Seeing the trees, Missing the Forest

Last week, my lower back finally felt good again, and I was just so happy to be able to practice normally that I was secretly bouncing with excitement inside.
If I were a dog, even if I tried to hide it, my tail would definitely be wagging nonstop. Good thing I’m a cat.

Still, I reminded myself not to go all out right away.
Instead, I decided to ease my body back into training and to put into practice what I had noticed during my long period of mitori keiko from the sidelines.

So, for about ten minutes before every morning practice, I’ve been having Uncle Bob keep me company while I work on men strikes.

Not being able to practice for two whole months because of my back was honestly miserable.
But at the same time, I started to think that maybe—just maybe—it had been a good opportunity to fix some of my bad habits.

Instead of continuing to ingrain bad habits into my body by repeating flawed men strikes, I completely stopped physical practice and focused on cramming my brain full of information about correct men technique. Relentlessly. Over and over again. (With generous help from reminder notes posted in the bathroom, on the dining table, and everywhere else ♡)

After two months, I was genuinely curious:
Would my body still cling to its old bad habits?
Or would it start shifting toward correct movement?

Well… when Uncle Bob and I finally opened the lid and tried things out, it turned out that my men strikes were still mostly my old bad habits—with occasional moments that almost felt correct mixed in.

Honestly, expecting deeply ingrained habits to magically disappear after two months of just looking at paper was probably unrealistic.
So I reset my mindset once again and continued striking men toward Uncle Bob, carefully recalling each technical point one by one.

And then—suddenly—I realized something.

That realization is summed up by this blog’s title: “Seeing the trees, Missing the forest.”

Let me give you an example.

One day, I thought, “Trying to do too many things at once won’t work.
Alright! Today, I’ll focus on making sure my men strikes are led by my left hand instead of becoming right-hand dominant.”

With that clear goal in mind, I struck men toward Uncle Bob.

“Meeeen!”

Oh!
If I consciously focus on it, I really can strike with my left hand leading!
Yes! I did it!

Just as I was basking in self-satisfaction, Uncle Bob stared at me silently—with a very stern expression.
He didn’t say anything, but I could practically hear him saying,
“No, no. That’s not it.”

Or another day, something like this happened:

“Alright! Today I’ll focus on achieving ichi byōshi—a one-beat strike where the motion never stops!”

Once again, I struck men toward Uncle Bob, carefully repeating the motion without pausing from upswing to downswing.

And then… oh no.
There it was again.
Uncle Bob, glaring at me with that scary face, silently sending the “no, no” signal.

When I ask him questions like this, Uncle Bob never answers.
It’s as if he’s telling me,
“Keep striking, and figure it out yourself.”

So I kept going.

And then—

Ah…!
I got it! Good job, Haru-chan. — by Haru

When I focused on “left-hand lead,” I was unconsciously relaxing my right hand too much to avoid right-hand dominance.
As a result, at the moment of impact, my right hand was slipping down the Tsuka—by about 1 inch.

And when I focused too much on ichibyōshi, I became overly fixated on the movement of the shinai itself.
The strike turned into an upper-body-only action, completely destroying my balance and center of gravity in the lower body.

Why did this happen?

After thinking it through, this is the answer I came to:

I think that focusing my attention on individual technical points—whether “left-hand lead” or “one-beat striking”—was not wrong in itself.

What was wrong was that I forgot the most important thing, which is, “What were these technical points meant to achieve in the first place?”

Even if I technically maintain left-hand lead, if my right hand slips, I lose control of the strike, resulting in a weak, dull, half-hearted blow.

Even if I keep chanting “one beat, one beat,” if the motion is driven only by the arms, the result is nothing more than a forced, ugly strike with no sharpness, power, or beauty.

To achieve the goal—the sharp and powerful men strike (the forest)—
we need left-hand lead (a tree),
and we need ichi byōshi (another tree).

But I was so obsessed with the trees that I completely forgot about the forest.

That’s when I realized something else.

Kendo cannot be thought of as a collection of “points.”
It’s more like generating power with the entire body—and then carefully gathering and carrying that power forward without letting it fade, all the way into the strike.

Not points… but something more continuous.

Hmm… how should I describe it?

Like the movement of the Earth’s crust just before a Kīlauea volcano eruption?

Ugh—I can’t find the right words!

But anyway—

Looking good only in kamae isn’t enough.
Having loud kiai alone isn’t enough.
Swinging the shinai with full force only at the moment of impact isn’t enough.

From the moment of kamae, every movement must be connected, so that the power I generate is not lost halfway but flows directly into the strike.

I nearly felt faint—but let’s stay positive.

There’s no way I can do this all at once.
So first, I’ll accept it honestly.

Then I’ll start small.
One thing at a time.

When striking with left-hand lead, I’ll make sure my right hand cooperates instead of abandoning its role.
When practicing ichi byōshi, I’ll maintain a low center of gravity and strike with the feeling of driving from the hips.

Even that alone is incredibly difficult.

But maybe—just maybe—if I keep connecting things one by one like this, little by little, I’ll start seeing things I couldn’t see before.

Uncle Bob is now quietly watching me with what seems like a gentler expression.

Thank you, Uncle Bob.
Because you practiced men with me day after day, I was able to realize something truly important. Again, thank you, Bob, Mwah♡

Oh—Chūdan-kun, you were there?
Sorry, sorry ♡ I didn’t notice you. Whoa, slow down. You’re moving from chūdan into jōdan.

Anyway, I will go to practice again tomorrow♪

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