Aikido: More Than a Sport, It's a Way of Life

The Path of Self-Mastery and Inner Peace

Aikido is presented not as a sport, but as a discipline focused on self-improvement and mental mastery.

Aikido is not a sport. It is Budo. This thrilling line from my Yoshinkan Aikido textbook immediately set the stage. The fact that Aikido isn't a sport is truly refreshing. It doesn't obsess over winning or competing; instead, it looks back to the Samurai code of self-improvement. But it’s not a lonely journey. The dojo, the senseis, and the other students are all crucial to the process. You strive to get better, but in a totally cooperative atmosphere.

The dojo itself is a special place. My dojo is in a cheap, unassuming building, but when you step inside, it feels like you've gone back in time to an Edo-period training school. There's an intense silence. The training is non-stop, with senseis moving around to help students with their alignment. It's a world away from the aggressive sports I used to know. I hope Aikido never becomes a sport, especially not an Olympic one. Martial arts were never meant to be sports—they're arts, after all. I used to practice Judo and loved its clever and subtle techniques. But now, Judo has become a brutal power sport, full of muscle-bound brutes who rely on just a few techniques and raw force. It’s no wonder people are turning away from it.

The real difference is that Aikido is a way of life. When you play amateur sports like football or rugby, you run around, have fun, and get a good workout. But in Aikido, you learn something far more profound: concentration. Modern sports are the opposite of mental focus. People love them because they offer a chance to be wild—to shout and tackle—a complete contrast to the passive lives we lead at our desks.

Aikido isn't about fun or freedom in that sense. It's about mastering your body by mastering a series of techniques. And you can only master your body if you master your mind. This happens through endless repetition. The “kihondoza,” or basic movements, can be dull, but they are the fundamental building blocks for every advanced technique. They also build incredible core strength. Of course, there’s exhilaration in seeing yourself improve, sweating alongside other committed students.

At the start of every class, we line up on the mat. We sit with our backs straight, hands still, and eyes half-closed. You're not supposed to think about your day or the class. You observe your thoughts and feelings from a distance, like watching clouds reflected on a still pool. You don't ignore them; you learn to control them.

Just as Charles Duhigg’s book The Power of Habit suggests, Aikido teaches you the importance of automaticity. The moment you bow to the founder’s statue when you enter the dojo, you're on autopilot. You don't waste a single moment or a particle of energy. You fall into an Aikido trance, only to awaken 60 or 90 minutes later, drenched in sweat.

When you leave the dojo, you step back into the chaos of modern life—traffic, emails, phones. But when it all gets to be too much, you can straighten your back like a true Samurai, jut out your chin, and half-close your eyes. In that instant, you can recapture the serenity and focus of the dojo. Then, you simply do what you have to do.