We all have our reasons for studying martial arts. Mine are nothing unusual. I want to be able to handle (dominate) any situation that requires fighting, to be strong and confident based on real skill, to have outstanding self-control mentally and physically...the usual. But maybe more than that, when I started, I wanted to go from being a shy, clumsy, physically-inept, far-from-athlete to being someone worth seeing. I think that desire kept me training for a long time. I wanted desperately to escape from being a wallflower. For a long time I hated seeing myself, so I avoided pictures and mirrors and video. I didn’t want to just be in front of people, I wanted to deserve to be in front of people. To be GOOD at something, to have something others would want for me to share. To earn it and know that it was real and deserved. To be seen because I was somebody worth seeing.
Martial arts offers a beautiful structure for that. You start, as everyone does, as a clumsy, unskilled person who doesn’t know which side is her left, and over time, with dedication and diligence, gradually you gain skill. You can look at people at different stages ahead of you, and predict with a fair margin of error (if your school is any good), when YOU will be “that good.” It may be years, but if the people at a certain level in your school are all “that good” then you can expect to be there someday too. I like structure. I was very attracted to the idea that if I just work hard (and really, I am not a coordinated person, I have to work harder than most) that I could reliably become good at something. Not just “something,” but something I love, think about all the time, and want VERY much to be good at.
I saw senior students helping in class and teaching, being out in front of the others, being seen. I saw students and Instructors doing demonstrations, showing in public what the school is capable of. I saw senior people bringing more to the art I study, and expanding all of our skill, being recognized for their contributions to the art. I trusted that with time and diligence and determination (since native talent didn’t enter the picture) that I could be one of those people. I could know enough to help. That I would have enough skill to be credible as an instructor, and enough “that good” to be worth seeing. Martial, arts could be the vehicle to end my wallflower purgatory. Lately a particular memory has been coming to me. A time when that “work hard and you will be seen” promise happened in a way that it hasn't before or since. A time I was very much seen. My black-belt demonstration. Mountain Quest, the seminar where most people from my school do their tests.
I didn't feel ready. Don't know many people who do, but I was pretty sure that I must be especially not ready. I still felt like a clumsy, inept, unskilled fraud. But I trusted the system and trusted my teachers, and I could look at the skills required and actually acknowledge that I was familiar with those things. I trusted and believed that I would not be asked to test for a black-belt if I had not achieved the expected level of skill. In other words, if the structure I trusted would put me there, I thought I might possibly have earned the right to be seen.
I was not going to waste that moment. My training partner and I started planning our demo YEARS before the day. You might say that we overdid it. But I hope that my epitaph will read “Kim never underdid anything” and Clare is always uniquely appropriate about everything. We took our charge to “show what you love about this art” literally. We did the required twelve physical techniques (actually a few extra) and those were fine. We practiced constantly for months. But we went above and beyond. We had a huge group of attackers in our demonstration. We had dialogue, and a sound system (the test takes place in the woods) and a narrator, we had props of all kinds. We brought the techniques into context. All solid self-defense methods. That demonstration was a lifetime of “LOOK AT ME!” waiting to escape, and all focused on expressing the martial art I loved.
I don’t know what the audience saw. I do know that every person there remembers our demonstration. I’ve heard people eagerly tell others who were not there what they missed. Maybe they saw “over the top.” If they saw a cast of thousands, maybe they missed “LOOK, I have FRIENDS, and those friends mean everything to me!” If they saw props, maybe they didn’t see “Check this out! I can use ANY of these things in a fight, because my art encompasses ALL OF THIS.” If they saw a ten-minute demonstration, maybe they didn’t see “I can go on FOR AS LONG AS I NEED TO, because that is what my art teaches,” or “I have so much to show that it takes a long time because my art is so rich!” If they heard funny dialogue, maybe they didn’t get “LISTEN! These are the things my teachers have taught me. All of their favorite phrases reminding us how to do this art well!” This was my deepest respect and appreciation for the people who helped me learn. This was my gift to my teachers, saying 'I hear every word you say to me.'” What I’m certain they didn’t see was that for a rare moment I believed that I was worth seeing. Camera-shy though I was, I even arranged for a professional to get the video because I wanted to see it myself.
That memory from my black-belt test stands out as the time I was expected to show up and be seen, and I did I REALLY did. I didn’t hold anything back. Martial arts training for me has been far more disillusion and “keep going” than joy and pride. A whole lot of crushed naive expectations. But that demonstration at my black-belt test stands out as the time when that promise “if you just keep training, you will deserve to be seen and you will be seen” was fulfilled. My training partner and I...we killed that demo. That demonstration will live forever. Sometimes “keep going” is the right answer.