You're The Best! Around! Nothing's Gonna Ever Keep You Down, You're The Best! Around! Nothing's Gonna Ever Keep You Down

--"You're The Best", Joe Esposito



For a period of eight months in sixth grade my dad enrolled me into a karate class. On Wednesdays and Fridays every week I called the Okinawa Te Dojo on Foothill Boulevard in Monrovia my home away from home for four hours. I'm pretty sure my wanting to join had nothing to do with The Karate Kid since it was about a year after that movie premiered that I started going and I was as I have always been, unwilling to wait for something I wanted. No, I think the real reason I enrolled was because it seemed like something fun to do without actually having to be co-ordinated. Plus, it had the added benefit of being a one-on-one activity rather than a team sport, which I was notoriously bad at. I don't know--something about the possibility of failing in front of a large crowd of spectators, coupled with people who are supposedly depending on me, brings out the nerves like I have never experienced. Karate was a shortcut past all that.

Now I'm not going to say I was the best student in the class, but I wasn't a total dead weight either. I'd have to say I was in the upper echelons of those who actually were getting it, getting what the sensei was trying to teach us. Every form, every stance, every kata came kind of easily to me. It wasn't that I was especially talented, but I was definitely determined to work hard at it if for nothing else than the four hours seemed to go by faster when I was actually trying my hardest. The other reason why I treated the lessons as if the were a leisure activity and not work was that I was kind of one of the tallest students in the class. I was also kind of one of the biggest students, so, when it came to sparring, I was outclassing a majority of the students. You have to remember this was back when I was eleven and still tall for my age. I had energy to burn and I had the cockiness that being hands taller than any opponent present gave me.

I daresay that was the selling point of the whole experience, the fact I didn't think I would be embarrassed by losing all the time whenever we sparred. I've never done well under pressure when it comes to physical activities. I've always sucked at most sports. I've always been laughed at when it comes to activities involving co-ordination. The only thing I've ever been supremely confident at is schoolwork or other tests of intelligence. I think that's what gave me this distaste for competitions. I never wanted to be "it" in games of tag because it bothered me sincerely when I couldn't catch anyone. I never wanted to be the center of attention for any game during P.E. or recess or lunch. I never wanted to be accused of being the one who lost the game. For me, I'd rather compete with someone against a computer or other inanimate entity than compete against an actual person if the possibility of losing is there. It's the knowledge that I can lose that screws me up and actually causes me to lose, which is a paradox I know.

And it isn't because I'm a sore loser, even though I can be. I think it boils down more to the fact that I hate surprises. I hate that loss of control. I'd rather go into a situation knowing what the outcome most likely is going to be rather than going into a situation that is somewhat up in the air. I'd rather be prepared to win graciously than be caught in a loss unawares.

That's what I liked about karate, that I was winning so much. I knew how to deal with winning. I didn't even have to think about losing at all.

I remember there was one sparring session after our lessons where I was matched against a relatively new student. Normally, that would be enough to give me an edge because by that point I'd already been there six weeks or two months. But the advantages were piled up in that particular match-up. Not only was I about two or three years older than my opponent, but I probably had a good foot over his height and about the same advantage in reach. It wasn't even a contest. If anything, I was scared that I would be performing a forward kick to him and accidentally punt him through the front window--that's how small he was.

I mean--I fought him like I would any other opponent. I didn't play down to him just because he was smaller than me, but I was definitely cocky about it. Whereas with most of the other students I kept my game face on, serious and determined, with him I caught myself grinning ridiculously and fighting back the urge to laugh. It was such a lop-sided match-up that I don't know my opponent could help but not feel embarrassed.

However, when I asked him later why he enrolled in the class, if he knew it would mean getting beat all the time in sparring and having to work extra hard because of his size. That's when I learned his reasons for going were vastly different than mine. He went because he expressly knew that he was short and small. He went because he knew he would probably be losing left and right at first. For him, it was wasn't the thought of being able to take somebody down that drove him. For him, it was the matter of principle. He just wanted to be able to say he hung with people twice his size, as well as to be able to say he picked up a trick or two.

See, that's what differentiates me from most other people. I will only jump into the ring if I know I will win. Fair competition just isn't my cup of tea. For me, winning when I'm supposed to is the only thing that matters.

I think that's why I've had the life I've had, because I don't like to take chances when it comes to most things. I think that's why I've done some underhanded things, why I'm a notorious passive-aggressive personality when it comes to relationships. I'd rather guilt trip somebody than actually argue because it's really hard to respond to a good guilt trip. It really is an unfair tactic to win a fight. I hate saying I'm wrong and I hate having other people see me lose at something. That's why I try to avoid situations where there's a fair chance of those happening.

It makes me sad in a way. I know there's a lot more I could have done if I had just put myself out there more, if I wasn't so intent on playing it safe and being cautious. I know there's a lot more opportunities that could have come my way if I had been willing to risk more.

But I made my peace with this personality quirk a long time ago. I'm not a gambler. I like to know the odds and know when to put myself out there for something. I like picking my battles and not just jumping into the fray simply because that's what most people would do.

Eventually, I think that's why I quit karate. I reached a plateau where I couldn't learn anything new and where the other students were progressing to techniques I just couldn't master. As soon as I reached that point, it stopped being fun and it started becoming more of a chore to go.

The truth is I like being the best, even if it's in only a few things. And I do not like even trying anything else I know I probably won't be good at.

That's my cross to bear.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers