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It began with enrollment in a Tae Kwon Do class at age nine, and developed into a lifelong passion. I sought out teachers of Aikido, Shotokan Karate, Southern Praying Mantis Kung Fu, and Jujitsu. I was lucky enough to train with both traditional teachers and cage-fighters. All of that background gave me a diverse repertoire, but it didn’t provide a stable foundation. That I had to find for myself.

The Question

What are martial arts all about? Self defense? Self confidence? Kickin’ butt? I tried to find the answer in my various teachers, and each one taught in their own way. One was an alcoholic, and I learned how drink can destroy even the best of intentions. One was hyper-aggressive, and I learned how low self-esteem often manifests as an overly-bold personality. One was very strict, and I learned how inadequacies can be hidden behind ritual and decorum. None of them was the wise, peaceful teacher I imagined a true master would be. But looking back, I don’t think I would have learned as much if my teachers weren’t flawed.

Flaws

My assumption, as I grew into my teen years, was that martial arts was about eradicating one’s flaws. Physical weakness was replaced by strength. Inflexibility with flexibility. Ignorance with wisdom. Uncontrolled emotions with patience and peacefulness. Timidity with confidence.

So I kept searching for a teacher who had successfully replaced their flaws with perfection. Why was this person nowhere to be found? To be sure, some would appear that way in the classroom setting, but since I usually stayed afterward to practice in small-group settings, I got to know my teachers more personally. And that’s when I began to discover that they were just as ‘imperfect’ as anyone else. Eventually I decided that if I wanted perfection, I’d have to discover it in myself. So I increased my training in order to perfect myself on every level.

I Suck!

As I quested after my own self-perfection, I began to discover some disappointing facts.

Physically, I couldn’t reach my flexibility goals. And no matter how much I lifted weights or guzzled protein drinks, I never seemed able to gain the Conan-esque physique I was hoping for. I seemed doomed to a body that would always border on ‘skinny’ and rigid.

Mentally, I couldn’t control my mind. Every day when I’d drive to school, I’d try to spend the whole drive with no thoughts, but every day I’d fail and my mind would wander to my new girlfriend or the homework I had failed to complete.

Spiritually, I seemed unable to find peace in my life. I was striving to reach unattainable goals, and comparing myself to the imagined superiority of others.

In short, I sucked.

The Real Lesson

Then I suffered a back injury that left me lying in bed for days. My flying kicks and leg-sweeps seemed like distant memories, and it was a challenge just to get out of bed and make my way to the bathroom. How was I ever to achieve perfection when I was trapped in a body that was so weak and fallible?

That’s when I realized that I might work for years to forge myself into a bastion of strength and power, and then have it all torn away in an accident. And even if I remained accident-free, my body would eventually fail as it grew older.

However perfection was to be achieved, it clearly wasn’t in the places I had been searching.

The Ego

The path to transcendence. This is what I sought. I wanted to transcend all my weaknesses, but no matter how hard I pushed and strained, I was never satisfied. Lying in bed with my back injury, it suddenly struck me that I was being driven by my ego – by an insatiable desire to become something more. But that desire was only reinforcing my ego, so that instead of creating realistic goals I was caught in a constant state of striving. This striving led to over-training, frustration, and injury. I was no longer in control of my training, but instead had become a product of my striving ego. Instead of alcohol or aggression or stricture, my poison was the desire for self-perfection.

Giving Up

So I gave up. I decided that if I was going to train in martial arts, I should do it not because it would lead me to perfection, but simply because I enjoyed it. After all, it had become a passion because I loved the feeling of moving my body through different planes of motion, I enjoyed the exhilaration of full contact sparring, and was excited by new physical challenges. What if I immersed myself in training for training’s sake?

A month later, I discovered that my choice to give up was getting me amazing results. Not only was I enjoying my training, but I was progressing faster than I ever had before. Instead of drilling a front-kick with my mind focused on some distant goal of perfection, I drilled the front-kick focused only on the kick. I could feel it unfold from my body, I could feel the different muscles firing and relaxing, I could feel the play of balance as my body unleashed and then retracted with each kick. I became intimate with each strike, lock, and stance, and my martial arts became more refined and ingrained than ever.

Giving Up Works

Now, whether I’m teaching mindfulness, meditation, or martial arts, I’ll stress the importance of ‘Giving Up’. Our ego and its goals often serve as a distraction so that we ignore the present moment in favor of trying to ‘get somewhere’. But with our minds so distracted, most of our focus is stuck on the thought-form that is our goal, instead of attending to whatever experience is within our present awareness. Stuck thinking about how we’re going to become peaceful Zen monks or invincible warriors, we miss out on the experiences that stand to further that goal. The real magic is simply in being present and experiencing this very moment, rather than always dwelling in a state of trying to reinforce our ego.

For me, then, the essence of martial arts was learning to let go of expectation in favor of being completely present in each moment.  Immersed in the moment, we find ourselves able to accomplish feats we never would have thought possible, whether that’s executing a perfect front-kick or being present while we wash the dishes. In our relationships, in our troubles, in our joys and our sorrows, the answer is as simple as Now.