Distractions

I have lately been transcribing my travel diary from this year's trip to Japan.  Yes, I still handwrite them - no worries about batteries or lost files, unless I really, really lose an important piece of luggage (at which point I'd be more worried about my passport than anything else).  In the past, I just transcribed things I was using for articles, or technical notes about training sessions, but this time I decided to transcribe the whole thing so I can print it out and put it in the year's travel file.  There are several reasons.  My handwriting is, and will no doubt remain, abysmal to the point where a few months after writing something sustained like a journal, I can no longer read what I wrote and the only solution is to type it. I also forgot certain important logistcal points about traveling in Japan that would have been good to remember on this trip and several times would have made my life easier.  By transcribing the whole journal I can read it through before going on next year's trip and save myself at least a little grief.

I have come into possession of an iPad in the meantime that will probably mean I can just type my journal next time and save this step, but it is sort of cool to relive the experience as I go through my notes.  One of the points that jumped at me, and not for the first time, is the difference in the attitude of the people I train with in Japan versus most of the people I train with here.  Granted, the people I train with in Japan are not exactly typical.  Koryu budo in Japan is a rare pursuit and the people who train are indeed serious.  I am not talking about high school or college budo, as intense as that may sometimes be.  Many of the people I train with are descendants of samurai families, and even though that and 400 yen will get them a cup of coffee these days, in their non-working lives the study of koryu budo is not a hobby - it is their identity. 

With very few exceptions, there are not many Americans who understand this point.  I wonder sometimes if Americans are serious about anything, except maybe consumerism (maybe the time of year makes me feel that way).  Whenever an American has a deeply satisfying pastime that goes beyond buying stuff and throwing it away, it makes the news.  But anyway...

I have known a few people in my American budo life who always make a point of telling me how deep their commitment is to budo.  They stay and train for a few weeks or months, and I think to myself, hey, they really are committed to this.  And then it starts - Absences and excuses, generally work or family issues.  I also have a family, and a job, and both are important.  Otani Sensei also pointed out that family and work must take precendence over training when necessary.  But it's the "when necessary" that gets me.  When is "necessary"?  People in Japan also have families and jobs, and certainly they sometimes will miss an okeiko because of one or the other, but somehow they always manage to come back to the dojo.  As important as those other things are, the center of their non-family, non-work life is to carry on a tradition that preceded them, and, with luck, will continue after they are gone.  Call it nuts, or eccentric, but the people I train with in Japan have a strong sense of themselves and what they think is important.

Recently I had very committed student who claimed many work-life conflicts.  It took almost a year, but I finally managed to work out a schedule with him that made it possible for us to train together.  It was great - for three weeks.  I have not seen him in over two months.  I have gotten a few pinched emails promising an appearance the following week, and now, nothing.  I wish I could say I am surprised, but I'm not.

In all fairness, I have no doubt the work-life issues this person is experiencing may seem insurmountable to him.  But that is the point.  All of us have our stuff, but why is it that I can show up every week?  Sure, we are always prioritizing, but I wonder. 

One of the excuses I have heard from time to time is "Well, I was going to be late, so I decided to go home."  My response is always the same - come anyway.  Oh.  So then there is another excuse.  And another.  And I quit worrying about it, because by that time it is obvious that something else has piqued the person's interest and they have moved on to it.  They don't bother me as much as the person who keeps insisting on their genuine interest and then does not follow through.

I realize complaining about less-than-serious students is a rant that goes back (even in Japan) at least 300 years.  In Western culture, I think Plato made the same argument.  At least I am in good company.  And I'm not stupid - the sempai I train with in Japan are the ones who stayed, not the ones who ended up being unserious about training.  There just seems to be a lot more of them than here.