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There are many mental factors that should be considered when practicing Taijiquan (太極拳), and the way that people naturally react mentally can become traps, especially when interacting with a partner or opponent. Addressing the mind is more familiar to many from the Zen mind approach in Japanese martial arts (especially swordsmanship), but Taijiquan also addresses the mind in many ways, although less formally than in Japanese arts.

We can start with the tendency of humans to let our egos affect us. For example, people with limited experience tend to think that they are better or more skilled (have higher confidence) in activities than they really are. This phenomenon is called the Dunning-Kruger effect:

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This effect can be described as proceeding from the novice thinking “What?” to “I once was blind and now I see” [“Peak of Mt. Stupid”] to “Hm-m-m, there’s more to this than I thought” [“Program Termination Zone”] to “Oh man, I’m never going to understand it” [“Valley of Despair”] to “OK, it’s starting to make sense” [“Slope of Enlightenment”] and then to “Trust me, it’s complicated” [“Plateau of Sustainability”] as one approaches mastery.

In Taijiquan, novices are often taught to feel their qi (氣energy) flow, or to use intent (用意yongyi), and other concepts that are susceptible to self-delusion (and the Dunning-Kruger effect; the slope up “Mt. Stupid”), especially in the early stages of Taijiquan study. During solo forms practice, there is little feedback available for one to know if they are understanding, and using, the concepts properly. But at higher levels of skill these same concepts (of qi, intent, etc.), once understood, can be very useful.

The effects of ego can often be seen in fights where, after one combatant succeeds in landing a blow, their opponent tries a similar attack back. This is merely one’s ego trying to show that “if you can do something, then so can I.” We should strive to act with what is appropriate to the specific situation, rather than playing “revenge” or “one-upmanship” games.

A similar situation of attempting to show superiority occurs when one side issues force and the other tries to respond with greater force. This leads to force vs. force situations that are contrary to Taijiquan philosophy. Instead, we want to change the situation to our advantage rather than trying to beat the opponent at their own game (where whoever is stronger/bigger is more likely to win). When one lacks the flexibility to change, one often resorts to using more force instead.

Since we were toddlers, we have trained ourselves to lean into, or brace, against force. When first trying to push something, toddlers push themselves away instead, ending in them seated on their diapers. Leaning into the object allows toddlers to use whatever weight they have against the object that they try to push. Our minds have therefore become accustomed to replying to force by applying more force, and to lean or brace when doing so.

But Taijiquan teaches the opposite; to avoid using force against force! We train to issue force from the ground – from our feet, developed by our legs, directed from our waist, expressed in the arms. In push-hands (推手tui shou), interacting like a “butting cow” (顶牛ding niu) is considered to be an error indicative of poor quality Taijiquan. Butting against a partner or opponent reflects our lifetime habit (since we were toddlers) of leaning and bracing, and resisting force with force.

We instead want to “receive” force into our “root” (into the ground). We want to remain comfortable and aligned, and if we conduct incoming forces downward (e.g., by bending our back leg) rather than bracing backwards (e.g., straightening the rear leg), then the incoming force is more aligned with gravity, which healthy human bodies are comfortable with due to naturally “resisting” gravity every time that we stand.

We have habitual mental images of responding horizontally, pushing forward and pulling backwards, instead of pushing/projecting up from, and pulling/absorbing down into, our feet. The horizontal tendency is what produces the “butting cow” posture during push-hands practice. The “butting cow” loses the resiliency of the rear leg which stiffens instead. One would then lose the quality of “loading the spring” (compressing into one’s root – the ground) that is more appropriate for Taijiquan.

When one’s joints stiffen or lock in response to force (either incoming from an opponent, or outgoing from one’s own issuing of force), the body loses its changeability. We may appear stronger (at least in the one direction that the force/resistance is directed towards), but we also become less adaptable. Taijiquan seeks to maintain changeability/adaptability even when under pressure; we want to maintain the openness of our joints, like they are well oiled and free to move, rather than locking/tightening them in place.

Many people when they want to bend lower or raise their leg higher for example, try to use force or momentum to do so rather than trying to relax more. This “try harder” or “do more” approach seems to be what humans have learned to do rather than relaxing (doing less). Unless someone is taught stretching or yoga, or something similar, the tendency is to bounce harder and harder in order to force a greater range of motion.

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Jazz music has varying degrees of improvisation in its ensemble (and solo) playing. There is a structure, with melody, tempo, key signature, chord progression, and other characteristics for each song, although these can be modified. But there is also improvisation, with players rarely, if ever, trying to play a song exactly the same way each time. This is in contrast to, for example, classical music where practically every aspect of the song is notated and fixed by the musical score. In classical music, the musicians attempt to play the way that is indicated in the score, and therefore the same way each time the song is played.

Many Taijiquan (太極拳) practitioners practice their solo forms and partner drills as if they are trying to follow a fixed score. They try to be exactly like their teacher, and attempt to repeat the same way each time they do the form or drill. When first learning, this approach is correct, but every experienced practitioner likely has their own flavor in their art, especially once they learn how to learn from themselves.

There’s a story that goes something like this: A Taijiquan student from the West was able to spend significant time studying with a master in Asia, but he did not know if he would be able to return in the future for additional study and corrections due to the master’s advanced age. Since he did not know how long she would be around and able to teach, he was very diligent in his studies, trying to faithfully imitate every detail of the master’s movements. After returning home, his friend was very interested in seeing what he had learned, so the student performed for him. When he was done, his friend asked him: “Why were you moving like an old woman?”

Variety is implied in various sayings, and one states that from one example a practitioner should extrapolate to a thousand different applications of a technique. So, the one way that a technique is performed in the solo form is merely one way of many. For those who only desire to do solo forms, only having one way is perhaps not detrimental, but when interacting with an opponent, we know that there are an infinite number of variations. Applying a technique requires adjustments to account for the infinite variations of the interactions with another person.

We need the ability to be spontaneous, while adhering to Taijiquan principles, during free play or fighting with a partner or an opponent. We cannot adhere strictly to one fixed way of moving like we may do when strictly following a choreographed form. In these spontaneous situations, we need the ability to appropriately answer the situations presented, and cannot rely on the sequences in the form, or one’s teacher’s movements; we need to have a confident inner resource to act appropriately in spontaneous situations.

Even when practicing a fixed and repetitive two-person drill, there are subtle variations in each repetition, and practitioners will benefit from being aware of as many subtle differences as they can sense. I believe that each repetition of a drill will be unique, especially when interacting with someone else. Even when we are trying to replicate one pattern over and over, we should also try to notice the inevitable differences.

There are different styles of Taijiquan (陳 Chen, 楊 Yang, 吳 Wu, 武/郝 Wu/Hao, 孫 Sun, etc.), and these different styles came from skilled individuals varying the forms that they were taught. Yes, one needs to have skill and understanding prior to making changes, but the individual preferences of those masters went into the creation of their styles. From my perspective, all of these recognized styles, despite having differing characteristics, emphases, and flavors, all use the underlying principles of Taijiquan, and all are correct practice; one style is not right and another wrong.

Even within a particular style (or even within one school) students can also often learn differences in principles between how weapons work is done and how one does things without weapons. For example, sword (劍 jian) can allow a further forward shift into the front leg than would be advisable for weaponless forms and interactions. This is because practitioners do not need to be overly concerned with the possibility that an opponent will grab the sharp weapon and pull, and the length of the weapon means that you are typically too far away from an opponent for them to be able to grab your arm when you are thrusting the sword at them. Shifting farther forward may give the swordsman a few extra centimeters of reach.

Similarly, a long shafted weapon without sharp edges, like a staff (棍 gun), may require practitioners to maintain more weight on the rear leg due to the leverage that an opponent would have when grabbing the weapon’s shaft and pulling. Other weapons, like the saber (刀 dao), have different emphases than weaponless interactions, and here evasive footwork may be more important, rather than emphasizing from-contact skills (e.g., stick and adhere, connect and follow, zhan nian lian sui 粘黏連隨, or rooting, etc.) – one may not even contact the opponent or their weapon.

Differences in how one’s body is used in relation to a weapon also illustrate possible variations in one’s approach to Taijiquan. For example, a spear (鎗 qiang) is light enough that practitioners can spin it around their body, like during the flower movements that vertically spin the spear from one side of the body to the other side. On the other hand, a historically heavy weapon like a Guandao/Spring and Autumn Falchion/Reclining Moon Knife (偃月刀 yanyuedao) could require practitioners to move their body around the weapon once it is given the momentum during similar vertical spinning movements.

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Opening

As someone who has been playing Taijiquan (Tai Chi) for almost 30 years and teaching for more than 20, I have a special place in my heart for students who are new to the practice. While many new students fall in love—like I did—with Tai Chi after their first class, a significant number of new students encounter confusion, frustration, and a disconnection between what they expected from their first class and what they experienced. Unrealistic expectations are sometimes fostered by media images of Tai Chi masters, observations of advanced students and the instructor, and underestimating the time necessary to develop the ability to move in a refined way.

Although newcomers to the art may not immediately experience the flow and benefits of Tai Chi, the consistent practice of Tai Chi over time can result in significant positive changes. Improved physical balance, a reduction in stress and pain, strengthened joints, enhanced body awareness, the ability to attain deep states of physical relaxation and mental calmness, increased concentration, and emotional ease are a few of the benefits. Those results, of course, come after a period of serious dedication to the art.

Many new students are understandably eager to reap the benefits of Tai Chi practice. Some become discouraged when their quest for a gentle flowing movement practice meets the reality of their physical and mental habits in a detail-oriented class that is more “stop-and-go” than “move-and-flow”. With respect for Tai Chi beginners and the dedicated individuals who instruct them, the following article offers some guidelines to support and encourage motivation for the successful and enjoyable practice and teaching of the art.

1. Remember that you’re creating a Tai Chi community. An instructor with a high percentage of students who keep returning to class week-after-week is likely to be someone who does a good job at establishing a supportive, friendly community where the learning process is enjoyable as well as being informative.

Welcome students into your class with a few words of encouragement, and also introduce them to the other students in your class. When possible, have students interact with one another by way of introductions and non-competitive two-person exercises such as push hands. Do what you can to support a sense of community.

The social connections that are formed between your students can create a bond that strengthens the cohesion and motivation of the class. You may wish to begin the class with a group circle that provides a space where new students can introduce themselves by name and tell others about their intention for studying Tai Chi. When students already know one another, taking a few moments to share their community activities with the class can further deepen connections. Additionally, you can begin your class with an easy group movement practice consisting of activities such as stretches, simple Tai Chi movements accessible to beginners, and/or a few easy Qigong postures. After the initial group interaction, consider switching to a silent practice period to reinforce the meditative quality of Tai Chi.

If it’s appropriate, encourage and guide senior students to assist novice students. That’s a wonderful way to support the learning of everyone while building a friendly peer support system.

End your class with a group circle, perhaps concluding with a few easy Qigong movements, gentle stretches, or several mindful breaths. Offer words of praise for your students’ work and commitment. Encourage at-home practice, share useful resources such as videos that align with your teaching style, and let your students know that you look forward to seeing them again at the next class.

2. Emphasize praise over precision, and encouragement over criticism. Your students—especially if they’re beginners—are more likely to stay motivated when hearing more positive words of encouragement than negative criticism. Instructors are reminded to provide much more positive reinforcement than “correction”. If you’re inclined to offer a critique of your student (which can be necessary if a stance or posture is jeopardizing their safety or joint health), try to balance negative comments with much more praise. I recommend at least 5 positive comments (a non-verbal smile or an affirming nod also qualifies as a comment) to 1 corrective comment, and ideally much more than 5.

3. Focus more on the fundamental principles of Tai Chi instead of the small details. For the beginner, gentle guidance about the importance of an upright spine, relaxed body, calm breath, and moving from the center (lower dantian) are more important than advanced teachings about synchronization of the mind, body, and breath. Speaking of the mind, I find it useful to remind beginning students that Tai Chi is a mind-body practice. Therefore, training the mind to be patient, calm, and attentive is an important part of the practice. Even when the outer physical elements of the practice are complex, the student can practice meeting those complexities with inner calmness and patience, which is an expression of the spirit of Tai Chi.

4. Normalize confusion and impatience. Many beginning Tai Chi students feel lost, confused, and discouraged when, for example, they discover that they have extended the opposite arm in a posture or have taken a step with the wrong leg. Letting your new students know that confusion and directional disorientation can be a “normal” part of their learning process can help to relieve unnecessary concerns and negative self-judgments. To support the motivation of my new students, I routinely advise them to keep their learning curve “simple” by taking away just “one thing” (e.g., a posture or tai chi principle) that they can practice in between classes. I also provide a description of the classroom as being a “perfection-free zone”. Light-hearted jokes and comments such as, “extend your other left arm” or “I saw how you quickly adjusted your posture before the teacher said anything” can encourage a buoyant attitude throughout the class, as long as comments and jokes are supportive and not demeaning.

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