Tag: The Reluctant Ninja

The Pilgrimage

I stood quietly in the middle of the dojo floor and listened respectfully while Sensei yelled at me.  He had progressed from yelling to screaming, and by now he had been screaming non-stop for thirty minutes. I was keeping track of the time by sneaking peeks at the clock on the wall at the end of the dojo. It was quite impressive to witness Sensei’s ability to find new things to yell about, as well as his stamina for screaming. He certainly was a creative screamer, and apparently, I was giving him plenty of reasons to scream at me. I didn’t know where he was getting his energy from, but at least one of us had some staying power. Personally, I was exhausted, but knew better than to admit it. Over the past half hour, we had established a predictable rhythm. My partner would attack me, I would...

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Lessons from The FemiNinja

During my 17 years of training in the Art of the Ninja, there were many principles and philosophies of the art which were applicable to every aspect of my life and every life situation. My training was not only about protecting myself, it was about learning how to have a better life through the insights gleaned through training. A few weeks ago I had the honor of telling my story to the Pearls of Wisdom Women’s Circle, hosted by my friend and colleague Beth Anderson of Pearl Coaching, LLC. I shared some of my insights with them, and now I am sharing them with you. As I reflect on my experiences, I realize I have so many ninja secrets that I am now collecting them and organizing them to put in a book. Yes, even while my second book, “The Reluctant Ninja,”is going through...

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The Reluctant Ninja

I am beyond excited to announce that the manuscript for my next book, The Reluctant Ninja, has just been turned over to my fantastic editor, Donna Mazzittelli of Merry Dissonance Press. Here is a sneak peek. PREFACE I unlocked the door to the dojo[1]and stepped across the threshold. I removed my shoes, respectfully bowed to the Kamidana[2] and walked across the mat toward the dressing rooms. My stocking feet whispered softly across the padded floor, barely making a sound as I crossed the length of the mat. At the end of the mat, I turned, bowed again, and made my way to the ladies dressing room. My gi[3] was hanging neatly on the hanger with my belt draped across its shoulders, exactly where I left it one year earlier. The only change was the thick layer of dojo dust that covered my uniform....

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