Invisible gifts

Dear.

I want to try to talk about something this time, that I really think you cannot, and maybe should not talk about.

I want to talk about the gifts of judo.

Yes, the gifts.

Perhaps when you think about judo, you think of sacrifices. Sacrificing your time, going through a lot of blood, sweat and tears. Paying for the lessons and your judogi.

And even then. It takes time to move from a white belt to a yellow one, an orange one, a green one, blue and brown one. And before you have reached your black belt, you are years and years and hundreds and hundreds of sacrificial trainings down the road.

If you just want a black belt, maybe judo is not for you.

If you just want to sweat and ache, maybe it is.

Yes, it is true, practicing judo is asking a lot. Warming up is intense, it is thorough and complete. You sweat, you pump, you crawl and jump. Learning the techniques is easier. It is sort of the sweet and relaxed middle part of the training. You take your time to consciously practice throwing your opponent, pinning your opponent down, choking him or putting that lock on his arm. You practice and practice many and many different techniques. Jesus there are a lot of techniques! And you don’t just get to throw your training buddy, you also get thrown. You have to fall, hit the ground mercilessly, breaking that fall as you have learnt from your first white belt training.

You have to congratulate him when he is good on his way to break your arms and cheer when he is successfully strangling your ass. You have to be a good training buddy.

And then there is randori. There are no limits to how hard you sweat and puff, how violently you try to find that gap in the other person’s balance and footing to try and throw him, how quick you have to pull back in defense, how difficult it is to try and get someone on the ground and pinned down when they are fighting back with all of their might and speed. There are no limits to how hard you have to fight, because the opponent is also fighting as hard as he can.

Fighting is intense. It is about speed, focus, agility, technique and patience.

And then there is the kata.

It is hard to describe how solemn and serene the kata is executed. Poker face, every step calculated and prescribed. Peaceful, calm, yet fully alert. It is so much fun!

So if judo is all about fighting and sweating, and a lot and a lot of techniques, years and years of training multiple times a week, what does it get you?

A new color belt to show off with?

I think it is difficult to talk about. Of course, if you stick around, there will be examinations to see if you can advance in ranking, but the most important lessons you will learn are not about the techniques or the grades. They are not about the color of your belt and they are not about the number of ways you know to throw someone on the ground or break his arm. They are not about the matches you win, the ippons you score or the medals in your portfolio.

The most important gifts of judo are the ones you cannot see.

You just cannot see them, but you carry them with you all your life.

I think balance is a very important lesson. You learn a lot about balance. Moving with the balance, your balance, your partner’s balance. Looking, feeling, sensing when the balance is weak and off, looking for ways to influence your partner’s balance and to keep yours in check. Judo is maybe all about balance. You rock and you dance with each other, circling, left to right, back and forth, like a dance, until one of you makes his move. Throwing you off balance, standing strong on his own feet. Moving with grace and fluency, executing a technique in the midst of the chaos, when you find an opening, a chance, a tiny millisecond when you go for it.

That also makes you focused and cool. You are moving back and forth, the other one is trying to throw or pin you down, and you don’t see a chance to throw or pin him. But you remain patient, you await your time, you keep hoping for a chance. Infinitely, time after time. You stay focused, you are on the top of your nerves, filled with adrenaline and alertness, but you remain in control. You wait. You move perhaps violently on the outside, but on the inside, you are still, you are calm. You are the master of the situation, patiently, waiting, looking, sensing.

And when you get thrown, my god you don’t start to cry. You hit that tatami with all the strength in your hands, and you turn around, and you haven’t lost. You have simply fallen, and you have just as simply gotten up. And you grab your opponent by the kimono and you start moving again, patiently, focused, unchanged. Never defeated, always ready to fight. You wait, you dance, you move, you go for it or retreat. You are in the game, where it’s at, and you are fully there. Your attention, your body, your muscles and your breath, they are all awake. Alive.

It is serious, it is very serious, it is you or him. But he is your friend, and you are his. All of you are friends. And you fight a thousand times, two thousand times, three thousand times. And it is you versus them every time again, but you are the best of friends.

You do not get angry when he throws you down, or pins you down where you can’t move no more. You don’t get angry, you play. And you try your best, and sometimes you win, and sometimes you lose, but you are never a winner and you are never a loser. You are a friend, you are a partner, you are all equal. There are no winners and there are no losers. You are all judoka, you are all equally respectable.

And at that height of your focus and fight to remain standing, in a situation where all of your nerves are tensed at the height of their intensity, you may make a joke and sell some small talk. Because whilst you are fighting as hard and as violently as you can, you have to pass time pleasurably. After all, you love it. You all love it. And so you have the nicest small talk conversation standing there trying to overcome, moving together with the balance.

You fall ten thousand times, and you get up ten thousand times. And you may not have your black belt yet, and perhaps you never will, but you will have learnt to move your butt and get up when you are thrown off balance. You will never lay down and stay there. In every muscle, every fiber in your being, you have engraved the command to get up, get at it and fight on, try again.

You don’t keep count, nobody is keeping count. Maybe you have gotten up a thousand times, maybe ten thousand times, the thing is, you get up. It is a reflex. You fall, you get up. You don’t stay there, lying on the ground crying and feeling sorry for yourself. That would be strange, that would not be normal behavior in the dojo. You get up, you grab the other one by the lapel, and you look for your chance, you look for your turn. And your turn will come. Everybody wins, and everybody loses, in every fight, because you fight.

And you don’t know what an enemy is, because the one trying to beat you is your friend, and you, trying so hard to slam him down, you are his friend. You would never hurt him. You are just playing, like sweet little lion kittens. Exercising. And when you throw him, you don’t haunt him down forever when he’s down. You hold his gi and help him get up. And when you’re down, your friend is there to help you get up.

It is a game!

A game that teaches you about friendship, about sportsmanship, about relativity, about staying cool, staying focused and being patient. It teaches you to think and feel in the hottest of the heat. It teaches you to stay calm in the face of danger, and it teaches you courage and perseverance like they are your second nature.

It is difficult to talk about the gifts of judo. Patience, focus, peace and sportsmanship. Courage, perseverance, mental power and inner cool. When I tell you these words, they mean nothing. I cannot talk about judo to anyone. That is why most people will never understand me. They are afraid to fall, they panic easily, they are resentful and unforgiving when they face defeat, they fight dirty and live low lives, devoid of serenity and respect.

Jigoro Kano developed judo not to get everybody fighting in the streets, but as a means of education. He believed the world would be a better place when people practiced judo. And I believe he was right.

People would not act so childish, people would grow up.

You could convey values and manners to people, not by empty words and preaching, or rewarding and punishing them, but by making these values into lessons and teachings that are gifts coming with the pack. Coming with the training. Coming with the kata, coming with the hours and hours of fighting, focusing and getting up.

People would be more alert, yet peaceful. People would be forgiving, and people would be helpful. People would be strong and people would not always be afraid of the faintest gesture of the other. People would stand strong and balance would be a way of life, a way of moving, the spirit of their existence and their body.

You cannot teach these things, without the play of judo.

You cannot enforce these lessons and values with money nor penitentiaries.

They are acquired spontaneously, deeply and evidently, playing and practicing judo for hours and days and months and years.

That is why I find it hard to explain to people sometimes why I am the way I am. And why I cannot understand their fears and manners, and why I generally do not approve of them. Most people do not know such essential things like balance and respect. They exaggerate the smallest insult and make a war out of a small and innocent fart. I find most people to be very different from me. I do not understand them, and they do not understand me.

I cannot explain what it is to forgive someone, but maybe when you get thrown ten thousand times and you have the most pleasant and friendly entertaining conversation with your opponents all that time, you learn to be sportsmanlike spontaneously.

You would not hit your partner dead hard in the face because he threw you as hard and quick as he could in the dojo would you? It is a game. It is all a game. Nobody is getting angry.

And people, continuing the dream and life and legacy of master Kano, would be forgiving and smiling, and they would get up when life throws them down, and keep moving like nothing happened. And your most feared opponent might be your best friend, and you would know to play, and not always be so serious.

People would know balance, even if they forgot their black or blue belt.

People would know respect, even if they forgot their brown or yellow belt.

People would be fighters, even if they lost time and again.

People would get up, without thinking about it.

And I believe, if I may conclude with this, that people would be friends.