the roundhouse rhetoric

A few months back, the lead instructor at my martial arts academy put out a call for assistant coaches for the kids’ summer camp. No fanfare, just a simple ask. I said, “Let’s do it.”

At the time, I didn’t know what I was walking into. I’m still early in my journey, just a year and a half into martial arts. I wasn’t sure how I could contribute. But I’m 41, and I’ve spent enough time chaperoning at my kids’ schools to know this: the ratio matters. One adult for every ten kids is the minimum. So I showed up.

And that’s when the real lesson began.

Day one, I stood there watching these kids—ages 7 to 15—look up to me and the other instructors. My nerves were buzzing. I had no rank or prestige. Just my presence. But it didn’t take long to realize they weren’t looking at my resume. They weren’t measuring me by my martial arts experience, my past, or my profession.

To them, I was simply “Coach.”

And that word carried weight.

What they needed wasn’t perfection. It was presence. I leaned into the patience I’ve been building for years—delivering quiet corrections, helping hesitant first-timers find their footing, reminding a few that stumbling isn’t failure, it’s part of the path. I saw myself in those kids—nervous, determined, uncertain. And I realized this week wasn’t about me at all. It was about showing up for them. Giving them something solid they could carry forward.

Stoicism teaches us that ego is the enemy. The military teaches that the mission comes first. Coaching this camp reminded me that sometimes, stepping outside yourself is the mission.

Yes, my life centers on my journey. But it’s easy to get caught in your own orbit. This week pulled me into a bigger one. The world isn’t waiting for us to be ready. Sometimes, you’re the right person simply because you’re there. Life isn’t always about you. It’s about stepping aside, standing firm, and giving someone else the chance to rise.

That’s what being “Coach” meant to me.