The Worst Four-letter Word

Language has been on my mind quite a bit lately.  In today's society, what we say and how we say it are at the forefront of everything we experience.  This surrounding brings a lot of important questions with it:  Are we too thin-skinned?  Maybe so.  Are we too politically correct?  Maybe so, but there's bitter irony in one person telling another not to find something hurtful or demeaning.  Do you ever recall being worked up as a child or teenager and being told to "calm down?"  Drove you crazy, didn't it?

Here's something that drives me crazy.

Let me first be clear; I don't have many issues with language, foul or otherwise.  Like the philosophical musing that defined George Carlin's career, there are words that others find troubling, so it is important to respect and honor other people's reasons.  But, in the end, words won't hurt you.

For the most part, I agree, but there is one word in life, and in karate, that will hurt you as sure as any physical barrier.

That four letter word is C-A-N-T.

I hate that word.  It has defined stages of my life when accomplishments seemed impossible, and I feel strongly that any successes I have been fortunate to experience have been in direct opposition to that detestable concept of "can't."

The big problem with the word is that it implies permanence.  "I can't keep my guard up."  "I can't get that form right."  "I can't fight as well as he does."  None of this is useful.  These sentiments are defeatist, and they run counter to the defining principles of karate.

As practitioners and teachers (and, to me, everyone who advances can be a teacher, if even just by example), we must avoid the negative in our language because as quickly as we form them, our words become the thoughts of those that hear them.  "Can't" spreads faster than smallpox.

Of course, as instructors we must be very cognizant of students' real limitations.  Failing to do so can be just plan cruel.  But, for the most part, the kinds of limitations that I'm referring to are clear if we pay close enough attention.  As for the rest, we must expect excellence, and we have to squash "can't."  "Can" lies at the very center of our ethos, and when our students inevitably face the "can't wall" and feel that there isn't hope for them in the art, that it when the lesson of "can" is most empowering.

The WYKKO's motto is "Rikki Hitatsu," "make effort and you will achieve."  It's not a conditional.  It isn't "make effort and you might achieve."  WILL achieve.  WILL triumph.  WILL be fulfilled in this great discipline.  To define OSU again:  "PUSH ahead; NEVER give up."

I don't have take much stock in absolutes, but I am all about "never give up."

We live in a time where quitting is seen almost as a human right.  What I mean is this:  someone who doesn't feel like achieving can simply quit and shut away from scrutiny.  This isn't new.  Ever since the acquisition of skills became recreation rather than avocation, we've been bombarded with the idea that something must be fun all the time.  Karate is not fun all of the time.  I find there are days when the last thing I want to do is suit-up and come to class.  I do, however, because if I don't, then I deprive my students of the choice to come to class and achieve.  Without exception, after about ten minutes in class, I'm pumped up and enjoying myself just like practically every other class I've attended.

Before the Glory comes the Grunge.  And "can't" has no place in our Association of Continued Improvement.

OSU!