From Whom Does the Master Learn?

My daughter, a champion collegiate fencer, spent a few years learning the martial art of kendo when a teenager. Although she never pursued the sport as intently as she did foil and epee it was an interesting experience for her. In my role as supportive parent I especially enjoyed my conversations with her instructor, a man recognized as one of the preeminent kendo instructors in the Mid-Atlantic region.

Understand that in kendo one must be very thankful for every lesson. For example, when your instructor strikes you with the bamboo sword (shinai) you are required to bow and thank the instructor for showing you your vulnerability to the attack. This relationship between student and instructor is highly respected.

Training is a circle without beginning or end

Once my daughter's instructor returned from two weeks of training with the top kendo master in the United States. After discussing how challenging the experience—not simply the physical strain, but also the demands of mindful meditation—he related a conversation he had with his kendo master. Recognizing all he had learned during the training, and thanking the master for his instruction, he was concerned about the master's ability to receive training. Was it necessary for him to travel to his homeland in Japan for instruction? From whom did he get his training? The master's answer: "Oh, I learn from my students!"

On a surface level we can respect the humility of this highly skilled and revered man. Here is a person who has brushed aside all attachments to his ego, and is willing to elevate his students to the level of instructor. He shows great respect for the talents and skills others may have. In recognizing their strengths he experiences no diminution of his own.

On a deeper level we must recognize the great lesson that this master is giving us. From where do we get instruction when we have mastered a skill? His answer: we can find it in the new perspectives, new ideas, and new approaches brought to us from those whom we mentor. The joy of teaching is both what we teach and what we learn in teaching.

Training is a circle without beginning or end. The zen symbol enso (pictured here) captures this continuity, this eternal learning between two people. We must train with our ears open. We must allow our students to use their eyes to see that which we have overlooked and their mouths to share what they see. We must train by being silent and allowing our students to speak. Only in this way can they, and we, fully learn!

Sharing an example from my experience, as a Store Manager I was often assigned manager trainees. I promised them that I would unselfishly teach them everything I knew about retail management, and only asked them for one thing in payment: before graduating, find a way to improve something in my store. Not a single trainee let me down, and we—the student and the master—enjoyed how they challenged my every action, system or process. No longer passive students, they were active in investigating the reason behind every lesson. Their fresh perspective, their "new eyes," made me a better manager than I could ever have been without them. Every failure they uncovered--every blow from their shinai--I greeted with thanks.

Have you been in this business for decades? Are you pretty sure you know everything there is to know? The bad news is you're not the master you think you are. The good news is you can become a master today by opening your ears and being silent when training! Ask everyone on your team, especially your newest employee,  how you can do things better before today is over and you will...Make It Happen!