When I started aikido classes in December of 2008, one thing that I was initially drawn to was the philosophy explained in the introductory class—neutralizing without causing harm to the attacker or attacked. I was also drawn to the idea of getting out of my comfort zone—previously, I’d only done armed, mostly sword, arts—but not too far (since the school I saw and stuck with does a fair bit of sword and short staff work).
I stayed because I enjoyed the people and the practice. And I saw, over time, changes in my awareness and in other areas.
The longer I’ve been with the art, training and sometimes lightly instructing, the more I think another key reason that I like aikido, and the school I’m with in particular, is that it has many parallels to my academic and professional training. Some, but not all, of the principles that I see as being key to good aikido are adaptability, movement options, and awareness of the little things.
For me, and this is not necessarily true for all aikidoka, I find that an important element of aikido is adaptability. This comes in a couple forms. First, if a technique is not working, the nage (thrower) may need to alter their technique, from little detail parts to major positioning or movement elements. Likewise, the technique may not be working because uke (the thrown) moves or responds in a different way, or doesn’t respond, in which case flowing into a different technique may be called for. Second, every aikidoka needs to adapt to ukes with different heights, sizes, ranges of flexibility, in short different body types. And degrees of energy—fast, slow, hard, soft—in attacks.
I find this emphasis on adaptation, or at least a need for adaptation, in my professional life. In teaching and, even more, tutoring, the educator needs to adapt to different students. Each student grasps certain concepts faster or better than others. One example or analogy may click with four students, but not with three others. Seven students may come to a tutor with the same assignment, but one needs help with organization, while another needs to work on grammar, and the third has written an “argumentative research” paper that has no thesis (the most important element). Adaptation is of particular importance, for me, in tutoring. In any given eight hour day (sixteen sessions), I have had days where I saw sixteen students, with twelve different assignments, from eight different fields (ex. composition, biology, nursing, psychology, philosophy, business, history). Needless to say, thinking on the fly and changing (styles, formats, citation formats, etc.) rapidly is of utmost importance.
In aikido, many of my instructors from new shodan all the way up to the top leaders of our national organization have emphasized the importance of not focusing on the point of contact. They stress the need to remain aware of what else can move. For example, if the wrist is trapped in a strong grab, it may not be mobile; however, the elbow, hips, and legs, for instance, can still move. Each of those creates different options for changing the line of strength, escape, techniques, or otherwise resolving the problem. But, focusing on the point of contact (the grabbed wrist) limits motion and can make the situation more difficult or impossible to resolve.
This, in many ways, reminds me of my academic training. In particular, cross-disciplinary studies come to mind. For example, my literature dissertation involved literature, history, theology, psychoanalysis, and a bit of law. If any one of those was missing, the whole piece would not work as well or in the same way. Likewise, in teaching writing, we often encourage our students to consider, understand, and present counter-arguments. There are many reasons for this, but a key one is to show the reader that the writer has considered many options and chosen their particular view as the best (rather than being blindered). This availability of options is also the philosophy underlying the liberal arts education system as a whole. We argue that having a broad range of knowledge, including at least introductory familiarity in a number of fields, is helpful to the individual, thus the required coursework outside an individual’s field of study. Why is this important? Because training in each academic field is really training in a particular style of thinking and approaches to problem solving, ex. a biologist, a psychologist, and a sociologist are all going to approach the same situation or question differently. Being aware of different options, of how different fields think, can help the individual look at problems in their own field differently.
Awareness of Details
Over the last decade in aikido, I’ve often told new students, “If it looks easy, it’s not. If it looks hard, it is.” Part of this difficulty of the art is that, often, changing a minor detail in a tiny way can make a huge difference in technique. Sometimes this means nage turning their hand over, or opening their hand, or breathing, or pointing a finger. These, hundreds of, tiny changes can individually have an enormous impact on the ease, power, and energy use of a given technique.
Similarly, over two decades of writing, studying language, and teaching/tutoring writing have shown me that the little details in writing—spelling, syntax, punctuation, grammar—can make a huge and significant difference in the written word. These seemingly tiny things can greatly affect meaning (ex. “my parents, Bob and John” vs. “my parents, Bob, and John”), effect on the audience (ex. use of the word team vs. gang vs. class), effectiveness of the piece, quality of the piece, and engagement of the audience.
All of this is simply from my perspective, my experience, and my understanding of both aikido and my academic background. This is not necessarily true for all aikidoka, or academics, or academic aikidoka. Everyone’s academic experience is different. Everyone’s aikido experience, and technique, is different (what works for me won’t necessarily work exactly the same for someone smaller or bigger). Everyone’s reason for studying both is widely different.