Indomitable Part 1: The Kid Who Wasn't Supposed to Make It
I am no stranger to dreaming big. I have chased dreams my entire life. Dreams of escaping poverty, being a stunt man, an athlete, starting a family, being a good father. Some of these dreams were perfectly natural and even attainable. Some I have even achieved. The thing about being a dreamer, though, is that it is never enough. I find myself constantly looking to the next endeavor. The next challenge. I always want more.
A lot of my drive comes from growing up poor. Nothing is more motivating than chasing your next meal. I always knew which restaurants gave out free samples, and I learned how to cook with whatever ingredients we had available. School meals were often the only time I ate. The food wasn't always pretty, but hunger is the best spice.
If you have never had the pleasure of growing up poor, I don't recommend it. It is stressful, anxiety inducing, self doubting, hungry did I mention hungry? But I came out of that experience driven. Driven to never let myself be in that position again. I was never told what devil my mom sold her soul to in order to get me into karate, but somehow I ended up with a way to express myself through sport. I will always be thankful for that.
I earned my black belt at 14 a long shot on its own. Even I thought it was a miracle I made it that far. Right after that, I was basically put in charge of running classes for my instructor. That was my first sponsorship, in no small way. Mr. Ferrer also owned the local karate league at the time, so my tournament fees got waived, and when we traveled, my hotel room was covered too. I also had a pretty sweet summer gig running the carnival rides at one of the larger parks in the area.
And so my toxic relationship with money began. Earning money was a game changer for me. I still question whether that change was a net positive, but getting paid for your work when you are otherwise unaccustomed to it reinforced my drive. I could suddenly see everything money could do for me and my ambitions.
A few years later I graduated high school another achievement not everyone thought I wasn't going to pull off. I was faced with a few options: college, the military, or continuing to forge a path as a professional martial artist.
So I opened a karate studio. Because what's more challenging than opening a business when you barely have two nickels to rub together, no idea how to run a business, and no idea what you'd even go to school for? At the time I didn't know what an MBA was. We talk a lot about the school system being awful, but man, what a failure on my school's part. I don't think my counselor ever proposed what classes I should be looking into after high school, let alone asked me about my interests. East High was just happy to be rid of me and I gave them plenty of reasons for those feelings.
My twenties were a series of failed karate studios and failed relationships. Did I mention I had no idea what I was doing?
But one failure really struck a chord. It was like the universe said, "you've had enough." I had just finished the renovation on a new studio in Salt Lake City, and no joke, the pizza place next door decided it was a great time to light the whole building on fire. I was enormously unprepared for a disaster like that. The fight to get my insurance company to pay out dragged on long enough that my funds money I had borrowed from my girlfriend at the time whittled down to nothing. Eventually she kicked me out too.
I was in a pretty bad way. I have always held a regular job (see toxic relationship with money above), so it wasn't like I was out on the street. But the best way I knew to ease my troubles was to lean on my trustiest friend, alcohol. I spent what felt like an eternity at the bottom of a bottle.
Then one day an old colleague invited me to his studio for a job interview.
I still don't know how I got that job. I showed up in a pink Rockstar hat with a half naked woman on it, still smelling of whatever my drink of choice had been the previous evening, wearing shorts, a t-shirt and flip flops, driving the crustiest Subaru you have ever seen. I don't know what Mr. J thought he was doing. But he told me that if I could show up on Monday sober and looking like I was ready to teach class, I had a job waiting for me.
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