Driving Sensei

The first time I was assigned to drive Shuji Maruyama Sensei to a class at Princeton Y, I was apprehensive. The drive was about an hour from his house to the Y, and added to that would be some time spent antiquing. My instructor had told us many times of these wonderful experiences, where Sensei would talk the whole time, and he would remember not a single word immediately after the drive, but then phrases would come back to him weeks and months later; phrases that then stayed with him forever. My plan was to drive carefully, say little and expect nothing - after all, I was sure that Sensei had much more important things to say to my instructor than to me.

The trip went as planned. Sensei talked a lot, about the history of aikido, about ideas that he had often talked about in class, and about more mundane things including cars. (He liked my Mazda. Made in Japan.) I sometimes struggled to understand him, because of his Japanese accent, and although what he said was interesting, none of it really rocked my world. Sensei knew where he wanted to go, he knew where he wanted me to park, I didn't need to do anything but stay calm and pay attention. As we turned from the last antique shop toward Princeton, however, I got a bit confused as I wasn't sure which was the right road. "No problem," said Sensei, "All roads connected. Just like human beings."

All great myths start with a true story.

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