The First Step is the Hardest

I wasn’t born an instructor.  I wasn’t even born a martial artist.  There is something about a person that naturally moves with grace, reacts with an instinct that is uncanny and has the drive that I could only dream of having.

I didn’t have that.  I had to do it the hard way.

It all started with my wife.  Well, my wife-to-be at the time.  I had always had a passing interest in the martial arts but didn't pursue it until I met my wife.  She had been at it for quite some time while I was an innocent bystander.

The key word here is “bystander,” not “innocent” as you may be inclined to think.  I was just watching, my fear of looking ridiculous preventing me from taking that first step.  You see, I was also starting late.  I was in my mid-thirties and was still sitting on the sidelines, a bystander.

Being an adult I was acutely aware of the horrible things that could happen if I were to make a fool of myself.  I knew that I would be directly responsible for earthquakes, monsoons, bank failures and the return of Rosanne Barr to prime time if I so much as took a wrong step.

Seriously.

Wouldn’t you be afraid?

Well, the iron clad logic began to wear down and then came the day that I took my first class.

And eleven years later Rosanne Barr still has not returned to prime time.