Training Ideas: Reduce the Restraints

In our training, we talk a lot about discipline and motivation in getting our behinds out there and getting the work in. In the Yin and Yang of things, there is also another approach we can take: to reduce or remove our restraints.

At The Art of Manliness, there is a post that discusses this. Below is an excerpt. The full post may be read here.

It’s a new year, so many men are thinking about making changes in their lives. 

Maybe you want to lose weight. 

Maybe you want to get up earlier. 

Maybe you want to spend less time playing video games.

Maybe you want to be less of a grump. 

If you’re like many men who desire to make changes in their lives, you’ve likely attempted personal change but failed. 

You’ve started diets, tried workout plans, and created budgets, only to give up on them a few weeks or months later. 

What gives? 

When we flounder in our attempts to improve ourselves, we typically chalk up the failure to a lack of motivation or discipline. So we read books and watch YouTube videos on increasing our motivation and discipline. But they don’t seem to help much. We might feel an initial increase in drive, but then it peters out after a few days.

Like most men, I’ve had varying degrees of success with different self-improvement goals. Why do I succeed with some and not others? As a father, I’m keen on helping my kids develop noble habits and desires. How can I better nurture their progress? As a guy in the business of “helping men become better men,” I’m always looking for insights that can help me fulfill that professional vision.

So I’ve been thinking and reading about personal change this past year. My study has taken me to psychology and behavioral science, of course. But it’s also led me to philosophy. Personal change isn’t just a matter of neurology or psychology; an element of soul is also involved. Some changes are more soulful than others. 

Over the next year, I plan to share some of the things I’ve been thinking about and learning about personal change. 

But to kick things off, I want to introduce you to a theory of how personal change happens that has significantly influenced my thinking about this aspect of the human experience. 

...

When it comes to making a change, we typically think of increasing our driving forces — things like motivation and discipline. 

Increasing your driving forces can get you much of the way towards your goals. I’m a particularly strong believer in the idea that motivation — having an inherent desire to engage in a pursuit — is essential in achieving success in any endeavor. 

But people often overlook the significance of restraining forces in successfully transforming their habits. Dr. Ross Ellenhorn, the author of How We Change (And Ten Reasons Why We Don’t), compares the interplay between driving and restraining forces to heading out on a road trip: you may have a full tank of fuel (driving forces), but if you run into a traffic jam (restraining forces), you’re not going to get anywhere.

So it’s worth flipping things around from how you may normally think about goal-setting to consider the restraining forces side of the equation. 

Kurt Lewin was the intellectual grandfather of the contemporarily influential psychologist Daniel Kahneman of Thinking Fast and Slow fame. In an interview on the Freakonomics podcast, Kahneman described a key insight he got from Lewin about how to help someone else change that also applies to changing your own life:

Diminishing the restraining forces is a completely different kind of activity because instead of asking, ‘How can I get him or her to do it?’ it starts with a question of, ‘Why isn’t she doing it already?’ Very different question. ‘Why not?’ Then you go one by one systematically, and you ask, ‘What can I do to make it easier for that person to move?’ 

I love that question to ask yourself when you’re troubleshooting failed attempts at personal change: Why am I not doing this thing already? 

Why am I not already eating right? 

Why am I not already exercising regularly? 

Why haven’t I already curbed my drinking?

Maybe perfectionism is holding you back from sticking to a diet. Instead of giving up completely when you don’t keep your diet with exactitude, perhaps you can give up the perfectionist mindset and settle for good enough 80% of the time.

Maybe you’ve overextended yourself in time commitments and don’t have the time to dedicate to a regular exercise routine. Do an audit and bow out of some commitments to free up some time. 

Maybe you’re ready to quit drinking, but all your friends want to do is go to the bar every night. Expand your social circle and find new friends who don’t center their socializing around alcohol. 

You don’t have to eliminate all the restraining forces in your life. Some restraining forces you’ll never be able to get rid of, like family members or a disability. But you can always find ways to work around them or diminish their influence on a desired outcome. Focus on what you can do, not what you can’t do.

Tai Chi, The Watercouse Way

Back in the 80's, Chungliang_Al_Huang did his part in popularizing taijiquan within the Human Potential movement. 

After the death of his friend Alan Watts, Huang finished his book, Tao, the Watercourse Way.

Below is a ~18 minute documentary on Huang and his Taijiquan.

 

Don't Try

An excerpt from an article at the NY Times on Edward Slingerland's "Trying Not to Try" is below. The full article may be read here.

Just be yourself.

The advice is as maddening as it is inescapable. It’s the default prescription for any tense situation: a blind date, a speech, a job interview, the first dinner with the potential in-laws. 

Relax. Act natural. 

Just be yourself.

But when you’re nervous, how can you be yourself? How you can force yourself to relax? How can you try not to try?

It makes no sense, but the paradox is essential to civilization, according to Edward Slingerland. He has developed, quite deliberately, a theory of spontaneity based on millenniums of Asian philosophy and decades of research by psychologists and neuroscientists.

He calls it the paradox of wu wei, the Chinese term for “effortless action.” Pronounced “ooo-way,” it has similarities to the concept of flow, that state of effortless performance sought by athletes, but it applies to a lot more than sports. Wu wei is integral to romance, religion, politics and commerce. It’s why some leaders have charisma and why business executives insist on a drunken dinner before sealing a deal.

Dr. Slingerland, a professor of Asian studies at the University of British Columbia, argues that the quest for wu wei has been going on ever since humans began living in groups larger than hunter-gathering clans. Unable to rely on the bonds of kinship, the first urban settlements survived by developing shared values, typically through religion, that enabled people to trust one another’s virtue and to cooperate for the common good.

But there was always the danger that someone was faking it and would make a perfectly rational decision to put his own interest first if he had a chance to shirk his duty. To be trusted, it wasn’t enough just to be a sensible, law-abiding citizen, and it wasn’t even enough to dutifully strive to be virtuous. You had to demonstrate that your virtue was so intrinsic that it came to you effortlessly.

Hence the preoccupation with wu wei, whose ancient significance has become clearer to scholars since the discovery in 1993 of bamboo strips in a tomb in the village of Guodian in central China. 

The texts on the bamboo, composed more than three centuries before Christ, emphasize that following rules and fulfilling obligations are not enough to maintain social order.

These texts tell aspiring politicians that they must have an instinctive sense of their duties to their superiors: “If you try to be filial, this not true filiality; if you try to be obedient, this is not true obedience. You cannot try, but you also cannot not try.”

That paradox has kept philosophers and theologians busy ever since, as Dr. Slingerland deftly explains in his new book, “Trying Not to Try: The Art and Science of Spontaneity.” One school has favored the Confucian approach to effortless grace, which actually requires a great deal of initial effort.

The Immortal Path of Tai Chi Chuan

Below is a trailer for an EmptyMinds film, The Immortal Path. You can find out more about this film here.

Enjoy.

Ukemi: The Art of Receiving the Technique

Peter Boylan, over at the Budo Bum, had a very nice post on ukemi. It may be found here.

I had previously written on the topic in my little book, The Phoenix Tastes a Lot Like Chicken. I am posting that chapter below. Enjoy.

Falling Down

‘Tis Better to Receive Than to Give.

When we watch an aikido demonstration, what catches our attention the most is the performance of the Shite (sh-tay), the “doer” (aka Tori (tor-ree), “controller”; Nage (nah-gay) “thrower” or whatever term your school uses). We pay less attention to the Uke  (oo-kay) the “receiver” unless he performs some spectacular break fall. We tend not to give the role of Uke much thought.

In the style of aikido I trained in when I was a young man, we practiced our aikido with a “compliant” uke as opposed to one who “resisted.” Different schools have differing philosophies on training and the use of a compliant uke was our way of doing the techniques for both parties in our budo practice.

When we practice in class, we would take turns playing the role of Shite and Uke. We patiently grind through doing our service as the Uke so that we can once again take the seemingly more interesting role of Shite where we think we’ll develop our “real” aikido skills. 

The role of Shite is the Yang aspect of learning aikido, and volumes have been written on how to perform countless techniques. It’s high time we discussed the role of Uke and how that half of our budo practice contributes to the whole.

The Yin aspect of learning aikido is developed by taking the role of Uke. As the Uke, you develop all the fundamental characteristics that are necessary to become a credible Shite. 

Just as the Shite measures the distance/relationship between himself and Uke prior to execution of the technique, so must the Uke. The term used is “ma-ai” which means interval. In the simplest terms, this means the distance between the Shite and Uke. To go a little deeper, this is more than just the physical distance between the two participants in the technique, but also denotes a relationship between them.

From the Shites’ perspective, there is an ideal distance between himself and Uke where the latter is too far away to attack him as is, and must move towards Shite in order to make the attack. Shite reveals an opening enticing Uke to attack. By having moved, the Uke leaves an opening for Shite and is now so close that whatever Shite does in response to that attack, Uke has little time to adjust.

Standing on Uke’s side of the interval, we see that he wants to be close enough to do the one thing that will make an aikido technique “work;” to make this repetition right here, now, a learning experience worthy of the two participants:  a sincere and committed attack. Anything less and this whole practice of an aikido technique becomes an empty dance where both parties have largely wasted their time. 

A sincere and committed attack doesn’t mean however, that the Uke is about to try annihilate the Shite. If you are the Uke in a demonstration with a Master, you have got to give it all you have; but in a class setting with a peer or a junior, your attack must not only be sincere and committed, but appropriate for the type of practice you are undertaking and the relative skill of Shite. Uke must give Shite a sincere attack that he can handle. This develops sensitivity and discernment.

Sincerity, commitment, discernment and sensitivity;  now what?  What comes next is perhaps the most difficult thing asked of anyone studying a martial art. Most fail in their ability to do this to any great extent. The Uke must set aside his ego and fully submit to Shites’ response to the attack. The Uke must empty his cup.

Some Taijiquan Training Methods

The following is an excerpt from an article written by Scott Meredith on some training methods of Taijiquan at Budo Japan. The full article may be read here.


The Chinese martial art Taijiquan, when properly understood, is a martial art like no other. Its fundamental principle contradicts all our natural intuitions. Our natural intuitions about physical power in fighting have been well stated in the Classic Writings of Taijiquan:
 

There are many fighting arts. Although they take different forms, they generally don't go beyond the strong dominating the weak, and the slow losing to the swift. But strength and speed are natural physical endowments, not the result of superior understanding. As for strength, it’s been said that "Four ounces can neutralize a thousand pounds" ? so physical force may not be the ultimate trump card. And when we hear of an old man defeating a gang of youngsters, can we honestly conclude that this is due to speedy reflexes?

 - Wang Zongyue

 
My Taijiquan is in the lineage of Professor Zheng Manqing (1902 - 1975), as transmitted by Benjamin Lo of San Francisco. This style is based on the Asian theory that a semi-physical or non-physical power lies dormant in the human body and mind. Through centuries of conflict, this power has been harnessed, refined, amplified, and deployed for self-defense and martial arts. Nowadays, because guns are widespread, the combative focus of classical Taijiquan training is no longer paramount. The emphasis has shifted to the enjoyable and fascinating inner experiences that result from the cultivation and direct perception of this internal force. 
 
The most important requirement for Taijiquan training is relaxation. You must never tense up or attempt to use muscular force, either in solo practice or in handling a training partner or actual adversary. That seems counter-intuitive. How can anything be done without physical force? Taijiquan theory maintains that although a very soft physical ‘nudge’ may be used as a kind of trigger, the startling physical effects that a Taijiquan adept can demonstrate do not result from ordinary physical power. 
 
The power source can be compared to making popcorn. When the heat from the fire reaches a certain level, it triggers an explosive movement and sound from the popcorn kernel. However, the heat is only the triggering agent. The pop is actually powered by the stored chemical energy within the popcorn kernel itself. No matter how much you heat a soybean, you won't get this result. So, your partner’s body is actually being moved by his or her own inner tension, which is merely triggered by your light push. So the first work of Taijiquan is mental ? to shed the lifelong automatic association of power with physical force and muscles.

Taijiquan practice is based on a sequence of slow-motion postures. The sequence is performed solo, like shadow-boxing. The posture work is beyond the scope of this brief introductory article. I’ll discuss instead the other primary training method of Taijiquan - working with a partner in the Push Hands drill. 
 
In the Push Hands drill, two partners face one another and each attempts to unbalance the other with a light push or pull. It is cooperative because we follow rules against striking, sweeping, throwing, and kicking. Yet it is non-compliant because it has ‘aliveness’ ? we don’t play along for the sake of social pleasantry. Only when our partner exploits genuine tension in our bodies must we take a step to regain our balance. This keeps the practice ‘real enough’, so that something of value can be learned. It is akin to a limited version of the traditional Japanese jujutsu practice of kuzushi (崩し : collapsing, unbalancing, or taking down).
 
It sounds simple on the physical level, but this drill has some interesting elements of the deeper Taijiquan philosophy. Foremost of those is relaxation. Habitual tension carried in your body, and/or any attempt to use crude muscular force can be easily detected and nullified by a skilled partner. So you must avoid those two faults, of inherent tension and use of force, no matter how long it takes to shed them. 
 
Furthermore, many Taijiquan traditions teach techniques for physical manipulation of the partner’s body and joints, organized as a syllabus of ‘attacks’ and ‘defenses’. My tradition, however, does not employ techniques. That’s because there’s too much ground to cover, as the range of possible moves and counter-moves is endless. Instead, we work on the level of higher principle, because if our energy is sensitive enough, it will alert us in time to pre-empt and neutralize any kind of movement from our partner
 
‘Unbalancing’ the partner means forcing him or her to take one or more steps to regain stability. It generally isn’t necessary to hurl the partner several meters away, or to throw him hard against a wall. It’s sufficient to use a soft touch to shake the partner’s balance just enough to force a step out, or two. This keeps the practice safe and fun, as well as allowing for cultivation of a finely calibrated force that is under very rigorous control.

Hard and Soft Martial Arts

At Plum Publications, Ted Mancuso wrote an article comparing hard and soft martial arts, specifically Taijiquan and Hung Gar. An excerpt is below. The full post may be read here.

It’s important to start this right. We have to distinguish between soft and hard, and internal or external. Let’s be honest, all styles of Kung Fu start as ”External styles”. But styles may be hard or soft and still be external or internal. Another way to say this is that all kung fu aims at occupying the center of the map. If you start in the north you will move southward. If you start in east you will traverse to the west. The point is that we often call this or that style external or hard or soft without understanding that even in the most extreme cases, a proper style covers all four of these corners.

I want to compare two styles that most people might consider to be extremely opposed to one another. But Tai Chi and Hung Gar kung fu are not really that antithetical. In fact, as we will see, they share a great deal in common though that might not be as obvious as we would like.

Of course people who study Tai Chi assume it is a soft, slow and internal style as if these things were all the same. But as we said earlier, all training starts externally because that is the only way you can start. However, in some cases the training starts with the hard external and in some cases with the soft external. At which point the training starts to reverse its direction and go toward the opposite direction is very dependent not only on the style, but on efforts of the student and intelligence of the instructor.

There is also the issue of completeness. For instance, in Tai Chi, few practitioners wish to master the entire system. Therefore those aspects of Tai Chi in which you develop strength, create power, or condition the body are rarely seen by the majority of students. It may be a shock to say, but Tai Chi has body conditioning and other means of strengthening it to withstand blows. Though it rarely engages in exercise like iron palm training, there are equivalent exercises to develop strength and power in the limbs. Most people who study Tai Chi for at least a few years know that there are times when power and force issuance are clearly shown. Sometimes they may only see this when their instructor’s demonstrate, or give a private lesson; but it is there.

Let’s compare Tai Chi with Hung Gar. The first clue that the so-called “external style” of hung gar is really something a little more sophisticated that it first appears, comes with the one thing which Hung shares with Tai Chi; something so obvious it is overlooked. Both of these styles have sections at least, of very slow motion action. Many parts of the Hung style move very slowly, relative to the speed possible by a reputable martial artist. Why, you should ask yourself, are the Hung Gar styles moving so slowly? Surely it cannot be for combat purposes. There are a number of aspects to the answer but at least some of these are because Hung players are focusing their attention and their actions internally, that is to say, at the appropriate pace and amount of strength linked with their intent. By the same token, Hung uses its famous Shaolin Temple five animals—especially the Dragon and the snake—to practice a more relaxed and fluid motion. The percentage of this type of motion increases as does the skill level of the Hung practitioner. You can actually see, If you’re exposed to enough of the Hung style, the transformation from early sets, such as Gong Chi Fuk Fu, to the Advanced sets such as iron wire, a very clear progression from hard towards soft and external toward internal. This does not even count such internal but hard training as the golden Bell or iron body.

2nd eBook From Cook Ding's Kitchen

I mentioned this in Cook Ding's Kitchen 8th Anniversary Post. I have added a new item to the carryout menu, the second eBook from Cook Ding's Kitchen.

The book is titled, "The Phoenix Tastes a Lot Like Chicken." It is about the Yin aspects of our training. 

The Yang aspects, the forms and drills, repetitions and hours we put in are easy to grasp. The subtle unseen aspects of our training are just as important and my go unnoticed. I thought it was time to give them their due.

The Phoenix Tastes a Lot Like Chicken is available on Amazon for the Kindle. 

If you don't have a Kindle, you can download the free Kindle reading app here.

Below is a chapter from the book, on the value of being on the receiving end of technique practice. Enjoy. If you read the book, please leave a review. It will help me out.

Falling Down

‘Tis Better to Receive Than to Give.

When we watch an aikido demonstration, what catches our attention the most is the performance of the Shite (sh-tay), the “doer” (aka Tori (tor-ree), “controller”; Nage (nah-gay) “thrower” or whatever term your school uses). We pay less attention to the Uke  (oo-kay) the “receiver” unless he performs some spectacular break fall. We tend not to give the role of Uke much thought.

In the style of aikido I trained in when I was a young man, we practiced our aikido with a “compliant” uke as opposed to one who “resisted.” Different schools have differing philosophies on training and the use of a compliant uke was our way of doing the techniques for both parties in our budo practice.

When we practice in class, we would take turns playing the role of Shite and Uke. We patiently grind through doing our service as the Uke so that we can once again take the seemingly more interesting role of Shite where we think we’ll develop our “real” aikido skills.

The role of Shite is the Yang aspect of learning aikido, and volumes have been written on how to perform countless techniques. It’s high time we discussed the role of Uke and how that half of our budo practice contributes to the whole.

The Yin aspect of learning aikido is developed by taking the role of Uke. As the Uke, you develop all the fundamental characteristics that are necessary to become a credible Shite.

Just as the Shite measures the distance/relationship between himself and Uke prior to execution of the technique, so must the Uke. The term used is “ma-ai” which means interval. In the simplest terms, this means the distance between the Shite and Uke. To go a little deeper, this is more than just the physical distance between the two participants in the technique, but also denotes a relationship between them.

From the Shites’ perspective, there is an ideal distance between himself and Uke where the latter is too far away to attack him as is, and must move towards Shite in order to make the attack. Shite reveals an opening enticing Uke to attack. By having moved, the Uke leaves an opening for Shite and is now so close that whatever Shite does in response to that attack, Uke has little time to adjust.

Standing on Uke’s side of the interval, we see that he wants to be close enough to do the one thing that will make an aikido technique “work;” to make this repetition right here, now, a learning experience worthy of the two participants:  a sincere and committed attack. Anything less and this whole practice of an aikido technique becomes an empty dance where both parties have largely wasted their time.

A sincere and committed attack doesn’t mean however, that the Uke is about to try annihilate the Shite. If you are the Uke in a demonstration with a Master, you have got to give it all you have; but in a class setting with a peer or a junior, your attack must not only be sincere and committed, but appropriate for the type of practice you are undertaking and the relative skill of Shite. Uke must give Shite a sincere attack that he can handle. This develops sensitivity and discernment.

Sincerity, commitment, discernment and sensitivity;  now what?  What comes next is perhaps the most difficult thing asked of anyone studying a martial art. Most fail in their ability to do this to any great extent. The Uke must set aside his ego and fully submit to Shites’ response to the attack. The Uke must empty his cup.

 

A Cup of Tea

Nan-in, a Japanese master during the Meiji era (1868-1912), received a university professor who came to inquire about Zen.

Nan-in served tea. He poured his visitor's cup full, and then kept on pouring.

The professor watched the overflow until he no longer could restrain himself. "It is overfull. No more will go in!"

"Like this cup," Nan-in said, "you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?"

To empty one’s cup is probably the first real test in anyone’s martial arts training. It can take many forms: following Shite, setting aside any previous knowledge when joining a dojo to train the way the current instructor says, or any number of things which requires that you set your own ego aside.

If you can’t pass this first test, you probably won’t accomplish much else in your training either.

Wherever Shite leads, Uke sticks, follows and yields. Whatever changes the Shite presents to Uke, he adapts and continues. Uke can’t do just anything “he wants” either. What “he wants” doesn’t matter in the performance of the technique. If he gives up his ego, Uke doesn’t “want” anything other than to flow appropriately with the rest of the technique and be in harmony with Shite, who is leading the way.

Uke must empty himself to respond quickly and appropriately to Shite. This is the very characteristic that one who is playing the role of Shite requires the ability to respond to any attack from any direction and number of opponents. The role of Uke is the most immediate training ground for cultivating this type of mind because he must do it again and again in real time. Trying to think and anticipate will only open the door to falling behind. The only way to keep time is cultivate a calm, clear mind; to be like the proverbial water reflecting the moon with “no gap.”

The harmony between Shite and Uke is where aikido happens; where Budo is practiced. The Yin Yang symbol  is complete.

We sometimes hear that “Master X was uchideshi (inside student) to Master Y for n years.” The uchideshi is a special student, an inside student. The uchideshi  is typically a live-in student so that he may observe the master throughout the day and absorb lessons from his daily life. The uchideshi is the master’s personal grunt in order to knock down the ego a bit. Most importantly, the uchideshi serves as the master’s personal uke during this period of his training.

Teaching and learning an internal martial art is an intensely personal matter and as you can see the “correct transmission” is literally handed off by touch as one candle is used to light another.

Uke and Shite. Yin and Yang. The practice of Budo. In our daily lives, by learning to stick follow and adapt, to be a good Uke; we develop the qualities that allow us to take positive action like a good Shite when the  opportunity is ripe.

The combination of the skill and understanding of both roles, Shite and Uke helps to make us complete.