My Juniors and the Discipline Within

In kendo, there is a ranking system called “dan.”

Even when we simply say someone is “yudansha” (a dan holder), the range spans eight levels, from first dan up to eighth dan, the highest rank. Below first dan, there are also kyu ranks.

Dan rank does not automatically increase just by accumulating years of practice. In order to obtain each rank, one must complete the minimum required training period and then pass a promotion examination. Regardless of age, gender, or years of experience, what is examined is how deeply one understands kendo and how well one can put that understanding into practice.

And once you step into a dojo, a hierarchy based on dan and kyu ranks naturally exists.

I have written a little before about examinations and hierarchy in the dojo, but this time I would like to consider the phenomenon brought about by “dan rank” from a different angle.

Our dojo is very small and intimate.

There is one teacher and about ten students on the roster, but in actual practice, we usually have only three or four people. Most of the members began kendo as adults.

Among the students, the highest rank is fifth dan. Following that, there is one fourth dan, one third dan, and one second dan. The rest are beginners who started kendo within the past year.

Perhaps because we practice daily in such a small group, as we continue training, we become sensitive not only to our own growth but also to the changes in the other students who practice alongside us.

For the sake of discussion, regardless of age or gender, let us call those with higher dan ranks “senpai,” and those with lower ranks or no rank “kohai.”

This is probably a common scene in many dojos. For example, when a kohai struggles to achieve ki-ken-tai no icchi, the senpai might say, “Try it this way,” or “Yes, that’s it! You’re starting to get it!” while supporting and encouraging the kohai’s growth.

During kata practice as well, they might say, “Hmm, not quite. Try putting this kind of feeling into it here,” helping the kohai develop interest in learning kata.

With guidance and support from the teacher and senpai, a kohai who diligently continues practice often improves remarkably.

And then, finally, the day comes!

A year ago, the senpai might have casually said, “Oh yeah, I couldn’t do that either back then. Maybe try it like this.” But now that same kohai executes a beautiful men-kaeshi-dō better than the senpai, strikes a perfectly timed de-kote in match practice, or lands a quick and sharp men strike, the senpai probably feels something like this inside:

“Oh no! I’m going to get overtaken by my kohai!”

In fact, when doing match practice against that kohai, sometimes the senpai even loses. It happens all the time, right?

Of course, the senpai may feel, “Wow, that’s amazing,” seeing the kohai’s rapid improvement. But perhaps the emotion that occupies most of the heart is:

Oh no!!

I’m not the only one who thinks this way, right?

There’s also this pattern.

When a brand-new beginner, despite having no prior kendo experience, suddenly delivers a wonderful men strike with perfect ki-ken-tai no icchi, we are astonished — and at the same time think, “Oh no! This person might overtake me in no time!”

But here is what we must consider:

Why is it that at such moments, senpai cannot wholeheartedly rejoice in the kohai’s growth, and instead feel anxious?

Let’s hear an opinion from Chūdan-kun as a reference.

I see. That makes sense.

Then, Chūdan-kun, what if I — meaning your opponent — were a smaller female cat, but had a higher dan rank than you? If you lost to me, would it not feel so uncool?

What do you think?

Oh… I see.

So for Chūdan-kun, dan rank is a very important indicator of relative position between himself and other kenshis.

That’s why, if he has a higher rank but loses to or gets overtaken by a kohai, he feels anxious and thinks, “Oh no…”

But here’s the interesting part: even if a senpai doesn’t want to feel that “Oh no” emotion, they cannot stop the kohai from improving. They can give advice and support to help the kohai grow — but they cannot prevent that growth.

So then, how can the senpai get rid of that anxious feeling? No one wants to practice while carrying such unease.

In my opinion, there is only one way to overcome this “Oh no” feeling! This is purely based on “Haru’s research,” of course.

And that is:

Do not lose sight of myself, and focus my heart on my own improvement.

If I have a vision of the kendo I aspire to, then no matter what happens along the way, I must not let my heart be shaken, but steadily walk the path I have chosen.

What meaning is there in constantly comparing myself to others and wondering whether I am inferior or not? This applies both in daily life and in kendo.

If each of us has our own kendo we aim for, it is important to compare our present self with our past self. But taking one fragment of someone else’s kendo — someone who aims for something different — and comparing it to ourselves, becoming impatient or anxious, has little meaning.

Rather than letting our hearts be captured by such feelings, I would like to be a senpai who can sincerely celebrate a kohai’s growth.

There may be times when I lose to a kohai in match practice. But in those moments, I try to think that there must have been something I lacked. Then I simply identify what that is and continue practicing to improve it.

…Though I write all this as if I am so composed, the truth is, losing to a kohai in a match is not emotionally easy for me. Still, in order not to lose sight of myself, I must discipline myself and move forward while controlling my emotions.

Yes… it’s self-mastery 克己 once again.

And it makes me reflect again on what “rank” (dan grade) is really for.

Anyway…when I think that the existence of kohai strengthens my spirit of self-discipline, I feel grateful for them.

And so, I’ll be off to practice again tomorrow.