Ola's thoughts from her time in class....

The class that took place precisely four months after I joined Byakkokan Dojo told me, quite definitively, that the honeymoon was over.

Taking the initial plunge into starting something new is scary, but there’s comfort in being a beginner. You know so little that every small success feels like a giant step towards confidence (holding your sword right side up; putting your uniform on properly; not stabbing yourself in the face). Even better, everyone else knows how new you are, and it feels like you have a chance not to disappoint these people you just met and kind of really like already. 

Of course, the problem with learning is that the more you know, the more you know you don’t know. To quote  Rumsfeld (with my sincere apologies), starting something new means that you’re surrounded by “unknown unknowns,” so you have zero idea just how much of an idiot you are. But a little while in, you’re surrounded by “known unknowns” — you start realizing just how much of an amateur you are, and the weight of everything that you need to learn to become competent starts to feel a little bit crushing.

For someone like me — someone who’s terrified of failure, who doesn’t want people to witness her when she’s not doing well, who relies on comparison to tell her if she’s succeeding — this is a problem. Being the newest person in a class where everyone is at different levels means there’s zero point of comparison; I have no idea if I’m on pace or completely behind. On the best days, I take pride in finally correcting a mistake I’ve been making consistently. On the worst, I toy with the notion of running away and never looking back. If I keep making mistakes with drawing or sheathing at this point, why bother?

The two months since my realization that becoming a sword master (or even mildly competent with a sword) won’t be a breeze have been tough, both from a personal and learning perspective. I’ve pushed through a class where one of the teachers forced me to kiai when I felt so awful about myself I wanted to be silent as a mouse and utterly invisible, and when being noticed at all made me want to run off into a corner and cry. I’ve been through two extremely frustrating classes of practicing sheathing, and making mistakes again and again, with two different older students. I’ve spent half a dozen physical training sessions as the slowest and weakest member by an embarrassingly large margin. There’s been frustration, annoyance, and exhaustion. There have not been tears, but it’s been a close call sometimes.

The two months since my realization have also been extremely rewarding.

Part of it is the incredibly supportive nature of the dojo; I’m not sure I’ve ever met a group of people as kind and helpful to each other, and getting to know them has been a genuine pleasure. Part of it has been the encouragement of our teacher, Sang Sensei, who only asks that you do your best and make no excuses (and also that you avoid stabbing yourself/others in the face, I guess). And part of it is the realization that this is a personal turning point for me. I can’t half-ass things and hope to sneak by on luck, and there isn’t a curve to make me better than the next guy over — heck, there isn’t anyone at all to whom I can compare myself. It’s just me, and my iaito, and my faults laid bare on the mats. It’s the starkest example of me versus myself that I’ve ever had in my life, and I know that pushing through this will only make me a better, and stronger, person.

The biggest test of this determination, and the scariest moment of my time learning toyama-ryū so far, are just ahead. A week ago, Sang Sensei told me that I could start cutting mats the next time we have a cutting class. That first cut will be everything that I am afraid of: I will be in front of everyone in the dojo with nowhere to hide if I don’t succeed; my failure, if it occurs, will be writ large on the mat — and the fault for that will be entirely my own. 

Each sword class is a fight between the person I am and the person I want to be, but I know that I’ll never become better — strong; confident; focused — if I don’t face up to that first cut with everything I have. 

I’d ask you to wish me luck, but that’s pointless. This is all up to me. 

Ola is in back row far right.....