Standing on the outskirts of a small provincial village, a lone and stoic-faced samurai warrior takes stock of his surroundings.
He has travelled far to this place and even though he has never walked these hills before, he feels at home. His body and clothes outwardly bare the marks of his travels; his sandals are dusty and his feet are weathered.
As he takes a breath, he recognises how tired the journey has made him. Only his training keeps his back straight, his eyes keen and his grip on his sword strong.
The spring light will be fading soon and he must find shelter for the night. He moves off towards the village, heading for a modestly built inn near to its heart. As he nears, he can hear sounds of enjoyment coming from within; the raucous laughing of men and the sounds of their women at play.
On entering the inn, he moves to a table set near the edge of the room and settles to observe the other customers. It is a practice that comes naturally to him, even before he took up the sword, he was a student of human nature. Always the observer, always the guardian.
As a maid waits his table, he orders a plain but nutritious rice dish with some chilled water to satisfy his thirst. As his eyes wander over the room, he is not shocked by the gruff behaviour of some of the other patrons, not intimidated by the drunken young men fraying with each other over a spilt drink.
Nor is he moved by the flirtatious and explicit displays of the fairer sex. He has seen it all before and is not so easily distracted. His mind is set to other tasks, to refuelling and resting his body for his continuing journey and to the lessons he has learnt from his journey so far.
Across the room, through the crowd, his roaming eyes set upon a figure not unlike himself. A fellow warrior, his sandals dusty and his feet weathered. For a moment the gaze is held between the two, before a solitary nod and the gaze is broken.
Understanding has passed between the two warriors and nothing needs be said. Each is travelling the same path, though each is on a separate journey. They each travel alone, both in body and in mind.
We all have moments when we feel alone, when we feel like we don’t belong in the world around us. For the traditional martial artist, feelings of solitude and isolation are compounded by fact that we’ve chosen to dedicate our lives to a journey inherently embedded in the past.
Often, we miss out on aspects of modern life while we spend our evenings in the training hall. Parties go unattended, tv shows go unwatched and pop culture passes us by. And because we miss these things, we start to feel out of place in the world around us. As our training continues, we become ever more invested in a world and way of practicing life that others do not understand.
But I don’t think training in a traditional art form leads us to become loners. I think we are drawn to them because we have that loneliness inside us, a longing for a depth that we cannot find in the modern world.
I used to be surprised by the diverse nature of the training hall, as a teenager it’s where I first learnt to get on with people outside of my own childhood experiences. Everyone has their own reason they started training, everyone has a different background and upbringing. To a large degree, your life story is inconsequential once you’re on the mats. What matters is that you are there, not how you got there.
And yet still, anyone who’s trained for a while will recognise that some personality types are more common in the dojo than others.
For sure, the martial arts attracts the extroverts and the competitors, those who are often drawn to the glamour and romance of combat and the short term rewards of training.
And sadly it’s also prone to attracting the bullies and the aggressors, those who are drawn to what they see as a world of violence and personal power.
But as my time in the martial arts has gone on, I’ve observed something really interesting. The people who truly excel, the people who end up becoming the most respected amongst us, are the loners. They’re the ones who didn’t fit in when they first started training; traditionally quiet and likely overshadowed by louder personalities.
But they found a home. And they stayed. They worked slowly and steadily, less prone to burn-out and boredom. They were more likely to take an interest in the less glamorous aspects of their art and to have a view to the philosophy that underpins the practical.
They took longer to find their feet on the mats. They had to work harder than their peers to earn their place. In doing so, they gave themselves a stronger foundation. Their progress was slower and it was less dramatic, but it was persistent and in the end, that was their strength.
I think I was one of those loners. I certainly didn’t fit in, I certainly wasn’t that talented. But I found a home. And I stayed. I’m glad I did because now I can see the same in others. I recognise the loners and misfits of the mats; I see the quiet ones and those making slow but steady progress. It’s humbling to see it in the next generation, inspiring to see it in the last.
I belong, and so do they. It is a precious few but enough to know I’m not alone on the path.
It is worth reminding ourselves from time to time that we’re not actually alone. We may have abandoned many of the trappings of modern life but we’ve exchanged it to follow our hearts in the search for excellence.
So too have others.
It’s not something we talk about, each martial artists journey is their own. But when we recognise someone else who has chosen to stand apart from the crowd, when we see them walking a similar path, with dusty sandals and weathered feet, we can take comfort and strength from that shared solitude.
Walking the path of a warrior is not about removing ourselves from the path of others but about being secure and grounded in our own footsteps; to find peace in our own conscious choices. It is not always easy to stand tall and face the challenges of being a warrior in the modern world, but knowing you’re not alone and being able to share those brief moments of understanding, makes the journey just a little easier.
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