Nothing to Show for it

In my third grade gym class, a man called Mr. Flower came to teach karate. What he showed us was like a structured dance, rigid in its rules but flowing like honey throughout my little body. I adored it so much that I convinced my mom to enroll me in his program and to my surprise, she did. My sister joined too and we attended weekly. I’d learn the combinations, memorize them, and teach them to my friends. I felt like I’d found something I’d lacked, that filled me up. It didn’t take long to ascend through the belts (white, yellow, orange) and smash the more complex moves.

Then came the sparring.

I’d maneuvered so well through the wood splitting challenge, various combinations, and hitting the padded targets that I didn’t think there was anything else to learn. Karate was just little games and dances. Sparring? What even was that?

Oh. It was too many things. Bad, bad, bad.

The gear got me. Padding on every part of my body: the tops of my feet, my shins, abdomen, hands and forearms, and worst of all...the helmet. It was like a foam Lego head, sans face. I could not move normally, I couldn’t see great. And it was humiliating.

I tried it anyway. The combinations fled my brain, leaving a cacophony of kicking and punching. Doling them out was okayish, but taking the hits absolutely sucked.

I quit the same day.

Now that it’s been more than 15 years, I will accept laughter in response to this story. I clearly fell into an expected trapping of martial arts: I let my ego win. I couldn’t let myself lose. I couldn't see that in doing so, I would gain real confidence.

When the true purpose of karate came out to meet me, I ran away crying, surprised and even offended by its face.

***

My writing has borne little resemblance to this. So why am I blathering on like some granny hung up on past failings?

Well.

I don’t want to hold onto a toxic pattern. When something gets hard, I don’t want to think I can quit and still regard myself as some paragon of humanity. (Yes, this has been part of my ego problem.)

My shyness and social awkwardness, coupled with pride that didn’t want to fail (read: be publicly embarrassed), left me with an inflated sense of self-worth.

You read that correctly. “An inflated sense of self-worth.”

It’s absurd.

On the other hand, it’s protection. Or maybe just evasion? If I can convince myself that I’m great, I can convince other people. Then I don’t have to sit with how much I truly loathe myself because everyone says I’m the opposite…Ah, but only because I subconsciously conditioned them to do so.

(God, I feel hugely vulnerable putting this in ink. I can feel the fire coming back and singing my eyebrows.)

Enter, stage right, the hellish host of unforeseen psychological consequences:

• imposter syndrome
• inconsistent self-image
• impulsively chasing new ventures
• fighting the desire to quit
• believing the worst about myself and those around me
• no friends
• etc.

You know the trope of the female boss who terrifies everyone around her into being a yes-man? There’s always a film about her. When someone (usually a sister or “best friend”) inevitably tells her that she’s a bitch, she begins to doubt her decision-making skills, abilities, and perceptions. She begins to ask those yes-men to be honest with her, and naturally, she doubts their answers. When the love interest is actually honest with her and she learns just how delusional she’s made herself to be, growth commences. Yay!

While I don’t think I’ve scared anyone into validating me, I do think I’ve become adept at excusing my own shortcomings and failures, convincing people that I’m right. They see my side before they see the objective situation.

I’ve tangled myself up in my own web, the spider that I am. And the flies got smart.

As a result, I never had to hone skills beyond sucking my own blood.

What a mess.

***

Thankfully, there is beauty in all this.

I’m not that person anymore.

Do I still struggle? I can’t see how I’ll ever cease to. And that’s okay. I’m finally able to admit a genuine truth: That I’m nothing. To the world, I am nothing. How freeing.

And there’s something else, too. Perhaps the entire point of me writing this therapy session of an essay:

Through Vocal, I’ve found my public square. This is the place I get to see all my insecurities and toxins play out. If my hellish host is on a stage, that means there’s an audience below—cheering, booing, staring. If I mess up, I have to own it. If I’m embarrassed, I can’t just quit and pretend it never happened. Hundreds of witnesses will attest to the contrary if I did.

And, well, I’ve made friends. You know who you are. Thank you for holding me accountable like a real human.

***

Last May, I decided to take Vocal seriously. Initially, I did a “try and run.” I posted one story. After it got zero attention, I decided it wasn’t the place for me.

Months went by.

Randomly, I checked up on it.

Yep. No reads.

But then I started reading. I subscribed to someone. Then someone else. I left thoughtful comments and they replied to me!

The realization hit gently, yet with all the intensity of a lightning bolt: The golden rule.

Everything changed after that.

I became a published writer. I started making money from my work (not much, but more than I ever expected). And I became a part of a wickedly supportive community that actually understands my creative brain.

What I’ve learned in this eight month journey is that Vocal is not a place for selfishness. The platform thrives on sharing, uplifting others, and being positive. And if I’ve learned anything about fixing pride, it’s that celebrating other people’s success is the most healing thing one can do. I’ve seen my own desires fade away, replaced by the thrill of seeing my friends—my heroes—succeed instead.

Do I still want to win a challenge? Publish a book? Make a blog? See my work in literary journals? Of course I do. And I will. The difference is that I don’t believe I’m owed these successes because of some innate, superior quality. I’ll have to try and fail until I don’t fail anymore.

***

In 2024, my only goal is to continue discovering my humility. Winning a challenge, an award, a contest…It won’t matter if I choose to brag about it to the very people who made it happen. Nevermind that, I don’t want to brag.

The actual measurable version? I am going to read more frequently and connect with more creators. I am going to overthink less when I write. And finally, I will take a leaf out of L.C. Schäfer’s book and fizz. I’m overwhelmed, giddy, and terrified when I look at what I want to complete this year. But most of all, I’m excited to tell you all about it…once I’m done.

It is most poetic to me, seeing how I joined a martial art and then refused to accept the core characteristic said martial art—confrontation. It’s akin to my teacher’s name being “Flower,” I think. Something else was meant to bloom; something delicate. Were I in a place to be even more vulnerable than I already am, I might dive into what this might have been. But perhaps you can fill in the blanks.

***

If Vocal is my community, then there is very little space for my own ego. So here’s to seeing mine finally dissolve into the oneness that my mind ought to be. After all, a divided mind cannot think.

Thank you, Vocal and Vocalites all, for showing me that I am, with no trace of sarcasm, nothing. It means more than I can express.