Fake it 'til you make it! No, wait. That's dumb.

Good ole Ben Franklin said, “There is much difference between imitating a good man and counterfeiting him.” This applies well to training. If we’re mimicking our teachers, chances are our movement will fall apart - we’ll be in the wrong space, at the wrong time, doing the wrong thing, for reasons inexplicable to us. We’re trying to imitate their movement, but all we wind up doing is counterfeiting it. 

In 1997, I received my black belt in Japan - I had been training just over a year (although I had 15 years prior experience before arriving). Not only that, my teacher jumped me several ranks, so I thought I was "hot shit."

I decided as part of my 'hot shitness' I would begin training with "scary" Nagato sensei, who at the time had quite a rep for bad assery.  

When I first started training with him all those years ago he would say, "Move like me. Imitate me." So I did. But just a few years later, he was no longer saying that. His sentiment had evolved into, "If you need a place to begin, move like me. Otherwise, move like you." And just a while after that it was, "You are not me, so don't move like me. Move like you." This was my experience - he even told one of my most senior guys that he moved too much like me and should try to move more like himself. This realization was huge. 

When we observe our teachers we can make the mistake of trying to, "move like them." But our teacher's movement is there to inspire us - we may see "what" they're doing, but not understand "how" they're doing "what" they're doing. 

This is why things get confusing. Their expression is made with their Uke, in their moment, with their movement. And instead of putting ourselves through a similar process of experience, we imitate their response. In other words, we try to recreate their solution for a problem that is singular to us - our partner is ours, in this moment, with our movement.   

Try imitating a great comedian or musician – we'll always come up short because copying the inspiring thing they do is not the thing we're actually looking to do. What we want is the "secret" to making that thing inspiring in the first place. But like a great magician, what we see is not what is actually occurring. The "secret" is behind the scenes, hidden in their movement. So, we wind up counterfeiting for a basic reason: We cannot fake good habits. But how do we achieve “good habits?”

If we were painters-in-training would we rely on mimicking every single thing our teacher did to advance our own ability? From squeezing out a turd of paint onto a palette, to specific brushstrokes? If we relied on them for everything, at what point would we become a painter ourselves? At what point would we become an "artist" in our own right? Shouldn't we be artists from the get-go? We're already responsible for our actions and consequences even without training. So, why shouldn't we take responsibility right away? 

Ever hear the phrase, "Fake it until you make it?" This is dumb. Don't do this. It's what stupid people think is smart - what they say instead of providing sound advice because they suck (besides, even if you could "fake it," why would you want to?). You can't fake martial arts. You can't fake protecting yourself or others. Can you fake driving a car? Of course not - either you can or you crash.   

Don't believe me? Then take 20 minutes YouTubing some of the frauds out there - they are not hard to find. Watching them, like watching any nonsense, will make your brain ache because it's to see baby seals disarm hunters and club the shit out of them. It might be what you hoped for, but it's totally fabricated. In the real world baby seals always die.   

Watching fakes will also make your heart ache because at our deepest level it violates the common sense - not only do they not "know the ought" they don't even know they ought to know it. 

My advice: Make it (and you won't have to fake it). Instead of watching our teacher and trying to recreate their movement, watch the “outcome” of their movement, and try to recreate that. The outcome is more than likely observable and accomplishable. What happened to the Uke? Where did their balance go - forward? Backward? Did they fall to their butt or their back? Read the outcome like directions on a map. Sure, we may not be able to get to that destination right away, but heading in the right direction is a better start than being clueless as to which way we should even face to start the journey.

I'm certainly not saying we shouldn't pay attention to, observe, and be inspired by our teachers. But relying on them is simply not enough. Recreating the outcome at our level of ability is exceptionally important because it’s the only way we come to understand circumstantial "proportionality" – the inscrutable "how" to do the "what" it is we're trying to do.

ənˈspeSHəˌlīzd

Years ago, I met and trained with a high-level Kung Fu expert, who trained around the world. This guy had it all worked out - every kind of attack had its particular defense. For a straight punch, you do this ... when this happens, that. Everything balanced out like some crazy Algebraic expression. His martial art was boxed, compartmentalized, "curriculurized," and "syllabized." I remember thinking how tiresome and confusing his training must have been.

Questions will always surround training because methodologies and pedagogies are indicative of core values. As I've stated, everyone has their own reasons for training, emanating from their own sense of these values.

Close. What I really need is a gun
that shoots machetes.

Part of our martial training is being able to adapt to circumstances, but since we have no clue what exactly those circumstances might actually be, we have to rely on history and current events to tell us what has happened, presently happening, as well as our own educated guesses. But all this belies the point - the variable will always be change itself.

So it stands to reason that the real world (and training) requires us to respond by “generality,” not “specificity.” Specific techniques we may have intuited through memorized and repeated reenactments - oftentimes speaking to the "preservation" of martial art - may have instilled those performances into our reactive movements, but not provided us with the perception of spontaneous adaptability crucial to the actuality of their use. In other words, “performing” kata is not the same as applying its underlying principles – the stuff that makes kata relevant (and I would argue “viable”) in the first place.

When Soke says there is no "specialization" in the Bujinkan, I take him literally - I don’t think he means just weapons, but everything, including tactics and strategies. For example, if we set out to learn the Japanese sword, that’s different than being able with any kind of sword or blade. The only way I know how to accomplish this broad ability is to track the universal principles and, by them, apply the details of specific techniques in proportion to the circumstances.

We actually do this in our everyday lives. If you’ve ever ridden different sized or types of bikes, driven different vehicles, used somebody else's tools, supplies, or shot somebody else's weapons, you’ve probably done just what I’m writing of. You tapped into your core understanding and applied a universal set of principles to specific and possibly unfamiliar techniques and mechanics. It's actually a simple process, but in martial arts, extraordinarily important.

I don't believe in any singular “right” way to do any technique in Taijutsu. There are “common” ways to gain fundamental feeling and exposure to certain movements as well as habitually better ways to accomplish and apply those techniques as they are needed based on one’s ability to create alignment under the circumstances.

Haters gonna hate.

When we want to know the “way” to do some technique, we should first ask, “what’s the context?” Under what conditions, scenario, or circumstances do we wish to use it? If we’re a painter looking to paint an image of a tree, the optimal question is “What is the context we want to place that tree in?” We all know what a tree looks like, but our image changes if it’s Fall or Winter. When the context changes, so does the application of technique. Are we shielding ourselves or escaping, protecting others or defending them? Or are we attacking an imminent attacker? 

This is partly why Taijutsu is inscrutable. The “no specialization” aspect of training creates an anonymity in movement because the universality of Taijutsu doesn’t look like anything specific. Taijutsu is and should be a variable itself. The definition of a variable is to be subject to change or variation. In other words, it changes as it needs to or when it deems it is worthwhile. 

The difference in context makes the difference with how we are going to apply our understanding of technique. This highlights the gap between performing knowledge and applying it prudentially as wisdom.