Harley
How do u stay so calm and collected when presenting or debating?
Dear Natural Wonder83,
Your question relates to how it was that I conquered my biggest fear. You see, if you can get to a place where you aren't nervous
from fear, you can do just about anything. There is nothing a judge, client or anyone else can say to me that causes me to fear anymore.
That doesn't mean I wouldn't get alarmed by someone attacking me or a doctor telling me I have cancer. I am talking about our deep,
inner fears that stop us from reaching our potential or worse, haunting us in our thoughts, creeping into our moments of happiness to remind
us that the fear has not been conquered nor abated, it exists and lurks within us.
Perhaps I can better answer your question by recalling a letter I wrote years ago subsequent to fighting in Brasil:
Dear Friends,
With a composite of fear and trepidation I entered the raucous Rio de Janeiro arena through a curiously inconspicuous doorway completely unannounced from the street. A solid husky fellow, appearing not to have missed many meals in his life, although I doubt many were ever served without the constant presence of prison guards, made sure I stopped to answer his inquiry as to whether I was spectator or combatant. I expected and ignored his faint disdain at the thought of an American entertaining any notion of being the latter in what is pridefully known as the birthplace of Jiu-Jitsu. In Brasil, to even say "Brazilian" Jiu-Jitsu is to imply that any other type, style or origin of Jiu-Jitsu is a mere failing facsimile of what they know and believe to be the only true form of Jiu-Jitsu. For it is here that Helio and his brother, Carlo Gracie created the fighting form or "art" that they believed could conquer all others while ignoring such trivial variables as weight, height, strength and size. Even their strongest critics, none of whom dared today to show their faces at this contest, would have to give them their just desserts.
I soon thereafter weighed in and met my Brazilian opponent on the mat. He was of dark complexion and exercised ominous movements. His eyes lifeless, his face plastic and angry no doubt from an existence which continuously vindicates the platitude but verity that life is not fair. His mohawk haircut neatly trimmed for the occasion.
So why was I here? It was not for the love of competition or the sportsmanship. Perhaps I was looking for some vehicle in which to channel all the aggression, resentment and embarrassment dealt to me day after day in the halls, lunch lines and at the bus stops of Junior High School and High School itself. Maybe I needed some way to vent the rage stored inside me from 6 years of missing lunch due to some girls who felt entitled to whatever money was in my pocket and certainly took it from me, with often more than just the mere threat of violence.
What is immediately and universally understood by my presence and pending efforts against this maniacal Brazilian here in this modern day Coliseum, is that I will now, and forever, walk away with my lunch money in pocket. While many find my motives sophomoric , these motives have, in fact, led to my own self-ennoblement for it is here and now that I am facing and conquering those girls. Through this unknowingly possessed Brazilian who for me, carries the spirit of those girls and those guys who belittled me at every opportunity and in the most public of ways, I am facing up to them. I am not backing down to them and no matter what the outcome of this match, I am fighting back. For here, the test of courage relies not on instruments of wealth or social position, but rather, mostly upon heart. Do I have it or don`t I? Let`s see.
Although primordial in most every sense, my opponent prescribed to all the minute amenities that dogmatically grace Jiu-Jitsu and give it some semblance of civilization.
He began by convincingly demonstrating that for him, in terms of intimidation, the old adage was indeed true, in that it was better to give rather than receive. He felt nothing. An impenetrable automaton whose sole purpose was to end this match in any manner I myself, saw fit, either submit to the pain or fall unconscious to a choke. My purpose contrary; to provide him with the bitterness that he himself had so often provided to others. The bitterness of defeat.
I attempted to grab the Brazilian and allow my self perceived muscular strength to treat him in a subservient manner. The Brazilian responded with sheer and utter indifference. I was in trouble.
I knew I had to fight back as this could be the one moment in my life that corroborates any real notion of self-worth for which I previously failed to show not even an iota of proof by any action during any previous time in my entire life. The years had prepared me for having a keen understanding as to the importance of this very given moment.
Desperation became the order of the moment. My opponent renewed his efforts with a vicious combination of brutality and technique designed to quickly put an end to me and this match, but preferably to me. I responded with bleak signs of fortitude and a spirit which the crowd found unexpected. We were both resolute in our purposes and neither would acknowledge the terrible punishment we were both now receiving.
As the pain around my neck grows to an almost unbearable tolerance I ask myself again, "Why am I here?" I have enough money. I have a Ferrari. I have my parents. I have a great dog. I have great friends who claim that if I never fight again they would not think the less of me. So why have I come all this way only to find myself in the virtual vice grip of some mad Brazilian's arms and legs as he seeks to cease my breathing only for the purpose of his being claimed victorious (as opposed to the less noble intent of actually wishing me harm)?
At that moment I chose to fight on rather than "tap-out" and voluntarily end the match by submission. I was not returning from Brasil as a quitter in my own mind. I decided to fight or be put to sleep rather than submit. I continued my struggle as my perception began to fade and my breath slowed from a dissipation to a termination. I attempted to recruit my energy and resolve and hung on. And I did just that. Some time thereafter, the time ended and the match was over. We were both dreadfully punished.
The score was zero to zero. The crowd was completely disappointed. Never had they dreamed that their hometown favorite would not be met with success. They could not forbear exulting. Prior to the fight I was an Americano, a poser, well beneath their notice. Now the referee would chose the victor. My opponent's hand was raised and I garnered the 3rd Place Medal.
The truth is, The Mad Brazilian fought undismayed seeking victory while I sought to prove that my courage was of no ordinary nature. In the end, isn't that all I really wanted? I sought out to regain what I had lost on those bus stops and lunch lines. I had lived most of my life seeking to regain my own sense of pride and self-esteem and today, through this crazy set of events hereto described above, I filled that void. I had now, not by any material gain, not through riches or public acceptance, recaptured the thing I lost so long ago for which there truly is no price; the heart of a fighter.
My moral victory here today comes only after what might appear to be an unflaggingly solitary effort. That is far from true. There are my parents who have since lived those school days with me and all my insecurities, the friends who encouraged me even when I weighed 88 pounds in high school and there could be no sign of any physical justice in the horizon. There are my other friends who have given me counsel and support through my metamorphosis. And then, there are the trainers who helped sculpt me into a finished work of redemption. There is David Jones, Rick Jones, Darryl Perry, Craig Richardson, Shihan Larry Cowan, Sensei Anthony DeMarco, Shihan Juan Perez, Mike Mrkulic, David Avid, Royler Gracie, Angelica Oliviera, Jason Tabor, and Brian O'Leary. There are also of course, all the guys who lent their support and patience from Mike Mrkulic Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, Gracie New Jersey and Gracie Humaita.
Through the most arduous demands of the body, the fighter can transcend the physical. The place at which I fought was not merely a rubber, sweat and blood laden mat of sacrifice but an alter of sorts for my own personal redemption. I feel redeemed.
Respectfully,
Harley
