What Could It Mean

Today I attended a memorial service for a man I never met. His name was Fumio Toyoda, Shihan, and he was one of the people who was instrumental in founding Ryoshinkan Dojo in Palatine, IL, and the dojo where I train, Soshinkan, is an offshoot of that dojo. Toyoda Shihan passed away ten years ago, and each year to make the anniversary of his death, there is a special training session. This year, Soshinkan dojo hosted the memorial service.

Several different senseis (is that really the correct plural?) demonstrated techniques, but the one person whose presentation moved me the most didn't demonstrate any techniques at all. Instead, Butler Sensei talked about his own personal experience of studying aikido, starting when he was a young man who was intent on "debunking" aikido techniques using his skills in MMA. He talked a lot about how his experiences with Toyoda Shihan helped him change his mind and his understanding of himself, and how the number one thing he was forced to confront in himself was his own fear.

Butler Sensei's talk makes me wonder:

What would it be like to live without fear?

I'm not talking about being a risk-taker or a thill-seeker, necessarily. I'm wondering what it would be like to live in a state of trust and love.

I used to try to be like that all the time - open, accepting, compassionate, loving. Somewhere along the line I lost that.

That openness fell away in stages, I think. My first broken heart. My second broken heart. Confronting my own inadequacies. Struggling through differences of opinion and giving in. Deciding that it's easier to go with the flow than to engage in conflict. Each of those experiences, along with countless small moments of strife, rubbed my soul raw and then gave me emotional callouses.

The most major change occurred when I started teaching. I decided that I was going to have to get a thicker skin, because I was worried (afraid) that the students wouldn't take me seriously unless I could present myself as more of an authority figure. I didn't trust my own skills in managing a classroom or in relating to students, and I let my concerns (fears) change the way that I presented myself. Did I learn something about myself in the process? Sure. And it was a lesson worth learning. I can, in fact, be an authority figure. But beyond that, the last five years have shown me that I do better when I approach teaching with love and compassion, rather than fear.

What would happen if I could go back to openness?

The very idea is terrifying.

Which, I suppose, is the entire point.