I'm a Coach, not a Master.

I've got a couple of black belts, I've been training in martial arts for most of my life, and I've spent a lot of years coaching other people. That doesn't mean I've figured life out.

I think sometimes people look at a martial arts instructor and assume that because we've spent decades training, competing and teaching, we must have some special wisdom about how to live. Maybe we've become enlightened through all those years of getting choked, punched and thrown around. Maybe somewhere around black belt we receive the secret instructions for becoming a calm, confident, perfectly balanced human being.

I didn't get those instructions. I'm still trying to figure this stuff out.

My personal life is not some perfectly organized example of what a human being is supposed to look like. I've made a tremendous number of mistakes. I've made bad decisions. I've been wrong about things I was absolutely convinced I understood. There are plenty of things I don't know anything about, and plenty of things I thought I knew that I later discovered I didn't understand nearly as well as I thought I did.

I'm not saying that to be self-deprecating. I'm saying it because I think there is an unhealthy tendency to put coaches and martial artists on a pedestal.

A black belt means that you've developed a certain level of skill in a particular martial art. It doesn't mean you've achieved some higher level of human existence. It doesn't mean you have better answers to every problem in life. It certainly doesn't mean that you should start walking around giving everyone unsolicited philosophical advice while staring thoughtfully into the middle distance.

I'm not Mr. Miyagi. And I'm definitely not Yoda.

What I can tell someone is what I've learned from martial arts and what I've seen happen to people who take the training seriously. I can show them how learning to deal with discomfort can change the way they approach difficult things. I can show them how practice, consistency and failure can teach lessons that extend well beyond the mats. I can show them what happens when you spend years doing something that you're not naturally good at and keep showing up anyway.

Those lessons are real. But they're not magic.

Martial arts don't automatically make someone a better person. I've known incredibly skilled martial artists who weren't particularly good people, and I've known people with very little martial arts experience who were far wiser and more decent than I was. Training can give you opportunities to develop patience, discipline, humility, courage and self-control, but you still have to do the developing.

That's actually one of the reasons I like martial arts so much. The training gives you a place to work on these things without pretending that you're working on them.

You don't have to sit in a meditation room and contemplate adversity. Somebody can simply put you in a terrible position and tell you to get out. You can fail. You can get frustrated. You can get tired. You can discover that the thing you thought was going to work doesn't work at all. Then you have to figure out what to do next.

There is something useful about that. But I'm experiencing those lessons right alongside everyone else.

When I talk to a student about dealing with failure, I'm not talking to them from some place where I've transcended failure. I've failed plenty of times. When I talk about discipline, I'm not claiming that I've conquered every bad habit or always make the right decision. When I talk about patience, I don't suddenly become a patient person because I've earned a black belt.

I'm still working on all of it. Maybe that's actually a more useful relationship between a coach and a student.

I'm not standing at the top of a mountain telling everyone else how to live. I'm standing on the mat with them, pointing out some things I've learned along the way and hopefully helping them avoid a few of the mistakes I've already made.

Some of what I've learned came from good coaches. Some came from competition. Some came from training partners. Some came from reading and studying. And some of it came from screwing things up badly enough that I finally had to admit that whatever I was doing wasn't working.

That's life.

I don't think a martial arts coach needs to have all the answers. In fact, I think pretending to have all the answers can be dangerous. Students don't need a guru. They need a coach who knows what he knows, is honest about what he doesn't know, and is still willing to learn. The longer I train, the more comfortable I am saying, "I don't know." That's not a weakness. Sometimes it's the most honest answer you can give.

There are things martial arts have taught me that I genuinely believe can make someone's life better. Learning how to stay calm when things aren't going your way is useful. Learning how to practice something you're terrible at is useful. Learning that improvement usually takes much longer than you want it to is useful. Learning that you can get knocked down, submitted, embarrassed or exhausted and still get back up is useful.

Those are lessons worth sharing. But I don't want anyone to confuse sharing those lessons with claiming that I've figured out life. I haven't.

I'm still making mistakes. I'm still learning. I'm still changing my mind about things. I'm still trying to figure out what is important and what isn't. I'm still trying to be a better coach, a better friend, a better person and, frankly, just a better version of myself.

The black belt doesn't change that.

If anything, getting older has made me more aware of how much I don't know.

So if you come train with me, I'm happy to show you what I know. I'll try to give you the best instruction I can. I'll tell you what I've learned from my successes and my failures, and I'll try to help you find some of your own answers.

But don't put me on a pedestal.

I'm not a guru. I'm just another guy trying to figure this thing out who happens to know a little bit about martial arts.