The Day I Thanked Kendo

Before I knew it, I had written 30 posts on the Kendo Cat Blog, even though I update it only irregularly.
I had told myself that once I managed to write 30 articles, I might gather up the courage and send them out into the world.

But just as I finished writing my 30th post, a series of major, completely unexpected events hit me one after another. Suddenly, sharing my blog with the world was the last thing on my mind.

When you’re alive — whether you’re a cat or a human — all kinds of things happen, don’t they?

You sometimes hear people say, “There wasn’t a single thing that was truly ‘ordinary.’ I only realized that after I lost it.”
And this time, I truly understood. Exactly that.

Things that had been so ordinary I never even noticed them — one day, they suddenly disappear.

Natural disasters. A sudden diagnosis. An unexpected death. A traffic accident. Betrayal by someone (or some cat) you trusted. A stock market crash… When you think about it, perhaps the days we spent peacefully and uneventfully were the truly precious ones. We actually live side by side with danger all the time — just a paper-thin margin away from everything falling apart. That’s how it feels to me now.

And when something completely unforeseen suddenly falls upon you, your heart is shaken violently. Your body may tremble uncontrollably. Tears stream down your face. It’s a completely out-of-control world. Your heart and body cannot catch up with what has actually happened.

Normally, in that kind of state, you wouldn’t go to kendo practice, right?

However, every year I set a kendo goal for myself, and one of them is: “Don’t miss practice!”

So after agonizing over it, I went.

Inside, I was thinking, “There’s no way I can practice properly in this condition…”

Or, “Even if I can’t practice well today, it can’t be helped. At least I didn’t skip — that’s something, right?” I found myself awkwardly comforting myself before practice had even begun.

That day was Tuesday — kata practice.

Once I stepped into the dojo, I was, technically, a Senpai kenshi. I gave commands as usual, trying not to let the other students sense anything was wrong. But I couldn’t fool myself.

I could tell.

I was about to begin practice without my usual spirit.

But then — something astonishing happened!!!!

To be continued…

Here’s what happened.

Sensei said, “As a demonstration for the beginners, let’s perform all ten kata. Kendo Cat will be shidachi, and I will be uchidachi.”

My first reaction was, “Oh no… of all days…”

But the students had come early in the morning to practice. I had to honor their time. So I resolved myself: “All right. I’ll do the best I possibly can right now.”

I faced uchidachi (Sensei), bowed for the standing rei, stepped forward three steps, drew the bokuto and lowered into sonkyo, brought the yokote together, stepped back five small steps, and assumed chudan no kamae…

As I went through this sequence, something inside me became clear and steady.

And when uchidachi took hidari jodan and I responded with migi jodan, I felt it distinctly.

The feeling was this:

“The usual me” was there.

The self that always appears when I take the role of shidachi in the first tachi no kata — I felt her. Clearly.

When I had left home, I was utterly exhausted — mentally and physically drained by the unexpected events of the past few days, barely able to walk straight.

And yet, the instant I took kamae as shidachi — facing the uchidachi pressing in from hidari jodan — a fierce version of myself emerged.

“I will absolutely not lose. I will defeat you.”

With that strong spirit, I settled my hara (腹） and stood firmly in migi jodan.

I was truly shocked.

What just happened? I wondered.

It’s hard to explain, but I think it was something like this:

For years, every Tuesday, we have practiced kata. Week after week. So perhaps, almost instinctively, in this situation my body and heart knew exactly what to do — how to move, who to become. It wasn’t something I thought through consciously. It was something ingrained in my body that surfaced on its own.

And what this experience gave me was this:

Even when painful things happen, even when my heart feels broken and I think, “I can’t do this anymore,”

There is actually a stronger version of myself hidden inside.

And to draw that stronger self out, I only need to make a small effort — to create the opportunity for that self to emerge.

If I hadn’t come to practice that day, I would never have realized this.

Even though so many things happened at once, leaving me physically and emotionally drained, with my spirit weakened —

Kendo brought me back to myself.

Kendo reminded me that even if many things are lost, I myself am not gone. I am still here.

Kendo taught me that even if my heart weakens again, as long as I return to the dojo, I will be able to find myself again — so don’t worry.

In the end, kendo saved me.

And through this experience, I felt that kendo will continue to save me in the future.

If I had stayed home that day, shut myself inside, I probably would have sunk deeper into darkness — wandering in a dark tunnel of my own making.

After practice ended that day,

For the first time, I said to kendo, from the bottom of my heart,

“Thank you.”

I am truly grateful that kendo came into my life.

After today, I feel that my relationship with kendo has shifted into something new.

Holding onto this gratitude,

I’ll be heading to practice again tomorrow.