The past is a stepping stone, not a sinking stone.
Six years ago, I finished an article about my late sensei and ended with that line. You can read it here
This article was written in 2025 for the tenth year of this passing.
Since then, a lot has changed. I have my own dojo now. It’s a thriving, healthy space. Not a children’s dojo, not a McDojo, but a real space with four walls and a tatami mat. The bills get paid. I am “the Sensei.”
The first year the dojo was opened was emotionally brutal for me. I have a tendency of giving on the presence of having it together, so there wasn’t a lot of outreach. The other thing that chipped away at my psyche was that I was doing what I did with Stickles Sensei every day. Before, I was in a vacuum away from it all. COVID didn’t let us do much, and the Aikido stuff I was doing was new, uncharted territory. It’s easy to ignore when you don’t see it every day.
I was desperately searching for a mentor because frankly I felt I still needed to grow. I was terrified of failure … terrified of not being a great teacher. I’m hellbent that this dojo is going to be a success, and there are not a lot of people who do what I do as their primary living. I don’t have a clear vision of what my future is, but I feel it’s bigger than just an ikkyo. For a while, I felt like I was having a ghost for a mentor. Trying to cling to the lessons I learned. For example, in my office, I have a photo of Sensei stuffing envelopes for a seminar mailing. For me, it’s a reminder to keep human connection. He’d make sure everyone got the flyer and a letter… something I still do today. I did come across people who helped me grow leaps and bounds. I reached out to a lot of people to pick their minds. I am still thankful for the lessons and their time.
Some main principles he instilled in me.
Beginners are the lifeblood of the dojo.
Our community is connected, and we need to show up for each other
Don’t worry about who other people follow, train where the aikido is good
The dojo is a business too. Go beyond the mat.
You are here for no other reason than to connect to your vertical alignment
Things I realize are the same between us.
Our offices are messy. Clean them up.
We’re obsessed with Aikido and it could ruin our relationships
We both use aikido to heal inner pain/conflict
We’re both terrible procrastinators
A belief/hope that we all have a spirit that can be refined.
Where things are different.
Self-care is essential for survival.
I remember people. People always come first
I don’t judge as hard.
I have a female perspective
What I learned from others:
Sometimes you have to be the leader you want in front of you.
You can close the dojo when you’re sick.
I’m a damn good sensei with bright ideas
The grief of his passing has been a deeply painful ride for me. Being located away from New Jersey and that dojo, my processing has been different than those who are still there every day. I never got to say goodbye. I didn’t have people on the hard days to see me and say, “yeah me too.” The last time I saw Sensei, he walked by me in a daze like I wasn’t even there.
To try and close this chapter, last year I went to NYC for the 9th anniversary of his passing. Traffic was bad, so I missed Hal’s class at New York Aikikai. However, I was able to grab lunch with the Friday crew. Sharon made a comment about it’s been 9 years. Hal asked 9 years since what? And we said Rick’s death. He went, “oh.” I don’t know how to describe it, there’s nothing unique about the oh, but the way he says it in general sticks with me. If you know Lehrman Sensei he’s got this ethereal energy to him. The world is a stage, and he has no problem breaking the 4th wall. The “Oh”…. It’s very Hal-like. The conversation just moved on to some part of a movie he saw. At the time, it kind of messed with my head. But reflecting on it, it was very zen-like, and I realized I needed that moment to start letting go of the stone.
As a side point, in 2013 my Gram died. That grief was also unbearable. I remember I stopped meditating then because every time I sat, I would just sob. I remember Stickles asking me, “Are you going to be ok?” Not in a nice tone, but in a pull your shit together tone. He sent me to Hal for advice. Lehrman Sensei was the man he went to when he was stuck. I’m sure subconsciously, that’s also why I went to NYA that year.
The second part of that day, I went to Genshinkan to see Andy Sato Sensei. I like training with him. I do feel like the universe connected us. Personally, I can’t quite put my finger on what about the training I’m drawn to, but he’s the teacher I’m kind of following when I can. I wore the belt Stickles Sensei gave me, trained, and had a good time. At the time, I was scheduled to see Sato Sensei three times that summer. I made a joke, “It’s a Sato Sensei Summer.” He laughed. He’s sharp like my first Sensei, but warmer. The training feels traditional, too. The nuances are so subtle, I find myself going back to a deshi mindset to absorb it. In January that year, he wished me a Happy New Year and gave me a hug. I was in a low space mentally, and I am really grateful for that kindness. He doesn’t mind taking a photo with me, and he does smile in our pictures. Something Stickles Sensei didn’t do with me. He’s more open about caring for his students, and I admire that.
The other thing about this is that he and the people connected to him see me as who I am now, and not who I was then. I think this was another catalyst I needed to start to heal.
As I write this, I realize I have been carrying the stone with me everywhere—stuffed in my gi, tucked behind my teaching, pressed into my silences. Under my pillow as I try to sleep at night. It wasn’t helping me move forward. It was just weighing me down. I think I was protecting something sacred. Stickles Sensei’s legacy. His lessons. His voice. But maybe what I am/was really doing is avoiding the part where I have to let go.
I just taught a full day of classes. It’s Father’s Day, a hard day for me always, and while my sensei died June 21st, I always associate it with Father’s Day. As I mentioned in my last writings about him, I started on his birthday, and he died on Father’s Day. It was definitely a clear message from the universe.
To me, the honor in leadership is leading when it’s not easy for you. It’s showing up at the dojo on the days you want to quit. It’s leading in the moments where you’re broken inside. To me, presenting a smile and making sure everyone is still seen is what makes a great leader. I found myself today being present, watching so many children being loved by their fathers. I watched a Dad not train today because his daughter just needed to be held. I watched Dads who aren’t physical try their best for their kids. I saw a dad who’s in the process of adopting his son have the best day ever. You could feel their happiness. The joy of a grandfather sharing Aikido with his young granddaughter and empowering her to take the bigger kids' class. To witness all this makes me proud of my dojo.
There’s your thoughts, and then there’s doing the work. Making yourself uncomfortable is how you grow. I’ve reached a point where when I’m in class now, I’m just present. There’s no nagging feeling of “am I doing this right? Am I just copying Sensei? Will I be good enough?”
That first year was really hard. It was like the scab of his death was being picked at every day. I couldn’t ask him, “hey am I doing a good job?” I’ll never hear, “I’m proud of you.” Which I think was something I used to long for. But that is just me clinging to the stone of grief.
It’s time to put the stone down. Not in a river to forget it. Not to sink it into silence. Not in a dirt mound to be buried. I’m placing it in my garden, my path/legacy of Aikido. In a space to be appreciated, and let other things grow around it. I’m a Shidoin now. I am responsible for a dojo. My students are proud/happy to call me Sensei. The muscles I built from carrying that rock are strong enough to let me care for my garde
