My Budo Blog New Year's Message - Reflections & Rebirth, A Humbling Journey

Well, it’s that time again.  It’s time to sit and reflect on how my Shugyo (martial path) has evolved over the last year and try to take a look ahead.  More importantly, it’s time to evaluate mistakes, successes, clues and dead ends.  Last year was quite a turbulent year for me personally and it was reflected in my own training, as well.

I began 2014 with a feeling, or more accurately, a burning need to look inside myself and ask hard questions.  These questions all surrounded one nagging theme of “why”.  Why was I training?  There were many outside influences which helped push my understanding and challenge my own purpose for training and it forced me to look at everything with fresh eyes.  I also had the fortunate opportunity to train with people who were reaching for new horizons, expanding their own understanding and weren’t afraid to break tradition in order to explore possibilities.  All of this helped me in so many ways, too many to try and explain in this blog post, and the fruits of that are still revealing things to me even today.

I made many mistakes, important mistakes, and had my own flaws openly displayed.  Seeing the holes in my own abilities and thinking was not an easy thing for me.  It isn’t easy for anybody, especially when others look to you for guidance and understanding.  But, what it did was enable me to come to terms with my own ego, my own acceptance that I, too, am still a student with SO much more to learn and SO much farther to grow.  I believe it was that humbling process, even if uncomfortable and painful, that broke me out of the rigid shell I had allowed myself to be trapped in.  All my struggles I had written about before suddenly fell away and left me with a renewed sense of purpose and direction.  I had been looking inside myself to find the answers, but I was also seeking solutions outside myself by exposing myself to so many different ways and methods that I had actually created more confusion and struggle.

I was like a ship on rough waters, throwing up sails to catch any wind that came along, and never actually following any charted course.  In that madness, there were discoveries and new experiences, but at the end of it all, I was still a ship lost at sea.

Some things that manifested during the year included moving my classes to my private dojo.  This meant training in my back yard and at a local park by my house, while I worked hard to clear out my garage, purchase and install adequate matting and create a suitable indoor training space before the winter rains would arrive.  This gave us many opportunities to train in different environments, which offered new insights into adapting techniques to meet the environment.  The other result of moving classes to my private dojo is the class size capacity.  I had to decide to cap our class size in order to prevent crowding.  This meant I had to stop actively trying to recruit new students and even turn down some interested prospects.  But, I also felt good about the folks who came with me to train when the Bujinkan Life Dojo facility closed down.  We lost a few students and gained a few.  Those who were along for the journey and left are now on to fulfilling great things in their lives and I’m happy to have walked their path with them for the time they were with me.  All things serve a greater purpose and I like to think their training, although temporary, played a key role in launching them into the new chapters in their lives.  The martial path is different for each person and not everybody devotes their entire lives to walking it, yet all are shaped and influenced by the experiences and lessons gained from walking it.

As 2014 progressed, I had the fortunate experience to train with a very skilled and knowledgeable Shihan who was here visiting from Japan (he is a California native living in Japan) and taught a weekend seminar.  That seminar and the many talks he and I shared helped clarify and solidify many wonderful things with me.  He chose me as his Uke for most of the entire seminar, much to my humble appreciation (and pain!), but in that experience I learned a great deal about the importance of the ryuha kata, why they were written the way they were written, layers of learning progression, and how one should approach study and training to unlock the secrets they contain.  Prior to this, I had convinced myself ryuha kata were dead, something to practice, but quickly discard for more “real” methods.  Yet, training with him reinforced my experiences and shift of understanding I gained from training with another incredibly skilled and knowledgeable non-Japanese Shihan who also lives in Japan, but was out here to do a seminar at our Bujinkan Life Dojo facility.  Those two events cemented really foundational truths I had already known about, but not realized just how much I needed to embody them in my own training – and in my own teaching.  I had spent too much time in my own head, too much in “Play”, and not enough in dedicated practice of things which were handed down by generations of men who had far more real experience and knowledge than even my own long training career (which is somewhere around the 30 year mark!).

The experiences of the last couple years provided a stark reality check of my deficiencies, illusions, and holes in my ability and understanding.  I knew they existed, but because I was too busy trying to patch them up with new ideas and methods, I never bothered to actually dig into “why” they were consistently there.  I was searching outside myself for answers, but the answer really existed inside.  Not to sound confusing, but the real solution that existed inside was discovered through my outside experience in training – not just any training, but training in the foundation of the very art I had devoted so much of my life.  I literally went back to the beginning and found what I needed, what existed there this whole time.  I needed to get to the point I did in order to realize I needed to go back and, when I did, suddenly everything changed and I was now on a new path.

A major part of this new path (Shugyo) was the importance of formality and structure.  I cracked open my old Tenchijin Ryaku no Maki and realized I had collected so many variations, some contradictory, and decided to try and dissect through to get to the most complete or accurate.  A good friend shared with me his copy, which is a direct translation from the original Japanese, as opposed to a translation of a translation of a translation, etc.  When I combined my new understandings gained from those visiting Shihan who taught “by the book”, I found this copy matched exactly what I had learned from them.  Then, something miraculous happened.  I began to see the patterns, the way the techniques were laid out and presented.  I began to understand a new language, not Japanese, but a kind of “budo language” that resonated into me through the details of the various kata, techniques and skill sets listed in the pages of the Tenchijin Ryaku no Maki.  Not to sound weird, but it spoke to me, filling me with an intense inspiration and hunger to dissect and absorb everything from it.  Even what I had considered the most “simple” of techniques listed suddenly became alive.  The one dimensional ink on the paper transformed into two dimensions, as I began to feel the movement and then it became three dimensional, as I felt myself drawn into it, encouraged to explore every detail, to see what was hidden by the one and two dimensional perspective.  Everything took on a newness and I had a clarity of vision I had never experienced before.

I realized I needed to stop “playing” and start digging.  I applied what I was learning into my copy of the Tenchijin Ryaku no Maki, making notes and highlighting details which were important.  My recollections of things past teachers had told me suddenly spilled onto my notes, including nuggets of wisdom and insights from training with teachers in Japan. I found a logical consistency and, when things other teachers have taught me didn’t fit this consistency, I took note of them only as consideration and something to save for later.  I never want to discard something, since I have no idea if it might reveal a new understanding down the road.  But, what I had begun to create was a structured, articulate and consistent method of training and transmission, based on sound teaching from those who I was fortunate enough to learn from.  These were not my ideas, but a carrying on of what others had taught me.

As I watched others train, I began to see similar struggles.  The very gaps and inconsistencies in my ability and understanding were being replicated in those who trusted me with their training.  That made me angry at myself!  I decided right then to devote my classes and teaching to the foundation from which I had made my new discoveries.  I was going to teach from the Ten and Chi Ryaku no Maki, which I believe to be the foundation of our taijutsu, and use ryuha kata to explore further from there.  I made the decision that I would begin to award ranking to those students who wanted to earn it and created a curriculum guide that listed out material from the Ten and Chi Ryaku no Maki for each Kyu grade up to Shodan.  If someone was going to earn their black belt from me, I was going to make sure they had skills and knowledge which were solid and reliable.  They needed to feel confident in their abilities and be able to look back and see what they have learned.  This would require commitment on my part to stick to the book, to not deviate into my own whims and explorations, but to use structured repetition and focused skill development in order to hammer in foundations which are powerful and solid.

However, I can only do so much.  The students need to put in the blood, sweat and tears to actually train enough to reach those levels.  That’s what the ranking would be for.  If someone doesn’t want to do that, it’s okay.  They can train and enjoy the experience. But, those who hold rank will have worked hard to gain it and their abilities will be proof of that.

So, looking into 2015, I see things getting down to the nitty gritty, back to basics, but with a committed passion to really honing in strong skills.  We are going to dig deep into the book, scraping away the ink to find the secrets which lie underneath the surface.  We are going to train hard, condition our bodies and sharpen our teeth.  Our foundations are going to be built strong, with a constant attention to detail.

I am reminded of the Rocky movies.  In it, he goes through great trials to become the champion.  But, then what happens?  He rests on his laurels.  He enjoys the fame.  He softens up.  The fights he does are nothing more than exhibition fights, already set up for him to “win”.  Only when another up and coming fighter, one with the “eye of the tiger”, hungry for the championship, does he suddenly realize how far back he had let himself get.  But, it was too late and he lost his championship title. 

What does he do after?  He ditches the fancy gym, all the glamor and lights, and goes back to his foundation – the old, smelly, run down gym he started in.  He goes back to being a student, listening to his old coach and recommitting himself and putting in the hard, gritty work needed to be a great fighter again.  He regains his “eye of the tiger”, defeats his opponent and regains his championship title.

That’s what I want for 2015.  I want to get that “eye of the tiger” and go back to the gritty, hard work required to be strong budoka.  It won’t be comfortable, but it will be fun.  More importantly, however, it will bring back the life hidden in the old densho, diving beyond the dried ink and into the heart of those generations who brushed those strokes onto the paper.

Hold on tightly – 2015 promises to be one wild ride!

A Return To Kiso (Foundation)

First off, let me start with a few general definitions of some key terms:

• Concept – An abstract idea or general notion.
• Principle – A fundamental truth or proposition that serves as the foundation for a system of belief or behavior or for a chain of reasoning.
• Technique – A way of carrying out a particular task, especially the execution or performance of an artistic work or scientific procedure.  A skillful or efficient way of doing or achieving something.

Concept.  Principle.  Technique.  These three words are tossed around in the Bujinkan pretty loosely, so I thought posting a definition of each first would help to set the base for which I am writing this blog entry.

I would also like to add another three words (or together as one word) which is presented frequently in the Bujinkan (and most traditional Japanese arts):

Shu Ha Ri 守破離 

• Shu (守) "protect", "obey" — traditional wisdom — learning fundamentals, techniques, heuristics, proverbs
• Ha (破) "detach", "digress" — breaking with tradition — detachment from the illusions of self
• Ri (離) "leave", "separate" — transcendence — there are no techniques or proverbs, all moves are natural, becoming one with spirit alone without clinging to forms; transcending the physical

In my travels and exposure to martial arts, mostly as part of my pursuit of Bujinkan arts, I hear people talk about concepts, principles and techniques, but seldom about Shu Ha Ri.  Yet, in traditional or historical Japanese martial arts, the Shu Ha Ri represents the model for learning.  The length of time one spends in each of the three stages is never clear, because it is impossible to put a definitive time frame on it.  They are conceptual in nature, ambiguous and vague, with no general standard for measurement.  It relies on the unique relationships between a student and his teacher and the student to his own personal training path.

But, when we talk about concepts, principles and techniques, the meanings become more tangible and clear to understand.  However, they are not the same.

As a student and someone feebly trying to help (i.e. teach) those students who trust me with their training, there is always a constant struggle between the importance of concepts, principles and techniques.  Add the Shu Ha Ri model and it becomes even more frustratingly confusing, not just in my own training and development, but in what and how to share my understanding of this art with others.

It is because of this very struggle that I have found myself continuing to bounce around in how I train and teach.  The amount of information is vast.  Access to people who are masters in this art is far easier now than it used to be.  But, even with all the ryuha and densho, there really isn’t much out there that details how a student is to learn this art, particularly when our Soke no longer teaches it directly and gives confusing (and often misunderstood), contradictory admonitions like “forget the forms” and “everything is basics”.

Some people prefer to first learn the concepts and principles.  These represent a larger purpose.  From there, many techniques are possible and it is through that filter that technical skills are explored.  It’s the “Application First, Technique Second” kind of thing.  Other people prefer to learn techniques first, so that they can apply those techniques to a variety of applications or purposes.  This is the “Technique First, Application Second” method of learning.  The arguments are many and often heated.  I have taken up the banner of each side at various points in my path, as I have seen the value each have.  But, I have also seen the limits, too.  Here are some examples of good and bad of each:

1.        Application First, Technique Second (Principles & Concepts Based Training)

a.       The Good - Knowing the reason or larger perspective gives the student deep understanding of what is appropriate for the situation, allowing logical analysis and exploration of variables and options, providing adaptation guided by a singular purpose.  Once you understand a concept or principle, many techniques can be understood.  Our Soke teaches this way most often, although he has stated numerous times he is teaching to Judan and above (10^th degree black belts and above).

b.      The Bad – Without strong technique, even concepts and principles are deeply vulnerable.  Holes in one’s taijutsu allow for weak application and give the attacker(s) openings.  Even if it’s the right technique in the right situation, following the correct concepts and principles, weak application will most likely either fail, be countered or leave you in a very dangerous situation.

2.       Technique First, Application Second (Techniques/Forms Based Training)

a.       The Good – Strong technique is foundational to any martial art.  Mastering a technique takes physical development, patience, precision/coordination, conditioning, and knowledge of physics and anatomy.  It’s equally demanding of one’s body and mind.  The benefits of technique mastery show in increased learning capacity of additional techniques and key points of a technique carry great efficiency, power and balance.  Vulnerabilities or weak points in the student’s taijutsu diminish, as layers of technical proficiency develop in the smallest details.

b.      The Bad – Without learning the concepts and principles, the application can suffer when conditions present variables that don’t fit the context of the technique.  Additionally, a pre-programmed response through technical training can cause you to do things that don’t fit the situation or cause legal problems if those responses exceed the Force Level allowed by law.  Also, those who are entirely technique-based can lose sensitivity to the situation and become rigid in their ability to adapt.  They risk becoming nothing more than a technique library, instead of a martial artist.  There is little self-actualization.

So, where is the balance and how does that compare to a traditional Japanese learning model where one has to preserve the form in Shu (“by the book”), long before breaking out of the form in Ha (“add variables and changes to what’s in the book”) or even transcending the form in Ri (“throw the book away and let your own book write itself”)?  What do you tell that student who has been training for their black belt?  At what point do you tell them to break the form of a technique?  At what point do YOU decide to break or transcend forms?

At what point do principles and concepts preserve, break, or transcend the forms?  Can techniques preserve, break or transcend forms?  Confused yet?  Yeah, me too.

Many people in the Bujinkan will tell you to just “Shut Up & Train”, to stop over thinking.  I know I’ve been told that more times than I can count!  Even our Soke has been quoted as saying “No Think – Just Train”.  But, honestly, we are thinking creatures, capable of logic and reason.  It’s what kept us alive as a species all this time.  We figure stuff out, improvise and innovate.  We explore, experiment and discover.  It’s what has allowed us to achieve amazing things in all areas of our lives.  So, no, we are not robots.  We are not clones who mindlessly act.  The fact that we are thinking creatures is the single greatest attribute to our human condition.  It’s also the worst at times!  Also, telling someone to “just train” means little when the HOW TO TRAIN and WHAT TO TRAIN are not clearly defined or contradictory!

And, don’t get me started on the overused saying “just train on Kihon”, because (in my opinion) when it comes down to actual defining what Kihon are, most people really don’t have a solid definition outside of concepts and principles, unless they are talking kata names like Kihon Happo, Sanshin no Kata, etc.  Even then, each person will differ in their interpretation of those kata and what points about them they consider “Kihon”.  (Note:  "Kihon" is loosely defined as "basics", or building blocks towards a strong foundation)

It is this very point that I believe lies at the root of our struggles to learn this art – and something which has been at the very essence of so much of my own writing and self-analysis.

I have trained with many, many people - some good, some bad, a few really good and a few really bad.  I’ve trained with some really great teachers who have taught me excellent concepts and principles.  I’ve trained with some really great teachers who have taught me extremely effective techniques.  Both types provided deep insights which helped to open my eyes to the other.  For a long time, I found the value of concepts and principles to be more important than the techniques and this is how I taught.  I would ‘cherry pick’ techniques that matched a concept or principle I was trying to convey.  It was exciting and had plenty of opportunities for training.  But, I began to notice something – that the technical level needed so much that I would be forced to make a choice.  I had to either ignore trying to “clean up” the technical errors so that we could stay on track with the actual lesson (principle or concept), or forgo the principle/concept and spend the time working on the technical aspects.  Since we were only doing henka (variations) instead of actual densho kata (“by the book” forms), many of those technical lessons would be lost the second we moved on to a new technique, concept or principle.  People understood things like timing, angling and distancing, the 3 key components to good taijutsu, but had flaws in their structure, balance, power generation and delivery.  If the Uke was resistant, they tended to muscle the technique to “make it work”, because mastery of the technique wasn’t the goal.  The end result mattered more than the process to get there.  There was no internalization of technique, because there was no consistency.

Then, I started to see this in my own taijutsu.  There are some videos out which I can easily spot these things in my taijutsu.  I like to look at them because it inspires me to focus on my own training, to fix those holes I see and correct flaws.  Luckily, I have the benefit of having seniors and teachers whom I respect for their insights, coaching and examples.  But, if I saw it in my own taijutsu and took responsibility for it, I have to take responsibility for it in my own students, too.

So, most recently I have gone through an entire paradigm shift in how I conduct my classes.  Where before, I had no set curriculum for each rank and every class was taught openly with little formality, I now have changed all of that.  I went back to the books and formed a ranking curriculum up to Shodan made entirely of the material from the Ten Ryaku no Maki and Chi Ryaku no Maki.  The Jin Ryaku no Maki is for Nidan and above, but the material in the Ten and Chi Ryaku no Maki is enough to establish a strong foundation for students to study the ryuha kata of the Jin Ryaku no Maki.  I am teaching very technical, emphasizing the details.  In particular, I am drilling in the various kyusho (weak points) which are listed in the descriptions of techniques, along with various technical details which I have learned from the original Japanese translations and through spoken teachings from those high level teachers that know those things.  I use repetitive skill set training to develop consistency and accuracy, constant fixing of structure and movement, with little variation off the original form.

But, I do try to save time for some exploration, adaptation and henka (variation).  That is part of the fun, after all!

What I am finding now is a renewed passion for learning, as I am rediscovering details long forgotten and learning new layers of understanding I didn’t know before.  As I pass this along to my students, I see their level growing strong.  They are moving better, with more clarity, balance and power.  They are developing “eyes to see” the taijutsu, as they gain technical skills that provide reference points in being able to learn the next technique or apply a technique on the fly.  Discipline is increased, too, as their concentration and focus sharpens.  This entire shift has benefitted us all and I am inspired by it.

So, where does my training and teaching go from here?  At what point do I allow myself or my students to focus less on technical and more on conceptual?  I have no idea, nor do I need to know right now.  All I know is what I am now discovering through the results of the changes and how this current training focus has impacted us all.  For me, that is good enough.

"He's too nice..."

"He's a nice guy," the senior Japanese teacher told me with a smile and thick accent.  Then, his smile dropped to a hard look and he finished with, "but, he's too nice."

One thing I've come to learn in the world of martial arts, martial arts masters, and all the different schools out there - popularity and quality are not equal.  Often, the highest quality teachers are the hardest to learn from, even the hardest to find.

When I was younger, I used to set my VCR to record all kinds of late-night, cheesy martial arts flicks.  They were aired on a show called "Kung-Fu Theater", where they played low budget kung-fu movies at some crazy hour of the night (like 3:00am).  The majority of them had a common plot line:  A young apprentice would have to prove himself and convince the old master to accept him as a student.  In this process, the young man would carry water, haul rocks and do all sorts of difficult tasks.  Once he was finally accepted, often the student would either be an "uchi-deshi" (live-in student) or part of the small group of students.  In the latter, the new pupil would be in the lowest class of student, usually having to work hard to keep up with everybody else, often having to prove himself to the other students.  He would be treated roughly, shown little mercy at times.  As an uchi-deshi, he would have to continue to perform many tasks, sometimes grueling and repetitious.  I remember scenes where the young student would have to stand on the tops of tall, vertical poles, while holding himself in some kind of pose.  Other situations would involve having to cross treacherous mountain passes, while carrying very heavy and awkward loads on his shoulders.

 The point is that all this was a test for the aspiring student.  Then, when finally accepted, they were still expected to prove themselves, to have their endurance and patience tested.  At various points throughout this ordeal, the student would be exposed to the master's teachings.  He would have to try and pick up what he could from them.  If he was lucky, proved himself that day (or moment), the master would give him some personalized training, a nugget of wisdom or a particular technique to practice.

In one movie, the student would have to travel miles to be taught one technique, then sent away to practice.  When the student returned, the master would ask him to demonstrate the technique.  If it wasn't to the master's satisfaction, he would send him away, telling him to come back when he's trained enough on that technique.  One of two things would happen - either the student would train enough to finally be granted a new lesson, or he would eventually give in to frustration and quit.


In many of these movies, the masters who were popular were most often the ones who were arrogant, had arrogant students, and they usually lost in the end.  Yet, they had the most attractive schools, flashy and charismatic, the kind of school that people would want to go to.  They were popular and had huge numbers of students, a large facility and fancy uniforms.

In contrast, the rogue master, the "good guy", was often a kind of hermit, usually very humble lifestyle, either no school or a home dojo of some kind, no uniform or something simple, and they lived either in secrecy or obscurity.  Some had reputations which would be almost unbelievable, yet you would never know it by their appearance and demeanor.

In today's martial arts, popularity most often is the judge of quality.  If a teacher, school or style is popular, all over the internet and other media sources, it's easy to assume they are "good" and worth our time and energy to learn from or with.  Yet, one has to take a good look at why they are popular and is it proof of the substance and quality of the instruction?  Are they even legitimate? 

I have found that most often, popularity is driven by a few key points:

1.  Marketing - the person, school or style which is most predominant in the various forms of media available (internet, books, magazines, etc) is the one on the forefront of people's minds.  Most people don't bother with doing their homework or research, so whatever is most commonly seen or heard tends to be what people go to.

2.  Availability - schools and teachers which make information easily accessible tend to attract most people.  Those who give away 'freebies' or spoon feed information are attractive to an audience who lack the drive, patience and fortitude to have to work hard for the information.


3.  Packaging - schools and teachers who present their teaching into convenient packages for the students are more likely to attract and keep students.  Most people don't want to be presented with teaching which is obscure, or incomplete.  Yet, we all remember watching movies of the old masters who taught with puzzles and cryptic lessons that forced the student to discover the answers themselves.  Our own Soke is known for this.  It just doesn't make for a successful McDojo.

4.  Home Study Courses and other means that go against actually having to come to class and train - this is a vehicle that only serves to line the pockets of the teacher.  It's pure money making, as anybody with a wad of money can purchase the material.  They have to prove nothing to the teacher, other than the purchase confirmation.

5.  Instant rewards - schools that do the best and teachers who are most popular are most often ones which pump their students with special awards, recognitions, "Black Belt Club" and other special patches, certificates for all sorts of things, and many other gimmicks designed to give the student a sense of accomplishment.  Even ranking can be used this way.  Yet, if you look back in martial arts history, even belt ranks are a fairly recent invention.




The old masters trained their students hard and expected absolute devotion to the lessons they provided.  How much a student put into their training was a reflection on the level of respect they had for the art they were learning.  Only the most passionate, hardest training students were allowed to continue.  It was the student's obligation and responsibility to seek out the teacher, prove themselves as worthy of the teaching, and through their actions, continue to be accepted as a student of the master.

The master never pursued or tried to influence the student to join.  If the student failed, or wasn't showing up to train, the master continued without him.  If the master saw potential in a young man, he might invite him to come train, but would not use any slick marketing or gimmicks to get him to join.

It was always about the relationship.  Building that relationship took time and effort, at first on the part of the student.  However, when the student stuck it out, did everything the master instructed, and proved his devotion and showed respect by practicing hard and diligently in the lessons he was taught, that relationship became stronger than any other.  This is why the relationship between a student and one's teacher can be stronger than family.

Yet, today we have students who simply sign on the dotted line, show up and expect to be taught.  They carry themselves as the valued person, where the teacher is their servant and their success or failure is a result of the efforts of the teacher, not of their own.  In a McDojo, this is further hammered in by programs which offer ranking for memberships, structured lesson plans that lay out a cookie-cutter design for everybody.  It's not about the relationship.  It's about the program and it's success as a business.  You have teachers who are salesmen, watching their profit/loss ratio and always coming up with some new strategy to attract more and more students.

Then, there are those who aren't running businesses, but who are almost like predators in the way they go out and seek "followers" or "students" to surround themselves with.  For them, it's not about the program, but about the attention.

Unfortunately, the McDojos tend to be the popular schools and teachers who have strong public presence and easily accessible instruction tend to be the popular teachers.  But, there are many masters, those who live normal lives outside the limelight, who train in their arts and pursue their own Shugyo (martial path).  Those who they allow to follow in their footsteps are close knit, having developed good relationships which began with the students first proving themselves as devoted students who are serious about training.  The numbers are small and anybody wanting to be a part of that group has to first try and find them, then be welcomed in.  Neither of those two points are easy and that's part of the test.  If a student is allowed to join a class, they still aren't accepted.  They have to earn their place and lessons are things to grasp, not something handed to them.  Sometimes, it can take a very long time to finally be accepted as an actual student.  But, in the end, that relationship with the teacher (and the others in the group) is incredible, as are the lessons and the quality of martial arts that come from it all.

So, be careful of those who are "too nice", as they may be trying to sell you something or get you into their circle to fuel their need for attention.  Learning martial arts from a true master first requires establishing a relationship with them.  You have to earn their trust and prove to them you are worth their time and effort to teach you what they already know.  Understand that many different teachers sell their knowledge and, for the most part, that is fine.  But, there is a difference between a business transaction and a personal relationship.  You may get what you pay for, but nothing more.  However, in a true relationship between teacher and student, where it's a personal relationship instead of profits, the transmission of the art becomes enriched on unlimited levels.  You don't just learn what's in the textbook.  You get to learn all the good stuff that exists outside the limits of the textbook.

Seek out those real masters, do what it takes to prove to them that you are a serious student and, lastly, give respect to what they teach you by devoting yourself to training hard on it. Do that and you'll discover a depth to the art that you would never have gotten by simply following the crowd to the nearest McDojo, signing up for the 3 year black belt club program, purchasing the ten disc home study video course, buying the latest dojo t-shirt and fancy uniform with the artsy logo and falling for the slick salesmanship of the "nice" martial arts teacher who compliments you with a smile and tells you what you want to hear.

It requires hard work just to get the opportunity to learn from a true master.  It requires even harder work to actually learn from them.  There are no shortcuts.  There is no easy way.  It's in the struggle that the greatest rewards exist.  Anybody who is "too nice" runs the risk of denying their students those rewards.  Any student who chooses to follow the popularity of a school or teacher runs the risk of a transmission of an art that is no better than fast food.

This is budo, the way of war, of life and death.  You should never settle for anything less than the best opportunities and the most fulfilling training.  But, that may require intensive searching, sacrifice, often travel and constant struggle.  Are you willing to go through all that?

Most aren't.