Tampa Martial Arts Student: Aaron

My experience with Wing Chun probably began in ‘92, when I was in the 6th grade. I’d heard about a kung fu class offered as part of the YMCA after-school program at my school, and I was immediately drawn to it.

How Wing Chun Has Changed My Life

My Sifu was Paul Chessare. Sifu earned his black sash from James Clark, who earned his black sash from James DeMile, who earned his from Bruce Lee. Sifu referred to this style of Wing Chun as “non-classical Wing Chun Do Gung Fu.” For the few peers who trained with us at school, the experience might have just been something cool to try out, but for me, I saw Wing Chun as hope.

I was a “late bloomer”—the smallest kid in my grade. I lacked confidence in almost everything except academics, was picked on a lot, and didn’t feel safe at home or in my neighborhood. I saw Wing Chun as a way to feel safer and more confident. I got a job at 14, got busy with work and school, and eventually dropped out. But in that time that I practiced with Sifu, I built a little confidence, and I absorbed a lot of information about kung fu, and I bonded with my brother and friends who trained with me.

When I stopped training, I intended to eventually go back and try to pick up where I left off, but years later, I learned that Sifu moved to another state and closed his center down. I was disappointed. I felt like I missed out on something that was important.

The years rolled by. As an adult, I figured out that a lot of my lack of confidence, which by then, had almost become self-hatred, was related to a conflict between what I was raised to believe in and who I was. I’d been taught that being gay was one of the worst things a person could be, and I believed it. I hated myself for it.

Over the years, I started accepting myself, advanced in my career and personal life, but then about two years ago, I realized something—returning to Wing Chun was one of my few unfinished goals—one that I’d been avoiding. So, I started doing some research, and I found Tampa Wing Chun and Sifu Och Wing Chun. I reached out to Sifu Garret, started with weekly private lessons, and eventually started going to classes.

This experience has taught me that I clearly have some kind of unfinished business with Wing Chun that extends beyond not having returned to it when I was younger. When I started Wing Chun as an adult, I felt anxious, insecure, and even self-deprecating. I realized that whenever I walked into class, I was thinking and feeling a lot like I was still that small, weak, awkward, inadequate kid that I was when I tried Wing Chun for the first time so many years ago.

Excelling in martial arts is a matter of both nature and nurture. No one gets far without tremendous discipline, dedication, time, consistency, and grit, but some people start off with an unusual and natural capacity to do well. (I think Bruce Lee was one of those people—he started off with a natural capacity to do well, and then he worked harder than most people ever would to learn and refine his skills, though his ego sometimes got in his way.) As for me, I’m not a “natural”.

My natural capacity to master martial arts is probably below-average. I don’t have particularly refined hand-motor coordination, finger or manual dexterity, or motor control. I’m not special in that way. What I do have is discipline, work ethic, willpower, hope, and the insight that if my values guide me towards a particular direction, and that path is blocked by anxiety and self-doubt, then the healthiest path—the only path—is not over, under, or around that obstacle—it’s through the obstacle. The obstacle is the way. Because I’m anxious about Wing Chun, I must embrace it.

“ The obstacle is the way.

Wing Chun is about learning to fight, and, for some, it’s a hobby or a way to have fun or round off a good fitness plan. I think it’s all those things, but it’s something more. For me, it’s therapy. It’s about showing up, persevering, and learning to accomplish that delicate balance of pushing myself to achieve and excel on one hand while accepting my flaws, imperfections, and shortcomings on the other. I must accept what is, but acceptance is insufficient—I must also commit to doing better.

If I want to heal that part of me that’s still an anxious, insecure, hurt, and self-deprecating kid, then I’ve got to keep working at it with patience and diligence. And so, I will.