tao-long
A Warrior's Way
On trauma, the martial arts, healing, philosophy, love, family, and the human condition.
5 posts
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
Last Seen Blogs
franskeeet
ASDFRANCISGHJKL
crazydiaperlover
crazy diaper lover
ravenclaw-common-room
Ravenclaw Common Room
linearmfg-blog
LINEAR MFG
benjamin-trusty
無標題
Text
On the essence of a black belt
I started training in the martial arts 30 years ago. At 20, I tested for my 1st Kyu, which is the highest ranking belt in Shorin Ryu before black. The test was physically and mentally grueling. It ended with the testing board going into the back room to discuss our (mine and the 2 friends I tested with) performance and 6 cinder blocks emerging each topped with a concrete block 1.5″ thick, 8″ wide, and 16″ long. A belt for each of us was placed neatly under each block. None of us had ever broken concrete before, but we all had experience breaking boards. We all succeeded.
We were then faced with one additional challenge. One by one, our Sensei lit the edges of our certificates on fire and the certificates were laid flat. We were given the instructions to put the fire out by placing our hands on it, not pulling back, and moving our hands around the edges of the certificate to smolder the flames. I remember the experience being extremely intimidating, however, aside from minor singes, we all emerged unscathed. And most importantly, we were not asked to do anything we were not capable of doing. We were only asked to do things we did not know we could do - a lesson that has stuck with me my entire life.
When I was 23, and about ready to move across the county for a new job, I had about 10 years of training in Shorin Ryu under my belt. My school and Sensei were extremely traditional and only observed 3 common dans (levels) of black whereas many schools treated the first dan as the first true step in your martial arts journey and observed up to 10 levels of black. Recognizing that not having a black belt could impair my ability to join other schools and bias folks in their understanding of my expertise, I was awarded my Shodan (first black) just before leaving for my new job. I found that, despite recognizing how I got to that point and my Sensei’s best intentions, the experience lacked a certain amount of closure and decorum and left me with a feeling of being “unfinished”.
Over the next 20 years, I accumulated rank in a number of different styles. I worked my way up to green in Shotokan, 3rd brown in Chinese Kenpo, 1st brown in American Kenpo, and 1st brown in Okinawan Kempo. In each instance, I moved or life interrupted in some way such that I never “finished”.
Over this most recent summer, I had hit bottom in struggling with a persistent and deep depression that took hold after my son was born. Ultimately, it stemmed from a combination of sleep deprivation from doing all of the night feedings, our son's medical issues, and an extremely stressful work environment. I could not sleep. I was treated with the wrong medications, worsening my symptoms, multiple times. I knew my dark mood was affecting the entire family, despite my best efforts to hide and/or manage it. And I never wanted to be a burden to anyone.
Over the course of my depression, suicidal ideation set in. At first, it was just thoughts. Then I added a timeline. I did not want to leave my family in a bad place, so I told myself I would hold on until some perceived milestone passed. Eventually, the pain became more than I could bear and I started looking at shorter and shorter horizons. I eventually learned that after 2 years, my company’s life insurance policy would pay out 200k regardless of the cause of death. In my mind, that money would have served my family better than having to cope with me in my darkness.
With complex childhood trauma, certain issues become common. As a young man, I was asked how I would feel about a bi-polar diagnoses. At the time, I said ‘no-way’. My symptoms were incredibly mild and more often than not, I presented as an extremely productive person. I was always reliable and I often fell back on the discipline I learned in the martial arts to manage my ups and downs in life. When I first sat down with my psych nurse to discuss options for my depression, I informed him of that initial diagnoses discussion and that the diagnoses was never written down. In his defense, I was wishy-washy on the whole thing. However, I was prescribed a number of drugs that were contraindicated for people with bi-polar depression. I found my depression worsening. I had begun acting out in ways that I had never before over the course of my 40 years (staying out all night, getting drunk and not picking up the children, and a number of slightly less horrible things). Each time I acted out I hated myself more and each time was a betrayal of my wife and family in some way. I also did not understand why it was happening. Brain chemistry is a bitch.
Eventually, after doing something particularly stupid and really hurting my wife, I reached a place where I was done. I made some preparations, and had resolved to kill myself during the night after my family had gone to sleep. I truly believed, in the moment, that my family would have done better without me. In my mind, my wife had just finished a degree, my boys were young enough that my passing would eventually be forgotten, and that my wife would have the money she needed to rebuild her life. As fate would have it, I married an incredible, resilient woman. She noticed that something was less right than usual and she forced me into a conversation. Over the course of a gut-wrenching discussion (for both of us), I told her everything.
My wife immediately jumped into action. We made a safety pact. She got me in touch with a number of friends who could help support me. She scheduled an immediate discussions with my psychologist, family doctor, and psych nurse and she attended all of them. She had me file for short term disability to take some time to recover. And she sent me back to kickboxing, which I had taken a break from some months back.
After conversing with my doctors, it quickly became apparent that I was on the wrong medications and was advised to immediately stop them. We came up with a plan to ensure I got enough sleep and I was prescribed something that would actually help. Within a few weeks I was feeling better. Within months, I was well into a desperately needed recovery. The hardest thing to work through was the repercussions of the actions that I took while sick. I felt like I was dealing with the fallout from someone else’s bad behavior - but it was me, however poorly medicated and severely depressed.
During my recovery, I reached out to my first teacher who put me in touch with someone who ran a global federation. My new teacher was willing to work with me remotely, would coach me through reviewing all of my kata, and would eventually test me for my black belt, this time with intention and as part of a global federation that could support my continued growth and my own dream of teaching. I had found new purpose. I had found a healthy activity and outlet for my energy and daily frustrations. My new routine was kickboxing three times a week for cardio and timing and kata practice 5 times a week to hone my techniques, mind, and spirit. Kata is very much an exercise in mindfulness and a form of walking mediation.
A few days ago, I tested for my black belt in Shorin Ryu and passed. I don’t feel any different than I did last week, but I do feel much different than I felt a year ago. Over the prior 10 years, I had faced all of my biggest life fears and emerged stronger. I was pushed out of a job (for all the wrong reasons) twice, had gone through a divorce, re-married, became a step-dad, became a biological parent, started new jobs, was abandoned by my parents and sister, fought through a chronic illness that I thought might be fatal, and fought off a bout of severe depression that was very nearly fatal. Along the way, I made a ton of mistakes that I handled with varying amounts of grace and poise (often very little of each). I lost friends and gained others. I lost trust of those closest to me and fought to gain it back. And I worked on healing and rediscovered my path and values, ultimately allowing me to move forward in life stronger than I was before.
I ran across a quote that really resonated with me during this time:
Everything I feared already happened to me, so I fear nothing.
Bushido, the warrior code, rests on 8 virtues (Wikipedia):
Righteousness (義 gi)
Be acutely honest throughout your dealings with all people. Believe in justice, not from other people, but from yourself. To the true warrior, all points of view are deeply considered regarding honesty, justice and integrity. Warriors make a full commitment to their decisions.
Heroic Courage (勇 yū)
Hiding like a turtle in a shell is not living at all. A true warrior must have heroic courage. It is absolutely risky. It is living life completely, fully and wonderfully. Heroic courage is not blind. It is intelligent and strong.
Benevolence, Compassion (仁 jin)
Through intense training and hard work the true warrior becomes quick and strong. They are not as most people. They develop a power that must be used for good. They have compassion. They help their fellow men at every opportunity. If an opportunity does not arise, they go out of their way to find one.
Respect (礼 rei)
True warriors have no reason to be cruel. They do not need to prove their strength. Warriors are not only respected for their strength in battle, but also by their dealings with others. The true strength of a warrior becomes apparent during difficult times.
Honesty (誠 makoto)
When warriors say that they will perform an action, it is as good as done. Nothing will stop them from completing what they say they will do. They do not have to 'give their word'. They do not have to 'promise'. Speaking and doing are the same action.
Honour (名誉 meiyo)
Warriors have only one judge of honor and character, and this is themselves. Decisions they make and how these decisions are carried out are a reflection of who they truly are. You cannot hide from yourself.
Duty and Loyalty (忠義 chūgi)
Warriors are responsible for everything that they have done and everything that they have said and all of the consequences that follow. They are immensely loyal to all of those in their care. To everyone that they are responsible for, they remain fiercely true.
Self-Control (自制 jisei)
In a way, it’s fitting that I tested for and earned my black belt now, in the way that I have. As a young man, I was physically ready and possessed the skills and knowledge necessary to pass a test in the dojo. I had been tested in combat and I survived a childhood filled with emotional and physical abuse. However, I had not been tested in life. Fighting someone one on one, however physically intimidating, is very different than having someone essentially threaten your livelihood and the well-being of your family over something as inane as office politics. Breaking a concrete block is different than holding your infant as they are coming out of general anesthesia or seeing the insides of your wife while she is getting sewn up from a c-section during the birth of your child. Putting a fire out with your hand is different than staring death in the face during extremely trying circumstances and making a different choice.
There are very few things that still scare me - my wife or children falling seriously ill or being injured are chief among them. However, with a lifetime of tests behind me and the knowledge that there will be more to come, I’ll use this milestone to set my intentions for the next 30 years:
To provide a good life for my wife and boys
To be the best husband and partner that I can be
To be a good and patient parent
To keep sight of and on my path as a martial artist
To found my own dojo to serve those who are disadvantaged and who need to learn the lessons that carried me through life
To leave the world a little better than I found it
0 notes
Text
Finding the tao
When I was 13 years old, I recall a time when I was in the gym locker room changing and one of the local kids started verbally bullying me. I don’t remember what he said, but I remember that it really got under my skin. Usually, I just endured and waited for it to be over so I could continue with my existence in peace. This time, though, was different. This time I said something back and instantly regretted it. The taunting turned physical with him pushing and punching me in the gut. I remember wanting to push back and I remember throwing a punch that caught him in the eye. That made it worse (again) and resulted in me thoroughly getting my ass kicked. A gym teacher finally showed up and broke it up and sent us both to the principle’s office. We both got yelled at, written up, and put in detention. The punishment was the same for both of us, despite the fact that I was attacked. And when I got home, I got my ass kicked again - by my mother.
At that point, I decided that I wanted to give karate another try. Why? I had just gotten beaten up and was tired of being bullied. I endured it as the chubby kid in New York and it reared its head again in 7th grade, this time because I was an outsider. I asked my parents to send me for lessons and my mother said no. To be specific, she said that “there was no fucking way she was paying for me to do something stupid and get hurt again - what did she look like, an asshole?” I hate that I remember so much of what she said to me. Fortunately, I took her message as an opportunity and decided to get a job. Luck would have it that the Chinese restaurant near our house was hiring for someone to work the phones and front desk during busy times. I asked and got it. My mother was not supportive and whenever she had something better to do and my father was not around, I had to walk the 2 miles there and back, but I got there.
Luck would also have it that there was an amazing dojo near the house and within walking distance (slightly closer than the restaurant, in the same direction). My mother was adamant that I not sign up. She yelled, she swore, and she used the silent treatment to try to berate me into not going. Despite my mother’s incessant bitching and behavior, my father agreed to sign the release forms. Like my job, I often had to get myself to classes and I needed to manage my work schedule against the class schedule and my school work, which meant that I had to miss classes in order to be able to pay for my training.
The first few months were brutal. I could not do a single push-up and I had no idea how to punch or be present in my body. Everything, including breathing, was a struggle. Within 2 years I was banging out 50 push-ups at clip, practicing my forms at home whenever I had time, and running. The dojo also became something of a surrogate family to me. I made friends who went to school with me and we became tight. There were three of us. Whenever we competed in tournaments (around 6 times a year), we regularly swept the divisions for both kata and kumite. In my junior year of high school, I made the demo team and was sponsored by KFC to compete on the tournament circuit. That year, our dojo put on a demonstration for my high school. After that day, I was never bullied at school again and I made it a point of looking out for my friends who were still taunted.
My parents taught me an ethos of keeping your head down and staying out of trouble. Be fearful. Do what people tell you to do - or else. Strive for safety and security - its the best you can do. The world and people are scary. Don’t shoot high, you’ll just fail anyway. Don’t tell anyone what you have, they’ll be jealous and destroy you to get it. On the other hand, my Sensei taught me about honor, respect for all, courage, and courtesy. He taught me that fighting was always the last option and that the highest form of winning in combat was to learn to avoid it entirely. He taught me to meditate. To breath. And that my body and mind were capable of doing more than I ever thought possible. He taught me that Shorin Ryu (my style) was as much spiritual journey as physical. He taught me to not be afraid and how to be calm and the voice of reason in a burning building. I had found my tao and have endeavored to remain with it since.
With that, I’ll share 5 rules for mastering karate from the founder of my style, Shoshin Nagamine:
He is human and so am I.
I cannot develop my own potentialities when in the trap of self-limitations.
I must discard this self-limitation. If he practices 3 times, I must practice 6 times.
“Do not depend upon others for your improvement.” Musashi Miyamoto, Japan’s greatest swordsman, once said, “Pay your respects to the Gods and Buddha’s, but never rely on them.”
Earnestly cultivate your mind as well as your body and believe in yourself.
Karate-do may be referred to as the conflict within yourself, or a life-long marathon which can be won only through self-discipline, hard training and your own creative efforts.
And I was taught the 20 precepts of the founder of Shotokan, Gichin Funakoshi:
Karate begins with courtesy and ends with courtesy.
There is no first attack in Karate.
Karate is an aid to justice.
First control yourself before attempting to control others.
Spirit first, technique second.
Always be ready to release your mind.
Accidents arise from negligence.
Do not think that Karate training is only in the dojo.
It will take your entire life to learn Karate; there is no limit.
Put your everyday living into Karate and you will find "Myo" (subtle secrets).
Karate is like boiling water. If you do not heat it constantly, it will cool.
Do not think that you have to win, think rather that you do not have to lose.
Victory depends on your ability to distinguish vulnerable points from invulnerable ones.
The battle is according to how you move guarded and unguarded (move according to your opponent).
Think of your hands and feet as swords.
When you leave home, think that you have numerous opponents waiting for you. It is your behavior that invites trouble from them.
Beginners must master low stance and posture, natural body positions are for the advanced.
Practicing a kata is one thing, engaging in a real fight is another.
Do not forget to correctly apply: strength and weakness of power, stretching and contraction of the body and slowness and speed of techniques.
Always think and devise ways to live the precepts every day.
I am who I am today because of the martial arts. My sincere hope and goal is to one day found my own dojo to teach the lessons I learned for the next generation who need it to rise up. That said, this is not the end of my story, but rather the beginning. There are stories of loving and losing. Of protecting myself as a young man. And of learning to be a good father and husband in my own, healthy, family - not repeating the cycle of trauma and abuse. There are times in my life that I’ve strayed from the path and then found my way back only to stray again. Fortunately, I’ve always been able to find my way back.
The martial arts is not the only path to healing, but one that worked for me. For others, Yoga works. Running works for yet others. What I’ve found is that the underlying pattern in successful healing journeys is the unification of mind, body, and spirit - in whatever way works best for each individual.
0 notes
Text
Later childhood - a tale of a broken spoon
When I was 11, my family moved to Pennsylvania. As I pointed out in my previous post, this was the best thing that happened in my life and is largely responsible for allowing me to become the person I am today. It was, however, not without its drawbacks. The area in Pennsylvania that we moved to was hostile to outsiders. There was a prevailing view among the locals that people moving from out of state (read as New York and New Jersey) were destroying the culture and landscape. In school, those views manifested as transplants being ostracized and bullied. It was mitigated somewhat by the volume of transplants at my school and that we tended to stick together creating a community and sense of belonging. And to be clear, I never wanted to change the culture. I ended up being grateful to be there and enjoyed both nature and all of the local flavor. I always hated feeling like an outsider in the place that felt most like home to me. Enough about that - I promised a tale about a spoon.
My mother had two spoons she used to beat me with. One was lighter and used for “everyday” and the other was heavier and reserved for when she was most full of rage. One day, when I was 12, she pulled out the spoon and started beating me while yelling “What the fuck is wrong with you? You motherfucker!” I don’t remember the infraction, but I was a good kid. I read. I programmed on my computer. I shot basketball hoops, and I walked - a lot. If I had to guess, it was something like forgetting to dust the shelves or starting dinner too late (because I was reading and/or doing other chores). Regardless, I still remember what happened like it was yesterday. The spoon broke and at that moment, I realized that it no longer hurt like it used to. I remember laughing and I remember saying “You can’t hurt me anymore, I’m too big.” In the moment, I was ecstatic and blissfully unaware of what was to come next.
From that moment on - the hitting largely stopped. Sure, there was still the occasional slap to the face that would leave a welt, but the spoon was retired and she thankfully never brought the big one out again. The big one left bruises - not just red welts. In lieu of being able to physically hurt me, she turned to emotional abuse and abandonment as a means of control. When she was mad at me, she would do one of a number of things:
1) Stop talking to me entirely and treated me as if I were not in the room - at all. This behavior would last anywhere from a few hours to a week. When it ended was largely up to me - I’d need to figure out the right combination of actions and pleading to appease her. I remember asking my father while hysterically crying “Why is she doing this?” The only answer he could ever give was “Maybe you could try to view it as a blessing in disguise.” He clearly felt for me, but the response never gave me any comfort.
2) Tell me that SHE was going to run away and never come back. I remember that it would terrify and upset me more than the silent treatment. I felt like I would have been the cause of the family falling apart and clearly was the cause of her pain and would do anything I could to fix it (see above on actions and pleading).
3) Tell me that she was going to send ME away to a boarding school. That I’d never see my friends again (all 2-3 of them), that they beat kids like me, and that it would be a military school and that I’d have to sleep in a cell. This was the worst of everything she said. I never felt like my place in our home was stable and I felt like I could get sent away at any time.
To put a name to all of this - it’s called developmental trauma disorder and it is what happens as a result of childhood abuse and neglect. It leads to something called complex post traumatic stress disorder (C-PTSD). You can read about it here.
As a child, it meant that I never truly attached to anyone or anything. There was no way that I could. I lived under constant threat that my family would be torn apart or that I was going to be sent away. I viewed everything - including my place in the family as impermanent and dependent entirely on my behavior and inability to be perfect. I don’t ever remember being angry or hostile - I accepted it. I do remember intense anxiety, constant fear of losing everything (as fucked up as it all was), confusion, frustration, and profound sadness.
If you are reading this and it sounds familiar, please know that you are not alone and that its not your fault.
0 notes
Text
Early life and childhood - a case study in developmental trauma disorder
I was born in 1976 and spent my early childhood (up until age 11) living on Long Island. My family was together and we lived with my grandparents (on my mother's side) in an extended family household. Looking from the outside in, I had a normal, healthy life with a traditional family structure. Looking deeper, my father grew up in the projects in Brooklyn and joined the Air Force at a young age to escape his home, mother, and poverty. His father was absent and an alcoholic and his mother did not consistently work. My mother is a first-generation American, born to immigrant parents and grew up in an abusive environment herself - subject to physical and emotional abuse from my grandmother, who suffered at the hands of her parents. The cycle of abuse is a bitch and its hard to hold a grudge.
My first memory is my mother screaming at me to stop crying as I was sitting in a high chair as a small toddler. The episode ended with her slapping me and “putting me in the corner” - still in my chair. The majority of my memories of my Long Island home included sitting in the corner crying or hiding. My “corner time” lasted anywhere from 15 minutes to an hour and ran from ages 2-9. There were no books or toys and if I made noise, talked, or cried - I had to stay longer. I learned to tell time early by watching the big hand move on the clock - counting down to my “freedom”. I felt helpless sitting there.
As I got older, my punishments moved from “go in the corner” to beatings and emotional abuse and control. The emotional abuse came in the form of the silent treatment and threats to send me away to boarding school or worse. Beatings came in the form of my mother’s hand, my mother holding a wooden spoon, and on bad days, a big/thick wooden spoon. There was a ton of screaming. She told me that she was crazy for having kids, that she wished I was never born, that I was a “fuck up”, and that I ruined her life. I’ve been beaten black and blue and have gone to school with red welts on my face in the shape of my mother’s hand. The worse was when a “friend” at school told his mother that I cheated when, in fact, he did. His mother and my mother were friends and talked on the phone all the time. I remember my mother telling her friend that she was going to kill me. I remember her hanging up the phone and grabbing the spoon and I remember not knowing why. I remember the snarl of rage on her face. I remember getting beaten until the spoon broke, her struggling to pull my pants down to beat my bare ass, her pounding on me with closed fists (accidentally hitting my nuts). I remember being sore for a long time and sitting being extremely uncomfortable.
In the early 80s no one asked about those things and my parents had an iron-clad “no-one knows about family-business” policy. There were times I entertained running away. There were times, however brief, I entertained the idea of telling someone. I always decided to not do or say anything as I imagined my future to be worse in a foster home or under some other circumstances. I was sure someone had it worse than me and I was grateful to have a roof over my head and food on my plate.
I spent the majority of my childhood trying to stay ahead of my mother’s expectations for chores, keeping my room clean, and keeping a low profile while my mother was home. I desperately wanted to avoid drawing attention to myself for fear of my mother’s wrath. Thankfully, she spent the majority of her time at home on the phone talking to friends/colleagues about work - occasionally hanging up to scream at/beat me over some perceived or real, minor, infraction. When I was lucky - I would be able to “sneak” downstairs to spend time with my grandmother who was apparently terrible to my mother, but always kind to me.
I was a chubby kid. My parents did not believe in physical exercise. My mother believed that sweating was bad and dirty and that rest was important. I over ate. Not because I wanted to, but because my mother put more food on my place than any kid should eat and she expected me to finish everything. There was simply no way out. If I ate everything, I could move on to doing the dishes and get through dinner unscathed. If I pushed back at all or stalled, I would get yelled at and/or hit with the spoon and have to sit there until I finished. There was no way out.
As a chubby kid in the early 80s I was mercilessly teased and bullied. I grew up with the nickname “Fat Matt”. I had no muscle tone and easily ran out of breath during gym class, regularly enduring being chosen last for any team activity. Going to school was not a relief for me - I dreaded it only slightly less than being noticed by my mother while at home.
At the age of 8, after watching Karate Kid, I asked to take karate lessons. My parents signed me up for an introductory Judo class. As I pointed out above, I was chubby with no muscle tone - at all. At my first class, the instructor tried to teach me how to do a forward roll - poorly. On my second attempt, with the instructor helping me, I broke my collar bone and had to go to the hospital for an X-ray. My mother was furious and I needed a sling to keep my arm immobilized. She swore that I’d never do an activity like that again.
I don’t remember a lot from my early childhood. Thankfully, at age 11, my family moved from New York to Pennsylvania. My mother got a different job, my family had a new schedule, I had a new school and the ability to start a new life and essentially have a reset. I remember not wanting to move. However, in hindsight, it was the best thing that ever happened to me. If I stayed in NY, at that school, with those people, and with the continued family dynamic that I had, I would have fully died on the inside, I never would have left New York, and likely would not have become the person I am today.
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
Preface
A brief introduction
This series of posts do not contain recipes for how to live. If anything, it might be a case study in complex trauma and what goes wrong when you veer too far from the Tao. This is one warrior’s path; mine is a story about trauma, healing, growth, martial arts, starting a family, and providing for yourself while maintaining sanity in this time of constant rush and materialism.
The principles I tried to hold to as a young man are based on Miyamoto Musashi’s 21 precepts in his work, the Dokkodo (”The way of walking alone”):
Accept everything just the way it is.
Do not seek pleasure for its own sake.
Do not, under any circumstances, act on your raw emotions.
Think lightly of yourself and deeply of the world.
Be detached from desire your whole life.
Do not regret what you have done.
Never be jealous.
Never let yourself be saddened by a separation.
Resentment and complaint are appropriate neither for oneself or others.
Do not let yourself be guided by the feeling of lust or love.
In all things have no preferences.
Be indifferent to where you live.
Do not pursue the taste of good food.
Do not hold on to possessions you no longer need.
Do not act following customary beliefs.
Do not collect weapons or practice with weapons beyond what is useful.
Do not fear death.
Do not seek to possess either goods or fiefs for your old age.
Respect Buddha and the gods without counting on their help.
You may abandon your own body but you must preserve your honor.
Never stray from the way.
Today, I have 30 years of martial arts experience behind me. I’ve trained in Okinawan Shorin Ryu, Okinawan Kempo, Chinese Kempo, American Kenpo, and most recently, Muay Thai. I’ve had a storied engineering career, working my way up to the level of AVP and have a strong drive to provide servant leadership and mentorship to my teams. I’m remarried. I’m a father and husband - two of the hardest roles I’ve ever had in my life.
I think Kensei’s precepts work well for a nomadic warrior-monk, but are not all applicable when you have a family, career, and responsibilities. I held tightly to them as a young man and used them as a way to protect myself. As a father and husband - I’ve needed to revisit my first principles and learn new ways to cope with my complex trauma history. In my current life, my battles are no longer fought on the mat or in the street, but in conference rooms and with businesses. Surprisingly, all of the same strategies and tactics from martial arts apply to verbal and intellectual conflicts in business.
And with that, I welcome you into my story.
1 note
·
View note