TRUST YOUR INSTINCTS

Three days after my twenty-sixth birthday, I leaped off a wild horse in Mexico.

OK, maybe the horse wasn’t wild. Maybe he was hot. Maybe his saddle itched. Maybe he was tired of carrying tourists up a mountain and through streams and fields for hours on end.

Still, the horse nearly rolled me. And if he did, I doubt I would have lived to tell the tale.

Now, if you know me at all (and many of you do), you may have heard me tell this story once before. This is my dinner party story. The one that makes me look equally badass, brave, and skilled. And, I am badass, brave, and skilled.

I’m also f***ng lucky.

I’m lucky that I grew up next to a farm, because I learned to ride a horse when I was five years old.

I’m lucky the horse in Mexico wasn’t super close to the edge of the mountain we were climbing when I had to jump.

I’m lucky that by the time I was twenty-six, I had seventeen years of martial arts training under my belt, so my body was agile and strong.

But most importantly, I’m lucky that three months before that fateful ride, I received (and passed) my fifth degree black best test in Japan; a test that measures a person’s ability to sense danger, and instantly move to safety.

My friend, Blaise, and I at the Hombu Dojo in Japan. We took our Godon tests on the same day.

When you sit for the Godon test, you kneel in front of a high-level martial arts instructor, close your eyes, and wait for the instructor to cut down with a bamboo sword. If the instructor strikes you on top of your head, you fail. If you feel the attack coming and roll to safety, you pass.

Some Godon tests are magically smooth.

Mine was not.

The first time I sat for the test, an American instructor that I didn’t know was tasked with swinging the sword. My heart was thumping like a motherf***er. I attempted to steady my breathing and relax my mind. But, I kept thinking about how many people were staring at me, the sound of rain pelting the windows, the stranger with the sword, and how I had traveled across the world to take this test.

If I passed, I would become autonomous in the community. I would be given my very own teaching license. If I wanted to, I could open my own dojo.

No pressure.

Yeah, right.

The racing throughs made my body tense. So, when the instructor swung the sword, he hit me.

That’s it. I’m a failure.

Tears sprung to my eyes, but I squeezed them away. The grandmaster of Budo Taijutsu (Soke), who was watching the test from the corner, shook his head and pointed to one of his Japanese instructors, Seno-San.

Soke grabbed the sword from the American, and handed it to Seno. After a brief exchange, Soke said to me in English, “Once more.”

I nodded, positioned myself in front of Seno, and closed my eyes.

By that time, there was a faint ringing in my ears. I felt nauseous. If I failed again, I would have to wait a whole year to return to Japan to take the test again.

Seno gently placed the sword on my right shoulder. And somehow…the thoughts in my head went away. All I heard was a gentle voice, repeating, “Relax.”

I took a deep breath.

When I exhaled, I felt steady.

Seno lifted the sword.

I sat inside of an inky darkness for what felt like an eternity. Seriously. I don’t know where I went. Until —

Suddenly, I moved.

And, before I opened my eyes, I heard Soke say, “OK.”

Later, I learned that the Godon test is a test for the instructor swinging the sword as well. For the instructor, the test measures the ability to properly project danger. So, maybe I failed on my first try. Maybe I didn’t. Maybe we both did. I couldn’t be sure.

I wondered if the only reason I passed was because of Seno, or if I truly did have the ability to sense and avoid danger on my own.

Cut back to jumping off the horse in Mexico.

The same voice in my head that told me to relax during the test was the one that continuously repeated, “Get off your horse,” until, in the space of one breath, I flashed on the memory of dismounting a horse at five, followed instructions, and jumped off the animal as quickly as I could.

I landed squarely on my feet just as the horse began to roll.

And then, I had to get back on that horse to show him who was in charge.

Seconds after jumping off the horse in Mexico

When I finished the ride, one of my friends handed me a 40 of beer.

“Did anyone shout at me to get off the horse?” I asked.

“No,” she replied. “We were terrified for you. No one made a sound.”

Trusting my instincts saved my life.

Bruce Lee once said:

“The great mistake is to anticipate the outcome of the engagement; you ought not to be thinking of whether it ends in victory or defeat. Let nature take its course, and your tools will strike at the right moment.”

That is as true on the mats as it is on the page.

When you have built a strong foundation, the right tool will appear at the right time if you relax and trust your instincts.

Easier said than done, of course. But, that’s why we keep training.

And that’s why we keep writing.

EXERCISE:

Write about a time when your character did not trust their instincts. What were the circumstances? The consequences? What desire or wound grew out of that experience?