“I dunno... I just did it. I didn’t have a reason.”
I do not accept this explanation for any human behavior. If you apply the labels “random” or “pointless” to any human behavior, you close off the possibility of exploring the inner workings of the behavior... and my experience is that there is always a reason for human behavior. That isn’t to say that it is a good reason, necessarily, but there is always a reason, and I think a large part of our task in practice is to ask the question.
It’s an important question, because what are we, if not a collection of behaviors and reasons?
I think people use “I dunno”, perhaps unconsciously, because looking at the alternative can be extremely uncomfortable.
I encountered a great example of this the other day in the dojo. I was on the mat with on of my training partners. We were about half-way through a kata that he had been practicing for about a year. Our in-class repetition of the kata had been sporadic, so his recollection of the techniques was a bit spotty.
In these situations, especially with juniors, my teachers have taught me to verbally communicate before attacking the person, to make sure he knows what he is doing. Bad stuff can happen in martial arts practice when the two people practicing aren’t on the same page.
In this instance, I said the name of the technique, and asked my training partner, “Do you know it? Are you ready?” He replied in the affirmative, so I attacked him. He started half of a movement in the wrong direction, moving without much real purpose, and then I knocked him on his butt.
Perhaps it comes from the fact that I am a bit too at ease in the dojo environment. Perhaps it is just that I am naturally a it disrespectful. Maybe I’m just getting better at being honest. But when this happened, I looked down at him and said, “You lied!”
My partner, who is usually a deeply introspective, spiritual, and moral man, stiffened up as he got up. I could tell that I struck a nerve. “I do not lie!” he responded, testily.
Years ago, I would have shied away from uncomfortable confrontations like this. Luckily, my teachers have put me in this “crucible” before, with my own thoughts and assumptions, so when I saw that I’d struck a nerve, I realized it for what it was: a great training opportunity. Randori for the heart and mind, if you will. I fell into the cadence of a cross examination without realizing it.
“Do you remember me telling you the name of the technique?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember me asking you if you remembered how to do the technique? If you were ready?”
“Yes.”
“Do recall what you said?”
“... that I knew it, and I was ready.”
“Were you?”
“I guess not...”
“You guess? You mean you’re not sure whether or not you were ready? I’m positive. You weren’t. In your heart, you know it, too. So, why ‘I guess’? You know!”
“I dunno. I just said it. I didn’t have a reason.”
Ah-ha! The roadblock!
I have a dear friend (not the same person) who often tells me, “Words are just wind, Pat.” I disagree. If my life as a practitioner of law has taught me one thing, it is this: words have power. Words have deep, subtle, and resounding power. And the words we choose often provide a valuable cross-section into the inner workings of our minds and hearts. This interaction, rich as it was, gave testimony to that.
“Yes, you did,” I replied, “You just may not be comfortable saying it.”
He thought for a moment, and scratched his head.
“I guess...” he began. I looked at him meaningfully.
“Okay, I know why. I... did not want to admit that I’d forgotten it.”
“Eureka!” I raised my hands up.
Now, think about this for a second. It is one thing to be uncomfortable to admit a failure... but put it in the martial arts context. As I mentioned above, two practitioners who aren’t on the page can end up in serious injury, or even death, depending on what is being practiced. You add velocity, or weapons into the mix, and these little mental “vacations” can have life-altering consequences! My friend’s desire not to admit ignorance ran so deep that he was willing to risk injury to himself and one of his best friends in order to run from it!
I pointed out as much to him, and he looked troubled. That is a good thing, in my opinion. As one of your companions in training, if I do not occasionally trouble you, I don’t believe I am doing my part. (That’s another valuable thing I learned from watching my teachers.)
It really is amazing how all our little fears can have dramatic impact on our decision-making, without us even realizing it. The beauty of martial arts training, though, is that it has a way of making the things we’d prefer to avoid startlingly explicit. My friend may have been able to ignore words, but he could not ignore the fact that he ended up firmly on his butt. No shades of gray there, just shockingly clear truth.
I looked him in the eye, clapped a hand on his shoulder, and said, “How many places you got in your life where you won’t admit that you don’t know what the hell you’re doing?”
He grinned, sheepishly. I gave him a big hug. It was amazing to see Something in him (and yes, that is a capital “Something”) change as that realization traveled through him. I could see all the little gears whirring in his head as he thought about all the different places in life he ran into that particular mental roadblock. He’d discovered the reason for his behavior, and I could literally see him make the decision to have better reasons.
That kind of stuff keeps me coming back for more and more.
I do not accept this explanation for any human behavior. If you apply the labels “random” or “pointless” to any human behavior, you close off the possibility of exploring the inner workings of the behavior... and my experience is that there is always a reason for human behavior. That isn’t to say that it is a good reason, necessarily, but there is always a reason, and I think a large part of our task in practice is to ask the question.
It’s an important question, because what are we, if not a collection of behaviors and reasons?
I think people use “I dunno”, perhaps unconsciously, because looking at the alternative can be extremely uncomfortable.
I encountered a great example of this the other day in the dojo. I was on the mat with on of my training partners. We were about half-way through a kata that he had been practicing for about a year. Our in-class repetition of the kata had been sporadic, so his recollection of the techniques was a bit spotty.
In these situations, especially with juniors, my teachers have taught me to verbally communicate before attacking the person, to make sure he knows what he is doing. Bad stuff can happen in martial arts practice when the two people practicing aren’t on the same page.
In this instance, I said the name of the technique, and asked my training partner, “Do you know it? Are you ready?” He replied in the affirmative, so I attacked him. He started half of a movement in the wrong direction, moving without much real purpose, and then I knocked him on his butt.
Perhaps it comes from the fact that I am a bit too at ease in the dojo environment. Perhaps it is just that I am naturally a it disrespectful. Maybe I’m just getting better at being honest. But when this happened, I looked down at him and said, “You lied!”
My partner, who is usually a deeply introspective, spiritual, and moral man, stiffened up as he got up. I could tell that I struck a nerve. “I do not lie!” he responded, testily.
Years ago, I would have shied away from uncomfortable confrontations like this. Luckily, my teachers have put me in this “crucible” before, with my own thoughts and assumptions, so when I saw that I’d struck a nerve, I realized it for what it was: a great training opportunity. Randori for the heart and mind, if you will. I fell into the cadence of a cross examination without realizing it.
“Do you remember me telling you the name of the technique?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember me asking you if you remembered how to do the technique? If you were ready?”
“Yes.”
“Do recall what you said?”
“... that I knew it, and I was ready.”
“Were you?”
“I guess not...”
“You guess? You mean you’re not sure whether or not you were ready? I’m positive. You weren’t. In your heart, you know it, too. So, why ‘I guess’? You know!”
“I dunno. I just said it. I didn’t have a reason.”
Ah-ha! The roadblock!
I have a dear friend (not the same person) who often tells me, “Words are just wind, Pat.” I disagree. If my life as a practitioner of law has taught me one thing, it is this: words have power. Words have deep, subtle, and resounding power. And the words we choose often provide a valuable cross-section into the inner workings of our minds and hearts. This interaction, rich as it was, gave testimony to that.
“Yes, you did,” I replied, “You just may not be comfortable saying it.”
He thought for a moment, and scratched his head.
“I guess...” he began. I looked at him meaningfully.
“Okay, I know why. I... did not want to admit that I’d forgotten it.”
“Eureka!” I raised my hands up.
Now, think about this for a second. It is one thing to be uncomfortable to admit a failure... but put it in the martial arts context. As I mentioned above, two practitioners who aren’t on the page can end up in serious injury, or even death, depending on what is being practiced. You add velocity, or weapons into the mix, and these little mental “vacations” can have life-altering consequences! My friend’s desire not to admit ignorance ran so deep that he was willing to risk injury to himself and one of his best friends in order to run from it!
I pointed out as much to him, and he looked troubled. That is a good thing, in my opinion. As one of your companions in training, if I do not occasionally trouble you, I don’t believe I am doing my part. (That’s another valuable thing I learned from watching my teachers.)
It really is amazing how all our little fears can have dramatic impact on our decision-making, without us even realizing it. The beauty of martial arts training, though, is that it has a way of making the things we’d prefer to avoid startlingly explicit. My friend may have been able to ignore words, but he could not ignore the fact that he ended up firmly on his butt. No shades of gray there, just shockingly clear truth.
I looked him in the eye, clapped a hand on his shoulder, and said, “How many places you got in your life where you won’t admit that you don’t know what the hell you’re doing?”
He grinned, sheepishly. I gave him a big hug. It was amazing to see Something in him (and yes, that is a capital “Something”) change as that realization traveled through him. I could see all the little gears whirring in his head as he thought about all the different places in life he ran into that particular mental roadblock. He’d discovered the reason for his behavior, and I could literally see him make the decision to have better reasons.
That kind of stuff keeps me coming back for more and more.
