Monday, January 28, 2013

Humbling Moments of an Egotistical Instructor

I don’t like admitting that I'm egotistical and arrogant. But if I’m going to expect my students to practice Basic Rules to Live By No. 3 (“We must be honest and truthful at all times.”), I must admit that I have a long way to go toward enlightenment.

My students see the serene, powerful, and deliberate actions of a confident teacher. Humble and confident, but seldom arrogant (or at least that’s how I think I come across). Get me in a room alone with me, myself, and I, though, and boy do I know how to throw one heck of a judgmental and self-pity party.

Years ago when I worked my first 4th Step inventory of Alcoholics Anonymous with my sponsor, self-pity was high on the list of defects of character. They say in AA that after completing the rest of the 12 Steps, it is common for your defects of character to disappear—or at the very least, ease. I got the latter. I’m better than I used to be because I have strong, wise friends—and a great wife—who will call bullshit when they see it.

Over the weekend, I called bullshit on myself.

On Saturday, I attended a black belt ceremony for an adult student who I'd taken from yellow to probationary black belt. Jenny came to my school from the University of Texas Taekwondo Club, and she was just supposed to train with us for the summer while everyone else from the club was on summer break. She liked it so much that she stayed. She was the typical poor, starving student, so I allowed her to clean the dojang to pay for her tuition.

Jenny was a phenomenal student. A technical perfectionist. She asked great questions and always practiced hard. I saw the look in her eyes: No matter whether she graduated (she did), got married (she did), or had a stressful job (she did), she wouldn’t quit. She’d get her black belt.

As it turned out, I was the one who quit—sort of. I desperately needed a sabbatical, and Jenny was one of my unfortunate adult students who was left in limbo while I took an extended break. It was hard for me to recommend that she go train with my master instructor, Dawn Owens. But I did. My mentors have often reminded me that you should never stand in the way of another’s spiritual progress. It was hard to do, but I had to let her go.

For a long moment on Saturday, when Master Owens tied on Jenny’s black belt, I must admit I felt awful sad (read: self-centered self-pity). I wanted to be the one to tie it on. But I wasn’t. I wasn’t the person meant to take her on the last leg of her current journey—and beyond. That was quite humbling. But I promptly got out of myself, much quicker than I’ve emerged from any other self-pity party, when my ego realized it’s NOT ABOUT ME. It was her big day. She had worked awful hard to earn this honor, and it was woefully disrespectful of me to feel sad.

In the end, it turned out to be a great occasion—and I’m incredibly proud of Jenny.

By the way, she looks great in black.