I Think I Found My Place
A late-blooming teacher, cancer survivor, and lifelong storyteller finds clarity, peace, and purpose through giving, not chasing.
This one’s personal. The story really happened — not long after months in the hospital, six weeks in a coma, and a long road back. Writing here feels like finding a home for that journey.
My whole life, my head was full of stories.
I’ve always loved them.
Movies, TV, theatre — it all started from that same place: a love of story.
I enjoyed books, too, but until fairly recently — I’m 47 as I write this — I struggled with reading comprehension.
I understand now why that was.
I couldn’t read between the lines on the page the way I could when watching or listening to a story.
There was no body language, no tone of voice — nothing for my brain to hook onto.
Many times while reading, I’d even forget who was speaking.
Imagine that — a guy with an English degree who couldn’t read between the lines.
My mind could never hold a sentence steady on the written page.
I didn’t hear Robinson Crusoe in my head, or Frankenstein’s monster.
I only heard myself — and that voice hadn’t developed enough yet to see what others saw.
Eventually, as an adult, I chalked it up to ADHD.
“This is my crux,” I told myself.
“I can never be more than what others already decided I am.”
I was too busy, too tired, too defeated to do anything about it.
Living under the cloud of a cancer that never really goes away — that’s been my life for the past ten years.
I’ve been in and out of treatments.
I almost died in 2023.
Two cancers now.
So yeah, I’ve wrestled with depression. Anxiety. The weight of survival.
Then came COVID, and it nearly destroyed my dojo.
While other schools reopened and started thriving again, mine — once 800 strong — was still stuck around 500.
Which sounds like a lot, I know.
Most dojos would kill for that number.
So what’s the problem?
I’ll tell you.
I built a dojo around more than just myself.
My wife was the one who started it, and I’ll always be grateful to her for that.
Most dojos revolve around one or two senseis — a single leader at the center of it all.
But ours has always been a team effort.
We built something bigger than personality — something that could stand on its own.
I have three full-time staff and a plethora of part-timers.
Each one of them matters to me.
Their livelihoods, their stability — I carry that on my shoulders every day.
I call them employees, but they mean so much more than that.
They’re my friends, my colleagues, my students — my family.
How could I ever leave them behind just because the money isn’t there?
So I keep taking less so others can have more.
But the weight of it gets to me.
I still have my own family to provide for.
And while I have a lot of support — and these people bring so much value to my life —
the responsibility toward them is often crushing.
Even today, when I can finally see the big picture,
I still feel the pressure of every choice and every mistake I make.
For years I walked into the dojo already defeated —
heading for the door even as I stepped inside.
But then I learned to put my problems aside for the good of others.
While I don’t want to make light of mental health, I’ve learned that much of it — at least for me — comes down to choice.
When I decided to stop walking into the dojo frowning, miserable, and defeated, that’s when the big picture started to appear.
That’s when I learned to leave my problems at the door and truly enjoy myself, no matter where I was.
The bills would still need to be paid tomorrow — but right now, there was someone in front of me.
And all I needed to do was give them whatever I could.
Give.
That’s the key to success.
Give, and you will receive.
I don’t know where that line comes from, but it’s true.
When you have a good attitude, people are drawn to you.
Positivity is so much more powerful than its counterpart.
I can tell you where my life is heading — as long as I have enough time.
I can see the destinations, and they’re plural.
I see the roads and what I need to get there.
I see all the people I’m going to bring with me.
Money, success — whatever.
I already have everything I need.
I’m a late bloomer, sure.
Discovering my intellect at this age comes with the regrets of hindsight.
But maybe intelligence isn’t something we’re born with.
Maybe it’s something we develop.
And for a dumb kid from a working-class family,
maybe it just took a while to show itself.
Who knows — maybe I’m full of shit.
But I’d rather be full of shit if it means being full of life.
After all, doesn’t the shit fertilize… well, everything?
Somewhere along the line, someone found it fitting to bestow upon me the title of Kyoshi — “teacher of teachers.”
I’ve held that title for a while now,
but I think I’ve only just started living up to it.
So if you’re lost, or feeling left behind — come with me.
We’re better together.
But as always… don’t follow blindly.
🔥 Fact Check Me.