Blending Back In

Greg Thistle (Aikido of Ramapo Valley)

They say youth is wasted on the young. They say time is money. They say you can't go home again.

I don't even know who "They" are- and I don't care. I'll let you in on a little secret: you shouldn't be listening to "Them" anyway. Listen to yourself and the people you trust.

If I had taken my own advice years ago, back in the late 80's while plodding through the final throes of adolescence, I'd likely be a Third Dan by now. Or not. It's hard to say, because I stopped my Aikido training cold. I went from training six days a week, upwards of 4-5 hours a day, to nothing... not even so much as a goodbye nikkyo or a breakfall for old times' sake.

There are far too many lapsed Aikidoists out there who stay in touch with the Aikido world, but only from a distance. We all know them, or have been one of them at some point. You know, people who have trained and were forced, for myriad reasons, to stop, and others who always plan to start tomorrow. I can safely say that this line of thinking is an illusion, because I was one of those people. Everyone has a unique story and a fantastic excuse for not training - but the reasons not to train are unimportant; the reasons to train are everything. And maybe someone on the precipice of a bad decision can benefit from my mistake.

They Call This Harmony?

At fourteen-years-old, I was 60 pounds overweight, fairly directionless and entirely miserable. Even then I knew my life was headed down a dark path I wanted no part of, and I was determined to blaze a new trail... somehow. When a friend found a martial art class at the local "Y" on Saturday mornings, he prodded me to join with him. I did, and it changed my life. Aikido wasn't a way to spend a couple of hours on a Saturday, as I thought it would be; rather, it was the glue that would hold my life together. Not a bad return for a $50 registration fee.

The blue, fold-away mats of the "Y" soon gave way to the canvas-covered mats of the instructor's nearby dojo. I'd made the transition from the once-a-week kids class to the everyday Aikido experience with adults. I was ever-present. I managed to meander through the high school day doing enough to get by, just waiting for the closing bell so I could run out the door and grab the train to the dojo. The friends I'd made there were my extended family. People from all walks of life, training and laughing together, took a gawky kid and treated him as an equal, on and off the mat.

In particular, there was a very talented core group of Aikidoka that trained nearly every day, some of whom were with the dojo for over ten years. Instead of the High School football or baseball team, I had Aikido and my fellow students. With their help, as my technique strengthened so did my spirit and body. Years passed, and Aikido helped me grow and transform to shed the excess weight, become a man, and to better understand my place in the world.

Then the world imploded. Thanks to an unhealthy bout of paranoia that I'll never understand, the head instructors were somehow (and wrongly) convinced that their senior students were gathering socially to badmouth them. And in a surreal week, these students were one-by-one called into the instructors' office and, more often than not, they walked out crying, never to return. My best friends, surrogate big brothers and sisters, were gone.

Worse, I was the last one called into the inquisition. It was a brutal several hours of emotional grilling that essentially ended with an ultimatum: because I was only seventeen and dedicated, I wouldn't be forced to leave the dojo... on the condition that I never again speak to those who were "excommunicated." The "them or us" mentality flew in the face of everything that I knew Aikido to be, and called into question all I'd learned. Seventeen is a defining age, and I didn't want to start my journey in adulthood by abandoning my friends. So, my time at the dojo ended. And, because I had been brainwashed into thinking that other area dojos were subpar, my Aikido training stopped. It was far and away the hardest thing I have ever done.

I'll Be Back "Tomorrow."

To extricate myself from the ugliness, I chose a college as far away as I could afford. I looked for an Aikido club on campus, but none existed. I decided I'd wait until I could buy a car before finding a dojo. It never happened. Years passed, college turned to graduate school, which turned to marriage and a job... Aikido was always in the back of my mind and training again was always on the agenda for "tomorrow," but I blinked and over a decade had somehow vanished. Life happened.

About a year-and-a-half ago, I found myself again in crisis. The 9/11 attacks rocked the world and the economy, and my once-secure management position was eliminated. I was one of many Gen X'ers that went straight from scaling the ranks of the corporate world to the unemployment line. There were no jobs that paid in the same ballpark, and I couldn't get hired at a massive pay-cut because of fears that I'd bolt as soon as the economy turned around. I'd go on four interviews for a position and talk myself into wanting the job, only to have the opportunities eliminated due to budgetary concerns. The world was again crumbling around me.

At every turn I'd talk to my wife, family and friends who would try to pull me from the gloom. Aikido was always bandied about as a solution. But I didn't listen. It just didn't seem to be the right time to go back... certainly, it wasn't the right time to incur another expense, even if it was just dojo dues, right? Besides, how would I ever find a good dojo? And, what if I got a job, how would I find the time to continue training?

But things change when you hit bottom. When there's nowhere to go but up, making changes becomes an easier proposition. I needed to find a positive outlet and recalibrate my priorities. Aikido had saved my life before, why couldn't it save me again? After more than ten years, "tomorrow" finally crested.

Oh, You Blend...

Deciding to resume my training was one thing, finding a dojo was another. I was daunted, because I knew good dojos were few and far between. What I had forgotten, though, was the critical decade I missed that saw the proliferation of quality Aikido options. A quick search on the Internet, in Aikido directories, in the phone books and I had a substantive list of dojos to check. And, to my surprise, there were more than a few choices.

Eventually, I happened upon a dojo that wasn't the most convenient or the closest to my home, but I knew I found the right place the moment I walked in the door. I could tell you about the passion and intensity exuded from the Sensei that seemed to cascade to his students, or the warm way the sun fell through the windows and washed over the mat-but the fact is, it just felt right. I joined on the spot, and I felt like I was home again.

I'd love to tell you that I walked into my first class and picked up right where I left off, and that all was right with the world. But life isn't ever quite that easy, which is good. The things that matter are those you have to work at.

The first week back was especially frustrating. Not only was I knocking off years of rust, but it was a different style of Aikido. My original school was based in Iwama style and the new dojo USAF-affiliated. In the end, Aikido is Aikido and the subtleties aren't all that important, but it was difficult to acclimate myself to the techniques and get back into the flow of the ukemi. It also didn't help that years of weight-lifting made me stiffer than a new gi. Getting back into training was both humbling and painful - and I loved every minute of it. Taking advantage of my unemployment for the first time, I went to class six days a week and eventually became comfortable enough to help with private lessons and children's sessions.

Rank didn't matter, Aikido politics didn't matter... it was about directing my energy the right way and practicing for the sake of practice. Aikido for the sake of Aikido and the framework it can provide. For the life of me, I can't fathom how I made it as far as I did without training sooner.

I wasn't particularly keen on being out of work for over a year, but it led me back to Aikido. Now, I have a new job and a renewed commitment to my training, and I don't believe those to be unrelated events. Everything happens for a reason... which is why you may be reading this article.

Perhaps you can identify with my story in some way or know people who have stopped training for a good (or not) reason. Or maybe you're someone who started your Aikido journey and managed to keep life from ever interrupting. Think of this as a cautionary tale, or as encouragement to take that step to get started training again. I guarantee you that the decision to get involved again is the hardest part. But the training is worth it, so get started today. "Tomorrow" can take years to arrive.

They say it's never too late to become what you might have been - I guess even "They" can be right once in awhile.