Back at the keyboard...

I used to write often, and I used to write a lot. Now my creative output is spent on disposable content. Articles that will be read one time and irrelevant in a day or two. I can talk about fights for days and there is always plenty to write, but I feel the substance is lacking. Writing used to be a way for me to learn about myself. If I wrote about a particular situation, I could read it back and understand my place within it. I always found it useful in decision-making. Often the mind is scattered and to see the right way forward can be hard, especially when there are a multitude of factors.

The Book of the Samurai states that “a decision should always be made within the space of seven breaths”, but surely in todays society there is far more to consider? I understand that the premise is not to dwell on things and to be accepting of the consequence of our decisions, but the disposability of life in those times has a massive effect on this perspective. We all become a product of our surroundings to a certain extent, and I’m sure most Samurai would have been comfortable with the idea of reincarnation, but I am not.

I feel the pressure of this being a one-time deal. I have a finite amount of time here and feel that it is imperative to make good decisions and utilize my days, hours and minutes as best as I can. As a teenager I found it hard not to dwell on how much life I had left and what I could fit in to it before I roundhouse the inevitable bucket. That was shaken a little when the doctors in Vegas told me that my heart could self-destruct at any minute. I all of a sudden felt incredibly rushed and utterly hopeless at the same time.

As disappointed as I was, a part of me felt very much at peace with the whole situation. Towards the end of 2012 I had found a place within myself that felt unshakable. I had spent a lot of time fixing things with training, ended a losing streak and picked up a couple of wins. I also had a life-changing two weeks in Peru. I was in a state of anger, practicing acceptance, and seemed to be doing fairly well at it. I missed the martial arts but found being in the gym frustrating as I had no future opponents to focus on. Instead spending a lot of time conditioning and running trails in the canyons near Vegas.

A part of me was training out of habit, as well as out of escapism to a certain extent. I always found that physical discomfort and exhaustion would help numb any emotional struggle that I was facing (which, as an angry teen required about six hours a day!). Then another part of me was now stubbornly testing my heart to see if I could break it, like the doctors had warned was now a possibility. Let me take this opportunity to say that I have absolute confidence in my heart, and in its ability to beat the right amount of times for my life, however long that might be.

It has never let me down, never given me cause for concern. Always held strong when I was pushing two hundred beats per minute in conditioning sessions, and sat comfortably at around forty when I was resting. I’m also a very self-aware individual. I haven’t drank alcohol since I was seventeen, I take no painkillers or medications and haven’t in years. The idea of having someone start burning parts of the inside of my heart, when I have never had a problem, seems ridiculous.

So here I am. Three years later, fortunate to be immersed in the sport that I love, but not close enough to trade punches. Content to a point, yet desperately lacking at the same time. The rollercoaster career of a fighter leaves regular life seeming quite pale by comparison. Highs and lows are like no other, but I’d take that fifty-fifty split over a daily medium. The middle ground is stable and relatively safe, and I suppose that there may be a time in my life where I would long for a little consistency.

On the other hand though, I really feel like I just need to ride it until the wheels fall off… My Bruce Lee portrait tattoo is to remind me of the discipline and sacrifice it takes to become immortal, but the Hunter S Thompson one will never let me forget that it is our right to explore the extremities of our existence. To live recklessly and not allow the mediocrity of daily routine to kill a man before he is dead. If I lived my life at any less than one hundred percent of my ability then I would be doing myself a great injustice.

My writing of this is a line in the metaphorical sand. A record and reference point for my future self to look back upon, and remember the moment that I sat down to type. Back to writing, back to work, back to one-hundred percent. I don’t know exactly where this is going, but at least I know where it begins. Thank you for reading, and welcome to this little window from which I view the world.