, and
encouraged its students to speak out about training – likely for
the sake of commercial attention. The underlying issue with this
type of dojo was that its students developed a false sense of
confidence hinged upon poor training and a belief that they were more
capable in combat situations than was actually the case. When these
young karateka discovered that they were unable to “use” karate
as originally thought, the resounding effect was a lack of confidence
in their training and ultimately themselves.
Perry Sensei, on
the other hand, insisted that no child should hold a yudansha rank.
His belief was, and still is, that even a well-trained child cannot
physically defend his or herself in a direct confrontation with an
adult, and, as such, is incapable of handling the responsibility that
comes with a black obi. Similarly, he disagreed with the use of
“toy” weapons on the grounds that a child will never learn
respect for the implements of kobudo, and will harm themselves or
others should they ever use authentic articles. On the subject of
openly discussing one’s ability as a martial artist – he highly
discouraged it, once comparing the notion to an individual of
inadequate intelligence warning everyone he crosses that he carries a
concealed hand weapon (Sensei added that even with a gun, a fool
rarely knows how to use the weapon appropriately and will likely harm
himself and others). It was such fundamental differences between
Sensei’s approach and most others’ that gave me confidence in
both Shorin-ryu and the dojo at which I was training.
I continued through the remainder of public school with a sense of
self-assurance granted by a martial arts experience that placed me
under several gifted sensei as a student, and before classes of
fellow karateka as sempai – this is essentially where I discovered
my love of communication and speaking to large groups. Shortly after
graduating high school, I found myself in college training to be a
skin therapist where, interestingly enough, I discovered that many of
the same body areas used to incapacitate an attacker can be used to
encourage wellness in a client. After graduation, I went back to
school, became a teacher, and taught skin care at the college where I
had learned. Soon, I found myself married, taking a job three states
away from my home state, and enrolled in college yet again – all of
this occurring in just ten years’ time, and all requiring personal
confidence to carry through.
For the first two years after the
move to Florida, I found myself in a town that seemed to be dominated
by what I have so affectionately come to call “buy your belt here
operations,” or as my friend Dave Higgins likes to call them,
“McDojos.” It was for this reason that my training became very
personal during this period. The reason I note this is because it
requires a sufficient amount of confidence in one’s karate-do to
understand that, in certain cases, it is best to train on one’s own
than to risk the influence of bad information or improper training
with others.
Nevertheless, my wife and I soon moved to
Tallahassee where, after about four months, I found another
Shorin-ryu dojo. Here, Sensei Bill Lucas teaches Kishaba Juku, a
martial arts study group founded by Chokei Kishaba where Katsuhiko
Shinzato now serves as the Juku Cho. Although this form of karate is
indeed Shorin-ryu, the techniques seemed somewhat foreign to me as I
originated in a style that focused on the generation of power through
body mechanics and the augmenting of strength; Kishaba Juku, however,
places a similar emphasis on body mechanics, but utilizes a
combination of koshi (hip) technique and relaxation to generate
power. At first, I wasn’t sure how this karate worked – or how
it could work rather – and after three years of training, to be
completely honest, I’m still not one-hundred percent certain. But
I did become certain of one thing very quickly – Kishaba Juku is
authentic Okinawan karate at its best, it works, and is most
definitely effective.
Over the course of these last few years,
both Lucas Sensei and Paris Janos Sensei have demonstrated the
importance of relaxation in karate which has, by extension, finally
started to translate into my daily life. When I first came to
Kishaba Juku, I often remained rigid in my demeanor, techniques, and
applications, and was constantly told by Lucas Sensei to “just
relax.” At first I thought this difficulty was confined to my
martial arts training, but soon found that I was equally as tense in
life outside the dojo. It really was not until a doctor’s visit
several months ago when a nurse told me that my blood pressure was
once again high, and the doctor diagnosed me with a stress-induced
issue that I realized, “I’m not relaxing.” With this
revelation, I decided to practice deep breathing techniques, eat
healthier, train more, and focus exclusively on issues that are
solvable. In doing this, my most recent checkup showed that my blood
pressure had normalized (without medication), the symptoms of my
issue were minimal at worst, and I felt that my overall outlook on
life had improved significantly. In other words, by relaxing I was
able to build energy and generate more power on a life level. The
reason I mention all of this is because there is really nothing more
of a confidence-booster than realizing that the ideas and values
learned from an essential component of one’s life, such as karate,
has implications on such a broad level as to affect every other
component. It is for this reason that I am confident that my current
method of training will continue to improve all aspects of my life
now and well into the future.
On a final note, it is important
to understand that confidence should not be confused with arrogance,
just as assertiveness should not be confused with pushiness. As
mentioned earlier, confidence relies on the individual’s perception
of a situation (typically a gauging of situational gravity) and his
or her believed ability to act in that situation. Arrogance, on the
other hand, generally stems from the notion that the beliefs,
knowledge, or skills possessed by one are innately correct and
superior to those held by others. In truth, the misguided arrogance
of one can shatter the progressing confidence of others. And if we
accept that a shattered confidence is not easily reassembled, we can
understand why such frames of mind have no place in the karate-do.
Confidence, however, is not only a good idea – it is fundamentally
necessary.
