Karate, Curiosity & Lifelong Learning

The More Answers I Found, The More Questions I Had

A reflection on questions in karate, curiosity, and remaining Forever a Student

Introduction

When I first started karate, I thought the journey was about finding answers.

At first, my questions in karate were simple. Like many beginners, I wanted to learn the techniques, understand the kata, and progress through the grades. Every new skill felt like a step closer to understanding what karate was really about. The path seemed straightforward. Train hard, learn more, improve, and eventually, the answers would reveal themselves.

Looking back now, I realise there was much more to the journey than I understood at the time.

What I discovered over the years was something quite different.

The more answers I found, the more questions I had.

At first, that seemed frustrating. Surely experience should reduce uncertainty, not increase it. Surely decades of training should provide clarity and certainty.

Instead, I found myself becoming increasingly aware of how much I still did not know.

Surprisingly, I have come to see that not as a problem, but as one of karate’s greatest gifts.

The Search for Answers

In the early years, the questions were relatively simple.

How do I perform this technique correctly?

How do I improve my stance?

How do I remember this kata?

How do I prepare for my next grading?

The answers often seemed clear and immediate. An instructor would demonstrate the movement, explain the correction, and the path forward became obvious.

At that stage of training, karate appeared to be a collection of skills waiting to be acquired. Each new answer felt like progress. Each new belt represented another milestone.

There is nothing wrong with this stage of the journey. In fact, it is an important part of learning. We all need foundations before we can explore deeper concepts.

What I did not realise at the time was that those early answers were only opening the first few doors.

Beyond them lay many more.

When Questions in Karate Begin to Change

As experience grows, the nature of the questions begins to change.

Instead of asking how to perform a movement, we begin asking why it is performed that way.

Instead of focusing solely on the technique, we become interested in the principle behind the technique.

The questions become less about movement and more about understanding.

A kata that once seemed straightforward begins to reveal layers of meaning.

Applications that appeared obvious become less certain.

Historical research raises new possibilities and alternative perspectives.

The more deeply we study, the more we realise that karate is not a collection of fixed answers. It is a subject of ongoing exploration.

Many practitioners experience this at different stages of their journey. A kata they have practised for years suddenly reveals something they had never noticed before. A conversation with a senior instructor changes their understanding of a familiar movement. A student’s question highlights an assumption they have never examined.

The kata has not changed.

The student has.

Discovering Depth

One of the things that continues to fascinate me about karate is its depth.

There are kata that generations of karate-ka have practised before us. Thousands of people have studied the same movements, yet interpretations continue to evolve, and new insights continue to emerge.

The deeper I have explored karate, the more I have realised that understanding is rarely a destination.

Instead, it resembles a series of layers.

You uncover one layer and believe you have reached the answer.

Then another layer appears beneath it.

And another.

And another.

The process is endless.

That is true not only of kata and bunkai, but also of teaching, history, philosophy, and personal development.

One experience that illustrates this happened during one of my visits to Japan.

A good friend and mentor, with whom I would often stay during my trips, had a deep passion for bunkai. It was not unusual for us to be sightseeing when, seemingly out of nowhere, he would stop and demonstrate an application from a kata.

On one occasion, we were walking through the grounds of Himeji Castle when he suddenly stopped and began discussing a sequence from the kata Sepai.

He asked whether I knew the bunkai for the movement.

I did.

Or at least I thought I did.

What followed was a demonstration of an application I had never seen before and, to be completely honest, one I would never have considered myself.

He explained that it was an older interpretation, one associated with a time when karate applications were often viewed through the lens of life-and-death situations rather than modern training environments. It was a powerful reminder that some applications carried consequences far beyond what we typically explore in the dojo today.

What struck me most was not the technique itself.

It was the realisation that a kata I thought I understood still had layers I had never encountered.

Standing in the shadow of one of Japan’s most famous castles, I was reminded that understanding is never final.

There is always another perspective.

Another interpretation.

Another question waiting to be explored.

The more I learned, the more I realised there was still to learn.

What Teaching Has Taught Me

One of the unexpected lessons of becoming an instructor is that teaching often creates more questions than it answers.

Students notice details we may overlook. Their questions can challenge assumptions we have held for years and send us back to our notes, books, senior instructors, or other sources in search of a better answer.

Teaching has reinforced something I have come to believe strongly: learning does not stop when we become instructors. In many ways, it accelerates.

Ever since I started teaching, I have told my students that I may not always have all the answers. What I do have are the resources, experience, and willingness to search for those answers when needed.

That approach came partly from my own early training.

When I first began karate, I was fortunate to have a very capable instructor who was a tremendous source of knowledge. As a beginner, I learned a great deal from him.

Looking back, however, I think many instructors of that era felt pressure to always have an answer. Admitting that you did not know something was sometimes seen as a sign of weakness or lack of knowledge.

As a result, answers were sometimes given immediately and with confidence. The difficulty came later when another instructor, often from the same style, taught something differently. The student could be left confused, unsure which explanation was correct.

Watching this happen taught me an important lesson.

When I eventually became an instructor myself, I made a conscious decision that I would never provide an answer simply for the sake of having one.

If I was unsure, I would say so.

If I needed time to research, review my notes, consult senior instructors, or revisit a source, I would do exactly that.

Over the years, there have been occasions when I have answered a question with complete confidence, only to discover later that I was mistaken.

Does that make me a poor instructor?

I don’t believe so.

It makes me human.

What matters is not whether we make mistakes. What matters is whether we are prepared to acknowledge them, correct them, and continue learning.

Recently, one of my senior students asked me to confirm a particular movement and stance within a kata. My first response was not to provide an immediate answer. Instead, I told him I wanted to verify it before responding.

As it turned out, my original understanding was correct.

But that was not really the point.

The point was that I wanted to be certain.

That willingness to question my own assumptions is part of what keeps learning alive.

The longer I train, the more I realise that confidence and curiosity are not opposites. The best instructors I have met possess both.

One experience that reinforced this lesson took place during a training trip to Osaka, before I was awarded my Shihan licence.

My instructor took me to a monthly training session held at the Honbu Dojo, the original home of Mabuni Kenwa. The session was reserved for Shihan, and I assumed I would simply observe.

To my surprise, I was invited to participate.

Part of the format involved one Shihan taking the lead and guiding the group through a kata. During one session, a question arose regarding a particular movement. Another senior instructor queried whether the technique was being performed exactly as recorded.

What happened next left a lasting impression on me.

There was no argument.

There was no ego.

There was no attempt to establish who was right.

Instead, the group referred to the official recorded notes that had been agreed upon as the benchmark for the organisation. The notes were reviewed, the question was answered, and the training continued.

At first glance, it may seem like a small moment.

For me, it was anything but.

Here were senior instructors with decades of experience and an extraordinary depth of knowledge, yet none of them behaved as though they had all the answers.

The goal was not to prove who was correct.

The goal was to ensure the accurate transmission of the kata to the next generation of students.

That experience reinforced something I had been slowly learning throughout my karate journey.

True expertise does not eliminate questions.

If anything, it encourages them.

Every instructor remains a student.

Or at least they should.

A Lesson in Kaizen

Reflecting on this journey, I am reminded of the Japanese concept of Kaizen.

Often translated as “continuous improvement,” Kaizen is based on the idea that meaningful progress comes through small, consistent improvements over time.

Rather than seeking perfection, it encourages steady growth.

One small improvement today.

Another tomorrow.

Then another.

Looking back, I can see how closely this idea mirrors my own karate journey.

Every question led to a small improvement in understanding.

Every answer provided a little more clarity.

Every discovery opened another opportunity for growth.

The process never really ends.

Nor should it.

The goal is not to reach a point where there are no more questions.

The goal is to continue learning.

Forever a Student

Over the years, the phrase “Forever a Student” has become increasingly meaningful to me.

When I was younger, I viewed being a student as a temporary stage. The assumption was that one day I would arrive at a point where the learning was complete.

Experience has taught me otherwise.

The most respected instructors I have met continue to learn.

They continue to ask questions.

They continue to refine their understanding.

They remain students.

Today, I see that not as a sign that they have not reached the destination, but as evidence that they understand the true nature of the journey.

Karate is not about accumulating answers.

It is about developing the mindset that allows us to keep learning throughout our lives.

Final Reflection

If there is one lesson my years in karate have taught me, it is that learning never truly ends.

Every answer reveals another question.

Every discovery opens another door.

Every step forward reveals a little more of the path ahead.

What once seemed like certainty has gradually been replaced by curiosity.

And strangely, I find that far more rewarding.

Karate remains endlessly fascinating not because it provides all the answers, but because it continually invites us to keep searching.

Perhaps that is why I still enjoy training after all these years.

Not because I have found all the answers.

But because there are still questions worth exploring.

And as long as there are questions, there is still something to learn.

That, to me, is one of the greatest gifts karate has to offer.

No matter our rank, experience, or achievements, we remain students.

Forever students.