When I was a kid, I used to get bullied at bus stops and schooling grounds. Rough neighborhood. Trailer park.

Unlike many wimpy parents, my father said, "if someone hits you, hit them back harder so they never do it again."

He sent me to martial arts school, age 6, every day.

I met friends there, and became closer to them than my school friends.

When you fight with someone, you know learn to know them. Smaller classes, discipline, objective outcomes (win or get beat).

It became my passion. Get the higher rank. Be the best. Help other students.

I started to climb in the ranks. I frankly had no inherent youthful talent, but I grinded through.

Eventually after many years I became the leader student in the school, and my first job was teaching private lessons on katas and fighting (and bo-staff katas, a weird side-hobby).

During that decade, my entire focus was on winning fights.

I had poor hand-eye coordination; I sucked at softball, basketball, volleyball, etc.

But I knew how to rekt someone in a fight with hands and feet and wrestling, and advanced towards that path.

After being a semi-instructor for a couple years, I tried to achieve second-degree black belt and it was a struggle. My instructor hadn't even achieved it yet.

So I switched to a different school. A true master, 6th degree, who taught the most advanced regional instructors.

I had to commute to that school each time. Within a year I reached my goals, achieved my target ranks, impressed my new master, and felt good.

The master was made of iron, and took whatever I gave, and doubled it. It was painful, but rewarding.

Proof-of-work, no easy path.

Like literally, I fought many people for years. Everyone basically felt the same.

But not this guy. Not someone who spent 40 years breaking baseball bats over his shin and teaching instructors.

When you hit him, it felt like pure iron. Unhuman. Unbeatable. Proof-of-work.

Students had a joke of "old man strength". Youngins who were talented only felt soft but skillful.

Some 50+ year students were firemen. Their technique was weak, but they were made of iron.

Only the master had both. High technique plus made of iron. Had to experience it.

While kickboxing with someone under the master's watchful eye at age 18, at the top of my game, in preparation for a tournament, I broke my knee, out of nowhere.

A friend I fought weekly, broke it.

I got back up, tried to keep fighting, but it was obvious. I had to drive home.

I then had to go to a surgeon, get blood sucked out of the kneecap, and all sorts of severe pains.

I walked on crutches for weeks, missed my tournament, and went to prom with a boyfriend in a weakened state. Such was life.

To this day, I don't regret it. Literally the best thing I ever did. Even that injurious day, I stayed in that fight. Even the master warned me not to risk certain things.

I got back up, fought hard, but increasingly realized I couldn't continue. I needed to drive home.

The lesson I always learned was, be kind to aggressors, and understand them. Offer them a way out.

If they don't accept it, absolutely rekt them if you can, as my father taught. Then be kind.

It could have gown otherwise; you could have gotten rekt instead. But you didn't.

The philosophy here is that power is almost everything. It doesn't matter what you think is right; it matters what you can demonstrate and enforce is right.

What you have the power to enforce.

Be right. Be powerful.

Only the combination of both matters.