The dojo makes the dojo leader, and vice-versa.
Yesterday’s training was slightly disappointing at first. The regulars all bailed on me. I only had one non-bogu (but smurf-attire) beginner and a 1st dan who recently moved to our town and it was his 2nd training with us. I wasn’t happy about the image it showed of our small dojo.
In the end, I took on me to be motodachi in full bogu despite my wound. I could manage it. I actually feel like going full blast, my wound being so specific, I wouldn’t be able to tell if I made things worse until it was too late.
All three of us were drenched at the end of the session and even though the newcomer had enjoyed the session, I still apologised for the low number of practitioners. I’ll have to write a little “sensei” rant in the facebook group later.
Not about all of my members, the “core-est of the core” had warned me in advance. Working schedules etc, but there are three bogu I haven’t seen yet since season began and I’m gonna have to reach out to those specifically.
Such is the life of small 10-15 members-strong dojos :
As a dojo leader, you are constantly running behind everyone to see if a practice will be worthwhile (4 present, out of which 3 bogu, myself included, is usually what I consider a minimum to have an ok-time).
Then there is the aspect of the atmosphere you create in a dojo. I believe that kendo has to be friendly, and for everyone to explore at their own pace, providing they can deal with the feelings that come with slow-progression and more specifically, feelings that come with seeing those who want more and therefore give more, surpass you in a heartbeat.
Walking the fine line between friendliness and martial-arts discipline (not to be confused with authoritarianism) and staying close to your members to keep them engaged is the lot of small-dojo leaders and I’ve fully embraced that.
Bigger dojos often mean that beginners are often nobodies and, treated as such. It also means that there will always be enough bogu for training sessions to unfold normally. Therefore leaders of bigger dojos will be more encline to ignore the individualities of its members (until they’ve been around long enough at least).
Bigger dojos have a kendo culture and enforce it without a thought, whether that culture fosters member engagement or proves detrimental to it. “Oh that one wasn’t cut for kendo” in any dojo it’s something that’s often heard, but I suspect bigger dojo to just shrug it off while smaller dojos recognise it is vital to have a strategy. A couple memberships can mean that you can keep the dojo open for an extra year or have to close doors, after all.
I have made of that necessity a sort of virtue throughout the years. With lots of trial and error : ”this is too lax, wait, too rigid, no, too personal and friendly, ouch, too cold…” but now I’ve reached some ideal balance that I only have to fine tune depending on who’s present.
Learning to know the motivations of your members is key to give them what they want out of kendo, is key to knowing where there limits are and how much beyond those they are comfortable to go. “I’m just here to have a good time”, “I want the martial art / discipline aspect” “I want to feel exhausted beyond words”. All of that has to be taken into account, individually.
Whenever someone joins, I clearly show that I am interested in their expectations and am open to feedback. The worst I could do is to try to be as hard and unforgiving as an 80-member strong dojo. I’ve seen it happen in other small dojos and it is a very high risk course of action to take.
Even though there are some exceptions and definitely, some bigger dojos have a similar individualistic approach, the comfort of having a lot of members just makes this kind of investment in the interpersonal aspect of dojo life much less prevalent.
–
What do you think? What are your experiences in dojo life, pleasant or unpleasant? Did you ever feel like you were pushed over your boundaries. Not just kendo-wise but maybe on an every-day level?