Like a martial arts session, our coaching and therapy sessions should begin and end with a respectful “bow” to our clients.
It starts and ends with a bow. A bow signifies respect. I’m lucky to have a strong martial arts background. I’ve studied Japanese jujutsu and aikido for sixteen years. Boxing, muay thai and judo have also been part of my martial learning curve. Each has a beauty, and each art has humbled me. I enjoyed what the training hall — or dojo — taught me. What was the most important lesson? The efficient, deliberate movements and intentions of martial arts. I learned much of this efficiency from one of my teachers, William Haynes. In Japanese martial arts, we call our teachers — those who earned their black belts — Sensei. William Haynes was Bill Sensei to us.
Unfortunately, Bill Sensei passed away from cancer many years ago. I loved learning from him, and I miss him deeply. I enjoyed studying aikido with him for years; he was old school. He worked as a sales rep, was a challenging and fair teacher, and loved his family. He had a black belt in karate, classical Japanese Jujutsu, and aikido. He loved teaching aikido.
He might have appeared prickly and strict to other people. I remember my son when he was five years old. He met Bill Sensei. My son said he’s nice, but you wouldn’t want to mess with him. My son’s impression spoke of Bill Sensei’s stern nature. But even though his nature was stern, it wasn’t austere or oppressive by any means. He would get us to focus on being very much in the moment.
Bill Sensei also wore a ceremonial part of his uniform. This ceremonial part of his uniform looked like a big black skirt. They call this skirt hakama. When I became fairly senior in aikido, he taught me once how to fold his hakama. It required a lot of mindful attention. The folds were quite intricate and needed precision. If I wasn’t paying attention and I did a sloppy job. The hakama did not look well-folded. If I dared to return a crumpled, flawed hakama to Bill Sensei, he would return it and tell me to fold it again. So, if I were having a bad day and feeling a bit off and not paying attention, this would come back to bite me.
When folding hakama, I had to be grounded, centred, and mindful. I had to fold things properly the first time. It was an annoying lesson that taught me about my mindset each time I did it. There was no slouching or looking lazy on the mat. Everything had to be efficient, orderly, and purposeful. It is the same way of being we should be when we are with our clients. Even when we bowed onto the mat, there was a brief time of meditation where we would empty our minds.
I remember having a bad day at work. I felt a deep dread and regret. Yet I still turned up to the mat, and I’m glad I did. I bowed onto the mat. My gut feeling faded as I shifted my focus from the day’s troubles to the mat. The beauty of bowing onto the mat is that it is a deliberate practice. It is a habit that teaches you to be present.
This presence remains regardless of what happens on the dojo mat. Failure tests one’s presence. I will share some of my failures. I failed my aikido shodan (or first-degree black belt) grading. That stung — and I shared this failure with my young son. It’s OK to fail. I was also hospitalised in my first attempt at my jujutsu shodan grading. My wife and son were present at this one — they shared this failure during a 13-hour wait in the hospital. I did not give up despite this injury. My head injury healed (with seven staples in my skull), and I reached out to my teachers. One month later I passed my Japanese jujutsu shodan grade. There are still mistakes I make, but I am still learning and experimenting. I experienced many small failures, too. Going through plateaus in my skill level. Not learning movements, my uncoordinated limbs flailing about. Tapping out many times in groundwork. Bruises all over my body — feeling like I was hit by a truck. Turning up to training anyway. I have passed many gradings and shown discipline and determination. While I wear a black belt now, I am always a white belt at heart. My inner white belt is dirty and scuffed — showing that I know a little and have not given up.
Bill Sensei would quickly give me feedback if I were not present. This might not be the case with you. But, aim to build a habit in your life. It could be part of your pre-game warm-up for coaching or therapy work. Your mind should switch on to the present moment. After being present with your client, train yourself to bow off the mat. Bowing off the mat gives you space between supporting a client and switching off your professional mode. It lets you shake off the intensity of your session. It shows you are human. You can be loose, relaxed, and imperfect. This ideal should apply when you’re with clients.
It should be the case after. There is no perfect coach or therapist; you can give yourself a sense of informality by bowing off the mat. You don’t have to be switched on to get by in life. Even athletes oscillate between peak and off seasons. They maximise their off-season, just as they do in the peak season. So, once you’ve bowed off the mat, enjoy the off-season. Use your energy wisely. Returning to the present moment, the Japanese would use the tea ceremony.
There’s a beautiful way to move with the economy. It considers details and slows one’s mind to the present moment. This is a lovely form of Zen. Learning ceremonies like the tea ceremony will slow one’s mind. It takes time, but it works. Before a black belt in Japanese jujutsu, there is a kata. It is a ceremonial pattern of movement. Normally, kata is performed alone. The one I learned was one done between two people.
Typically, the two people are candidates for shodan or first-degree black belt. Each candidate spends months learning their role in a ceremonial form that emulates a tea ceremony. Every move is deliberate and precise. Japanese jujutsu instructors will oversee both candidates. They will learn and execute the movements with silky grace. The particular kata I learnt was Kime no Kata, meaning “forms of decision” in Japanese. Some nights, I would try to learn, and my mind would not be entirely centred. I might have had a rough day at work and wanted to get through the kata to get on to other things.
Those were the nights I got the most feedback. When I took the time to centre myself, I focused on each movement’s polish, detail, and intent. I became so immersed in the activity that time would slip away. The patterns would come to an end. Then, my partner and I would switch roles and start the patterns again.
We went from an awkward recollection of twenty patterns. Each pattern was part of a bigger scene — one between the tea ceremony host and a visiting Japanese warrior. The visiting warrior attacked the host without warning. Kime no kata revealed how the host gracefully dealt with each attack. We moved from the weapons used in the kata, a short blade called a tanto and a sword called a katana. We would fumble with withdrawing or sheathing the blades, or a weapon would fall to the ground. We struggled to move with precision and grace. How does this relate to coaching or therapy?
By bringing your mind to the present moment. It lets you pick up the small nuances the client will give you. It’s like the tea ceremony or kata between two Japanese jujutsu students. One person will bring a specific energy. The partner needs to provide a suitable response to it. This silky grace can apply to your coaching and the details you pick up. You can use it to determine how you respond rather than react to an unexpected event.
The more you focus on small details and the art of being in the moment, the more you reach a state called mushin. It means “no mind.” There is no thinking at this point. Only doing.
We should not think too far ahead. We must adapt and respond, not react.