A booming, Big Brother voice fills the classroom. “I’ve been watching you all for a long time, and I am very happy with what I’ve seen.” The voice is proud of us. It’s acknowledging that we haven’t been goofing off with our swords, or bokken, as we have learned to call them. We never do—goof off, that is. We’re in this for the long haul.
On the first day of Aikido: Sword and Staff, there were twenty of us, our professor (er… sensei), and his T.A. I arrived early and watched nervously as people trickled in. I didn’t know what crowd to expect for a beginner class in a lesser-known martial art, and I anxiously assessed everybody that walked into the room. I’m a freshman, and I was concerned about whether I would fit in. I did a dance class when I was younger, and I didn’t say a word for the first three meetings because I couldn’t make small talk with the other boys. I was put in the back at every recital because I couldn’t do the moves right. What if Aikido would be like that? It soon became clear it wouldn’t. I had no reason to worry about the group because it turned out to be all the types of people willing to sign up for a beginner’s Aikido class at Duke – in other words, Pretty Interesting People. People willing to take the time out of their daily “grind” to hone a completely non-transferrable skill—i.e. not one they’ll have to use in the workplace, unless they work for their local shogun. These were people who wanted a half-credit that would tell an interesting story, and just maybe allow them to think differently. People who wanted to break up their Duke days by memorizing each suburi, or repeated practice movement, like its a letter, and forming words and eventually poetry with our movements –and, you know, wield a sword every Tuesday and Thursday for an hour and fifteen minutes.
On that first day, our professor walked into the room wearing a neck brace (along with those grippy socks with a little compartment for each toe, slacks, and a Duke button up). Gulp. What were we getting into with this Aikido business? The professor looked like he had been roughed up by a disgruntled ex-student he had taught a little too well. How many serious injuries would befall each of us in beginner Aikido sword and staff? Luckily for us, it turned out to have just been a terrible bike accident that did the professor in (he saved a poodle’s life, but that’s a story for another day, just one of many great acts performed by the hero Durham deserves—he’s on the road to recovery, by the way). Unluckily for us, however, this meant that most of our classes would be taught virtually while the professor recovered at home (hence the Zoom set-up and the Big Brother Sensei voice).
In practice, this looks arguably not much different than what the class would’ve looked like pre-bicycle incident: standing in our lines, either jo (staff) or bokken (sword) in hand, ready to follow any instructions given. Except instead of one normal-sized, full body professor, we get a giant floating head dealing out pointers on footwork and swordplay. I love the sound of the professor’s voice as it enters our room, seemingly directed towards no-one and everyone all at once. The only way to respond, however—when, say, you have a question about the footwork on a particular defensive move—is through a microphone headset operated by our T.A., our sole connection with the entity on the other side of the screen. Though it has it’s drawbacks, I love the Zoom aspect of our class because it makes me feel like a spy training for some super secret organization headed by “The Professor.” I’m imagining being in the aikido field, tracking some notorious villain. I might have a wireless ear piece through which the Professor tells me remotely which specific suburi to use to neutralize the next target. The hilarious story that I wanted from this class—my perfect conversation-starter in all awkward life situations undoubtedly coming my way— was practically writing itself.
But the experience of Aikido: Sword and Staff refuses to be pigeonholed into just a funny story: I’ve simply grown too much, genuinely learned so much, from it, that it has become something more. I’ve learned the value of perseverance, and handling criticism well. Allow me to demonstrate: there is no character growth without toil (see, now I write like a martial artist). Like that time when I kept hitting myself in the head during the six jo kata. I felt so dumb. And I was only getting dumber every bonk. Everyone else was maneuvering their jo around their heads with the kind of gracefulness you’d see in perhaps a non-beginner’s Aikido class, and here I was making a literal fool of myself. This was the first instance in a long line of terrible shame I felt at the beginning stages of this class. It felt like I was also the only guy getting pulled aside by the T.A. to get the moves down—like everyone else had it all figured it out, and I was just slow, or behind, or that I just couldn’t get it (the first time that happened I seriously considered dropping the class). But I was wrong. Everyone else needed as much help as I did, just like my Lemur editor, who also recalls being stopped by the T.A. many a time (before he dropped the class). You can’t just waltz into Wilson and expect to be the master of Aikido. That is one thing the professor keeps emphasizing. During a moment of doubt, I will hear a sudden benevolent rumbling from the Zoom screen, and the Voice proclaiming, “that’s right! I forgot you were all beginners.” He’d stop us, explain it again slower, and we’d move on step by step. That’s the way to do it.
Aikido has taught me how to take criticism like nobody’s business. Now whenever I make a mistake, I’m fine with it. Next round, I’ve got it. When I use the wrong foot in the thirty-one step kata I smile at the T.A. because it always seems like I’m blundering, and fix it. And that form of acceptance is arguably an even better skill than swordsmanship, and one I had no idea would come my way. Sometimes you really never know where the big lessons are coming from. If I recall correctly, Steve Jobs said the most important class he ever took was calligraphy – though he had to drop out to take it (it didn’t fit into his busy busy schedule, a common excuse for those denying the call of Aikido: Sword and Staff) Luckily for us, Aikido is open to all.
I take my Aikido skills everywhere now (and, no, I’m not walking around with a staff on me 24/7). Even without my staff, I still feel quite powerful. That line was so cheesy, but it’s fine. I’ll be more eloquent next time I write. You know why? Because in Aikido, we repeat the suburi until we understand what each part of our body is supposed to be doing—sure it takes a loooong time for the uncoordinated narrator of this tale to get everything in order, but I do eventually. So when I read Aristotle (for class – not a nerd) and go “what in the what is this guy talking about” I take a deep breath, and reread the passage. Then I reread it again, get a little bit more out of it, then embrace my naïveté and finally decided to ask my teacher what the heck is going on. Of course, it’s not always true that you’re lucky enough to have a T.A to single out all your weaknesses in front of everyone. After all, you don’t always have someone watching you look stupid, because everyone’s too busy trying not to look stupid themselves. What we need is to understand that we’re all stupids sometimes. Just a little bit. Just a tiny little bit. All it takes to abandon self-criticism, reach an ego death, and get that much closer to enlightenment is to take a beginner Aikido class.
So whenever I tell anyone I take an Aikido class focused on swords and staff they think it’s So. Fricking. Cool. Yeah, yeah, I know, that’s kind of the point (remember, it’s the funny, kinda cool story I want to tell). That’s why I took Aikido in the first place. That’s why everyone in the class took Aikido (although some of us just need to graduate…). But if it’s so awesome, then why do we have only ten people? I think it’s because people at Duke are trapping themselves in the wrong classrooms. We are all so focused on pre-professional activities, and taking Econ or Chem so we can become consultants and doctors. But thus far into my first semester at Duke, I’ve learned so much more from Aikido than any of my other classes. (and if any of my other professors are reading, I promise this is hyperbole demanded by my Lemur editors to make a devastating final rhetorical blow). I mean, I got epic sword and staff skills to defeat all my enemies, AND a helluvalot more tolerance for criticism: not a bad deal for a freshman finding his way at Duke.
by Rowan Benda
