A Journey in Tae Kwon Do

By Ann Elkington

The old Japanese man sat down at his desk to write. He preferred to do his writing late at night. He needed little sleep and found the dark, quiet hours conducive to clear thinking. The night sounds---crickets chirping, the occasional bird call, animals rustling in the garden---were familiar and comforting. He paused and reflected on his career, that of a diplomat, and sighed. His dream of a cultural & economic "€œbridge" between Japan and the western world, particularly the United States, seemed so fragile given the current unrest in the world. Already he had been strongly advised against publishing his views of the Emperor's & governmental policies in current periodicals. He looked up from his papers, as if to gain inspiration from the black squares of the shoji screens. Something moved just beyond the screens. An owl thought the old man and went back to his writing.

My TaeKwonDo journey has been 10 years or more by now. I think back to 1997 when I started. I am flexible and energetic; it seemed easy enough and I gained belt levels quickly. It certainly was more appealing than the exercise room at the Y. At Blue Belt I was asked to help teach beginning levels at that studio’s summer camp. In part, I accepted this job to trade for tuition for my own kids, fair enough, but I also realised that teaching greatly improved my own skills.

About this time I began to see an underlying theme at the studio [where I was then training]. At first I told myself that I was imagining it, that the credo of TaeKwonDo would keep such things in check. The master chose favourite students---adults and kids alike. Such students were rarely more technically accomplished than any others, but were enthusiastic aggressors in sparring and, well, were often show-offs. And, I began to notice, with one exception, never female. These students could do no wrong in the master’s sights; everything they did was seen to be without flaw, even when sloppy or blatantly incorrect. Those not in this hallowed circle, no matter how talented, were held to a level of highly critical, yet wholly undefined, excellence---therefore unachievable, of course---and otherwise completely ignored, except on billing day. It is painful to reflect on, even now.

The shoji screen moved silently back. A trained assassin, all in black, slipped into the room. The old man looked up, then continued writing for a moment. He put his pen down and said calmly:
"I forget my manners, forgive me. May I give you tea, or sake perhaps?"
The assassin’s eyes glittered and a knife of some sort flashed in his hand. He moved toward the desk. The old man said quietly:
"€œI know why you are here. There are those who find what I say and write disturbing to their world order, an embarrassment, insulting. It is easy to send someone like you to get rid of me. "€˜An intruder", the papers will say, "€˜He startled a thief"€™."€�

But I loved TaeKwonDo itself. I loved the challenge to better my skills with each practice. My daughter and I went to classes together. It was something we shared and looked forward to. We had a network of friends at the studio. Her school schedule, however, only permitted us to attend those classes taught by the assistant, a natural teacher whose goal was technique above all, but whose authority and experience were stymied by the master. I worked hard under Mr X, but as his lesson plans were those of the owner/master, there was a limit to how well I could improve my technical skills. My daughter, being still a colored belt and a teen, was cut a bit more slack by the master.

The old man continued his gentle, bespectacled gaze at the younger man.
“It doesn't worry me. I am an old man, I have lived a full and bountiful life. But, please, do not awaken my wife."
The assassin moved closer to the desk and tensed.
"€œYou are very young"€�, the old man continued softly, "you will, no doubt, be witness to many changes and a new world order. Think hard on what you are about to do. Imagine this moment on the pathway of your lifetime."
The assassin shifted. For a long while he stood, with the old man’s eyes upon him. Doubt crept into his muscles and softened them slightly.

The underlying dishonesty at the studio, in combination with driving students to always push for the next level, rather than concentrating on the journey itself, infected me despite my best efforts. ( I regret it deeply, and it has taken me the better part of a year to rid myself of this way of thinking.)

But I began to dread going to the studio----yes, I could lose myself in the movements of the forms and combinations but these were being drilled less and less in lieu of sparring and lessons in self-defense. I knew I would have to leave if I did not want to come to loathe Tae Kwon Do.

It was Mr X ( how interesting that his name represents the “unknown� in math) who told me to look to other studios, other goals and horizons. As the master is his somewhat older cousin, Mr X would never have made such suggestions to me aloud or in the studio itself within the hearing of others more loyal to the master than I. But for almost a year he hinted and nudged me.

And so, like water making its way through the landscape, I had to find a new path.

It wasn'€™t easy; I looked at many studios, even different martial arts. I found that the philosophy and atmosphere of Yong Studios was most like what I was seeking. Once I made my decision to leave the other studio and join Yong Studios, I felt freed, but I began also to be afraid: What if I can’t measure up? What if I make a terrible fool of myself? What if they don't like me? Such uncertainties haunted---and sometimes still haunt me.

Suddenly, as if stung, the assassin turned and vanished into the night. The old man sat quietly for a long time. As the first grey light of dawn began to lighten the garden, the old man arose, closed the shoji screens and joined his wife in the bedroom.

I'€™ve begun a new journey at Yong. TaeKwonDo is enjoyably challenging once again. I am often seeing new and better ways to improve both my technique and my thinking. Sometimes, its true, the “pathâ€� seems like a muddy track to nowhere. But I am realizing that, like any journey, sometimes the views aren’t all that terrific. I am learning from the journey, not racing for the rank, which without the benefit of a good journey, means far less. I thank Yong Studios for helping me to see the “wayâ€� with new eyes. The old man's name was Inazo Nitobe. He was my great great-uncle.