ブラウザ等の自動翻訳機能をご利用の場合、英語・日本語それぞれの表現やニュアンス、文化的背景などが十分に反映されない場合があります。特に剣道用語や感覚的な表現については、意図とは異なる形で伝わることもありますので、あらかじめご了承ください。
There was something said during today’s 1kōhyō (講評) that stayed with me long after keiko had finished. If I remember correctly (and I could be wrong), it was a saying attributed to Confucius (it was mentioned in passing that it was from Chinese):
「知る者は好む者に如かず、好む者は楽しむ者に如かず。」
Shiru mono wa konomu mono ni shikazu, konomu mono wa tanoshimu mono ni shikazu.
It is often understood to mean that simply knowing something is not enough. Better than knowledge is to love what you do. Better still is to reach the point where you genuinely delight in the practice itself. The more I reflected on those words, the more they reminded me of shugyō.
Today’s keiko was difficult again. Not only was it only hot and humid, but I spent much of it trying to be more aware of my bad habits that have developed over many years. As anyone who has tried to change a deeply ingrained habit knows, improvement rarely feels smooth. In fact, it often feels as though your kendo becomes worse before it becomes better. Yet, despite that, I left the dojo feeling satisfied. As I drove home, another thought came to me.
I was reminded of the Disney Pixar film Soul. Near the end of the story, Joe Gardner experiences what I would describe as an epiphany. Throughout the film, he believes his purpose in life is to become a successful jazz musician. When he finally reaches that goal, he discovers that life was never meant to be defined by one achievement or one passion alone. Instead, it is the countless small moments along the way that give life its richness: conversations with friends, a walk through the city, a slice of pizza, the changing leaves, and the simple experience of being alive (I must admit I searched for the scene on YouTube to recall the details).
As I reflected on that scene, I found myself having a small epiphany of my own. For me, it echoed the sentiment of the old saying.
We should certainly pursue what we love with sincerity, but we should be careful not to make it the sole purpose of our existence. For me, that passion is kendo. Yet kendo has become far more than participating in matches or passing examinations. It has introduced me to wonderful teachers, lasting friendships, and most importantly my family. It has taken me to places I never expected to go. It has brought moments of frustration, moments of growth, and countless experiences that have quietly shaped who I am. In the end (if there is such a thing), the destination matters, but so do the countless small moments along the way.
Perhaps that is what it means to reach the stage of tanoshimu (楽しむ). Not someone who enjoys keiko only when everything goes well, but someone who appreciates everything the practice brings, including the difficult days. The setbacks, corrections, and frustrations are no longer obstacles to enjoyment. They become part of it. I think this is one of the silent gifts of shugyō.
Kendo is not simply something I do. It is one of the many ways I have learned to enjoy life itself.
I believe sharing is caring, and A Sip of the ChikaraMizu will always remain free. Kendo is a shared experience of lifelong learning. If you find these reflections interesting or they give you food for thought in your own practice, your support will help me continue writing and sharing lessons from my own shugyō (修行).
Thank you!
Kōhyō (講評): Post-keiko remarks or reflections given by a senior teacher, often including technical corrections as well as broader observations and lessons drawn from the practice.
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