Do you like autobiographical ramblings? I don't. Some of you might . Who am I to judge? But this is my bloody blog, which means that kind of thing comes wrapped in half-educated philosophical musings, tidbits of scientific facts and analyses of personal experiences way too many at this age. I will only cite anything if I really feel like it, in all other cases you are free to check your own facts. And in case you were wondering, "bloody blog" is meant metaphorically. Most of the time.
The idea that talent does not matter for much is not new and if I claimed that I invented it, I would be no better than the man who said: "Genius is one percent inspiration, ninety-nine percent perspiration". Say what you want about the greatest businessman among inventors, but T. A. Edison certainly had much experience with genius, firsthand or second.
The power of practice is widely known. Problem is, not many of us puny humans ever truly experience it. Sure: after poking around aimlessly for 5 or 6 years, we go to school where they make us practice all kinds of boring skills: reading, writing, rudimentary math, impressive achievements of some people, and if you really go for it and throw away your entire youth on education, maybe swallowing a couple couple hefty tomes. In all this time, you might stop to wonder what all those impressive people did, that made them stand out and leave some kind of mark other than a corpse. Otherwise, you do mostly the same thing 8 hours a day for 40 years, followed by doing basically nothing for about as long after.
If you actually manage to speak with any of these impressive people, they will tell you roughly the same thing as Edison told us about a century ago and in second paragraph. They worked hard, they rehearsed relentlessly, they dedicated their life to their task. Sure, you will hear about some of them being born a genius. Those just began practicing earlier.
There are words such as "klutz", "fumbler", "blunderer", "botcher", "oaf", "brute", "bruiser" "bumpkin", "dolt" and "elephant in a china shop". They usually describe a person of deficient coordination without getting too medical. If there is "ambidextrous", there should be "ambisinister" – not menacing in every way, but having two left hands. It must be a thing, because the only reason I can use both hands about equally well, is because they are equally useless. The yearly damage costs of my accidental inanimate object destruction could probably cover a modest vacation.
People always go on a well intended "Naww, you are not like that at all!" and proceed to use my physical skills as arguments. What none of them understand, bless their hearts, is that every single move I am even remotely able to perform has been carefully rehearsed, perfected and drilled since I entered martial arts about odd 20 years ago. Including things like not tripping over my own bag.
The inevitable question every martial artist must answer is "Why would you begin doing such a thing?". Most do it because they want to become badass, get fit, learn how to defend themselves or perform cool tricks, impress their preferred sex, or build up their character. A few even do it because they want to hurt people. I wanted to stop hurting people: I was endangering myself, my family, friends, pets, and not to mention all the innocent items just sitting around our home. All doomed to damage at my impossible to control hands, feet, or head (it's large, heavy, and packs a punch). Not to get good at anything, but to learn enough coordination not to accidentally kill myself or my family. The only saving grace in the whole deal was that I was weak and tiny and did not usually deal as much accidental damage as someone more substantial would. All these years I have watched vastly more talented, coordinated, larger, stronger, faster people come and go, show up at class or not, learn in six months what I needed five years to get right, and in the end, they were gone. And I was still there, trying, failing, flailing, drilling, lifting, hitting, blocking, reading.
20 years later, here I am, writing. And there are about 10 guys who actually believe I can teach them martial arts to the point that they come to my class. No matter the weapon, I can kind of handle it, maintain balance, move to hit and not get hit, and do the cool twirly thing. I even manage to only give myself random brain concussions on my furniture only about once a week. I am still weak and tiny, but thanks to a few years of neverending muscle soreness, can now wave any weapon around for several hours without being crippled the next day. As well as cause much more damage to doorknobs, jars, shelves, and innocent bystanders. The only thing that made this difference is countless practice hours taken out of a finite existence. And this has a few implications you may or may not like:
* If you are, know and/or love an absolute motor retard: Worry not! It may seem like a losing fight, but ultimately any movement pattern can be learned. This is no guarantee that you won´t still trip over your own bag afterwards, however.
* If you meet me at a workshop, or try to teach me something at an event, do not be surprised if I am the last person in the room to get a hang of a new move. Again, worry not – I'll get it by the end of the week. Probably.
* If you really want to get good at something, the best way to go about it is to throw your life away on it, whether you are talented or not.
* If you think you are somehow genetically unable to handle any kind of weapon or perform any kind of fighting-related task, and do not have some kind of severe medical disorder, you are wrong. It may seem impossible now, but after you suffer for a few months or years, it will work.
* If you are one of those talented bastards that come to a few classes and get lazy: Do not make me destroy you.In short: If I can do it, so can you!
Talent can be a natural asset, but in most cases it is nothing but a mental construct of lazy people who use it to justify their mediocrity. Let us hope that I am not too lazy about writing this blog, because it will get better with a couple thousand hours of practice. You have my (s)word.
