Shu Ha Ri

    Guy Kawasaki says ‘move fast and break things’ is a myth. True! But since he can’t quite escape its toxic allure, I’ll say it for him, loudly and proudly:

    Move slow and fix things. [guykawasaki.substack.com]

    A kitchen scene featuring a bright green open pantry shelf, two refrigerators (one labeled Fridge Broken DO NOT USE), and a person in a blue dress partially visible.

    Shu Ha Ri: The Japanese Way of Learning, for Artists and Fighters is available now.

    Beginners and intermediate learners fear ‘making mistakes’; experts seldom do. Not because experts don’t make mistakes: they do. It’s just that experts know what to do next.

    Here’s Herbie Hancock telling what he learned from his mentor Miles Davis: Every mistake is an opportunity [openculture.com].

    A cat is sleeping on a sofa in a room with shelves full of books and a couple of guitars on stands.

    Find the right teacher

    There’s a Japanese saying that I included in my book:

    If it takes three years, find the right teacher.

    But sometimes, you just need to get started. Simon Sarris has a great story about this. He decided to build a barn by trial and error, with little previous barn-building experience. But because he was doing this near the road in front of his house, it attracted the attention of a regular passer-by who just happened to know, in detail, how to build barns.

    “Mike would have never stopped by if I was not working conspicuously in my driveway, every day, under a pop-up tent. But I was, and he became interested in my progress, and it happens that he has been timber framing since the 90’s. Had I waited for such a teacher—for he has now taught me a good deal—I would have never found him. But I chose to start, and he was drawn to my adventure. Only by virtue of starting the work was the intersection of our lives possible.” - Start With Creation - by Simon Sarris

    The moral? If it takes three years, find the right teacher. But if you start your learning journey with action, the right teacher might just find you.

    So now here’s a question: Who was the right teacher for you, and how did you find them, or alternatively how did they find you?

    (And yes, I have a story about a teacher who found me, but that’s a story for another time.)

    People are assembling a wooden structure using ropes, with some Japanese text visible on the wood.

    Photo by Kazuhiro Yoshimura on Unsplash


    Meanwhile, my book, Shu Ha Ri: The Japanese Way of Learning, for Artists and Fighters, is out now. Please check it out.

    Discovery, aesthetics, and the art of self-publishing: my latest post explores Leonard Koren’s influence on my new book, Shu Ha Ri.

    writingslowly.com/2026/02/0…

    #WabiSabi #ShuHaRi #Japan #Aesthetics #WritingCommunity

    Leonard Koren on Life as an Aesthetic Experience

    I’ve never been much of a bathing person. Perhaps that’s due to unpleasantly lingering memories of luke warm water in freezing cold bathrooms in the UK when I was a child. The bath was fine enough, but getting out would be a real test. Even bathing, as an adult, in natural hot springs on Orcas Island in the US Pacific Northwest didn’t really do it for me. That was a little ‘rustic’, and not in a good way.

    True, swimming here in Sydney where I live is fabulous, especially in the Summer, when the cool refreshment of the ocean waves is totally restorative. But bathing? Not so much. Until a few months ago, that is, when I visited Japan.

    Read More →

    The Spiral of Mastery: Why the Greatest Experts Are Serial Beginners

    The greatest experts aren’t afraid of starting again

    Apparently, my tennis is rusty

    Here in Australia the Christmas holidays take place in mid-summer, and my family spent a few days at a house with a tennis court. It was an amazing opportunity, for which we were hardly prepared. I hadn’t played in years. One family member had barely held a racquet before. But we all shared the same problem: our serves were terrible. The ball hit the net, or it veered wildly off court. The serve seemed like some monolithic, unreachable skill you either had or you didn’t.

    The view from the court — that was amazing, but the tennis, to say the least, wasn’t flowing.

    That was until someone suggested we break it down: grip, swing, ball toss, contact. We stopped trying to play and started drilling. Within a short while, the court was alive with movement and we were laughing instead of frowning with effort. Our natural talent hadn’t changed; it was just that our willingness to break the seemingly impossible into achievable parts made it somehow seem doable. And after a short while, it actually was doable. We were delivering serves that made it over the net, that you could also imagine returning.

    This experience was a reminder that expertise is hardly ever about making a single massive effort to achieve something that seems impossible. You don’t get good at tennis all at once. Playing the game well is really a whole portfolio of tiny pieces of expertise you have to master one by one and piece together smoothly before you can reach actual proficiency. And even when you get there, that’s not the end. There’s always something, some element of your play, you can improve. Is mastery a destination to reach and then enjoy forever? No. It’s more like a spiral that requires us to return to the beginning again and again of a long series of micro-skills.

    Two people are playing on an outdoor tennis court with forested hills and a cloudy sky in the background.

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    The posts of 2025

    I’m much better at writing new stuff than consolidating the old, but it’s time to review what’s been posted here during 2025. Short posts excluded, it’s quite a lot, considering I’m Writing Slowly.

    There’s also a list of the posts of 2024 and the posts of 2023 too.

    And don’t forget to check out my book, Shu Ha Ri: The Japanese Way of Learning, for Artists and Fighters.
    To get the latest posts straight to your in-box, subscribe to the weekly Writing Slowly email newsletter.

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    The Unity of Pen and Sword: Understanding Bunbu Ichi

    My recent book is subtitled “The Japanese Way of Learning, for Artists and Fighters”. But why artists and fighters, and why mention them together?

    In medieval Japan, warriors weren’t really expected to choose between intellectual pursuits and martial prowess. Instead they were required to master both. This philosophy is captured in the concept of bunbu ichi (文武一), which literally means “the civil and the martial are one.”

    Read More →

    Shu Ha Ri and the philosophy of interior design

    The late interior designer Professor Shigeru Uchida discusses the importance of Shu Ha Ri for design:

    💬 “The current education system lacks “Shu.” There’s a total absence of the attitude to observe, study, and learn from others. The term “breaking the mold” is common, but without having learned anything from others, one cannot depart from or break away from anything.”


    I’m the author of Shu Ha Ri. The Japanese Way of Learning, for Artists and Fighters, available now in paperback and ebook.

    Trying to write slowly in 2025

    Before I really got going with the Zettelkasten approach to making notes (and with micro.blog) I was publishing only a handful of posts here each year.

    But then my productivity exploded.

    In 2023 I published 202 posts here, and this post equals that count for 2025, even though the year isn’t done yet.

    In 2025 I also edited a collection of essays and published my own book.

    So I’m quite happy with the year’s output. And thank you for reading along with me, I really appreciate it.

    But don’t worry, in 2026 I’ll still be trying to write slowly.

    A stack of books titled Shu Ha Ri: The Japanese Way of Learning, for Artists and Fighters by Richard Griffiths is displayed on a wooden surface.

    This little book would make a great present for the artist, fighter, learner, teacher, or straight-up Japan-lover in your life. Just saying.

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