Competitive kendo is challenging. There are so many ways to become distracted and to lose focus on the shiaijo when we consider the aesthetic components and situations we cannot control. For example, the varying subjectivities and physical/mental/technical conditions of referees, players, coaches, managers, and competition administrators. Not to mention who is watching and what is at stake. Despite being critically aware, I have learnt to be accepting of these unique difficulties. But when I step back, I can appreciate how challenging competition kendo is for all involved and how necessary it is to call on kendo philosophy to get in the right mental zone and to manage stress, expectation, uncertainty and disappointment.
Competitive kendo and non-competitive kendo are inseparable. Both incite performance and growth― although kendo principles can be neglected in the former. I have always used competitive kendo, as a player and coach, to develop both my kendo and self-hood which I view as intimately interconnected. With this view on kendo, I recently competed again after a long break in preparation for my 7 dan exam.
After a 10-year gap in competitive kendo I competed in the Swedish national championships earlier this year. The competitive pause marked the period when I became national team coach in 2015. I had felt satisfied making a personal break through with performance anxiety at the 2015 World Kendo Championships where finally I was able to maintain my focus and not be distracted by my stress and expectations.
I have not had the opportunity since to test my focus under competitive pressure as a player. And I did feel a gravity of expectation leading up to the Swedish National Championships. Nevertheless, it presented a good opportunity to test the knowledge I had gained from coaching and where I was at mentally in my kendo. I knew I had a good chance of winning based on experience but at the same time I understand expectation can be a distraction.
When the tournament had started, my body had decided to be in each fight. I was determined not to lose but did not feel the overpowering need to win. My goal was to maintain focus, and to show my kendo and who I was. I played these lyrics to myself in my head from Lady Gaga’s Abracadabra before entering the shiaijo: “Don’t waste time on a feelin’―use your passion, no return.” In every shiai, had let go of the outcome and I was only focused on my opponent and being myself. Nothing else. When I won the final, I felt extremely proud of myself and relieved. I said to myself, “I did it.” My performance marked a significant improvement in self-belief and allowing myself to be in moment―none of which was forced. Paradoxically, I certainly felt like I had something to prove as I have been a national team level coach and not competed for a long period, but also felt that I had nothing to prove to anyone else other than myself.
Knowing the self-confidence is fleeting, I had always focused on being brave, rather than self-confident as self-confidence naturally fluctuates and is not something permanent especially when we enter new learning experiences or financial/relationship challenges―for example. My perception on courage changed when I read the short story Förföljaren (The Stalker) by Karin Boye. The text are words spoken by a stranger who stops a woman from ending her life.
Jag vill inte att man ska vara modig. Jag avskyr ordet mod, därför att det har blivit så missbrukat. Används det inte alltid av sådana, som jämt och samt behöver visa sig själva att de inte är fega? Men behöver man visa det, så är man rädd. Hjältemod, heroism, det är oftast andra namn på samma gamla rädsla. Den naturliga, självklara friheten från fruktan är tyst och utan åthävor.
(I don’t want people to be brave. I hate the word courage because it has become so misused. Isn’t it always used by those who constantly need to prove to themselves that they are not cowards? But if you need to prove it, you are afraid. Heroism, is often just another name for the same old fear. The natural, obvious freedom from fear is quiet and without pretension).
During the competition I did not think about needing to being brave. Was it the day I realised I was already free and I did not have anything to prove?
When I have a clear goal, I am more open to messages. I collect “messages” I receive from various media (books, songs, television) and from people. Sometimes I am more open to listening when we I am searching for answers. I am sure the knowledge is already inside of me but I tend to trust it more when it is received from a source outside of myself. When I ask for guidance, sometimes the only words I hear are “listen to your own voice,” which is a bit boring―but I also know it is true.
In Jonas Karlsson’s Regnmannen: en trädgårdsberättelse (Rain Man: A Garden Story) the main character Ingmar, a theatre director read a critical review on his directing ability. The person wrote about him, “Hans allra finaste föreställningar var de där han bara följde sin egen inreröst” (He had his finest performances when he just followed his inner voice), which put Igmar’s self-absorbed behaviour into perspective. For most of his career Ingmar had lesser performances when he performed to shape people’s opinions of him or for extrinsic reward.
We follow our own instructions every day and what we tell ourselves is important. The experience of competing at the Swedish National Championships provided a valuable experience of managing pre-competition stress, a renewed empathy for players, listening to my voice and showing myself―for myself. The experience was a good stepping stone towards my 7 dan exam.
To previous blog posts in this series:
#1 One Step Closer: Starting again.
#2 One Step Closer: Standing Tall.
#3 One Step Closer: Being Comfortable in Open Space.
#4 One Step Closer: Connecting with Ki.
Kate Sylvester Perspectives 