Scott Sonnon: The Flow Coach

Keep Asking

“Why do you ask so many questions in class, Scott? You look like a fool who knows nothing.” To my classmate I replied, “But I DID know nothing about the topic. We all did, until I asked the question and got an answer. I’d rather be foolish for the minute that I ask a question, than foolish for a lifetime of not having had learned the answer.”

Family and friends would not understand why I poured through stacks of unrelated books: biochemistry, motor science, neuroscience, mechanics, nutrition, endocrinology, movement therapy, cognitive psychology, immunology. I didn’t understand why my health had suffered so much when others, with seemingly worse lifestyle habits, had not. When I couldn’t ask questions, when no one was available to teach me, I went off exploring on my own.

Many answers didn’t reveal themselves, but the exploration did teach how to ask better questions than before I had begun. The journey taught me how to explore a topic:
1. without judgment, master an understanding of the basics;
2. without expectations, allow for your brain to integrate it with what else it had learned;
3. with patience, await for the solutions, or new higher quality questions, to bubble to your consciousness during unrelated activity;
4. and with diligence, apply the material throughout life, even when your audacious ideas seem new and unfounded.

Whenever I research a new project, the above works most of the time (other times, I remain stumped for a time). But inevitably, if I throw ingredients into my brain, a recipe will unfold. Ideas will come. People will shake their head at their craziness, and I will carry out my idea anyway despite my craziness.

Your brain holds a magical black box, where knowledge doesn’t accumulate; it expands, connects and multiplies. Feed your brain, and you will create ideas you had never before imagined. A single article, book or interview with a field expert, could be the catalyst which changes your perspective forever, as your mind will concoct a new, higher quality question from it.

Life is a curriculum you get to design yourself, selecting the courses you want to study by the questions that you ask. Flex your brain. Challenge your mind with new weight, and move it in curious directions. It may seem random, and people may chide your whimsical exploration. At first they’ll ask you why you’re bothering to study what interests you, but then later, others will ask you how you managed to learn so much about it.

Very Respectfully,
Scott Sonnon
www.facebook.com/ScottSonnon

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Build the Heart; Lift Someone’s Spirit

A poster flooded with sugar, caffeine and processed chemicals in his veins commented, “you talk a lot about health and positivity but then publish photos of yourself without a shirt on with you gay tattoos get over yourself adn keep on lifting heavy things and puttin them down moron.”

There are many paths to personal growth. Mine is using physical exercise, nutrition and martial arts to discipline my lifestyle and give me the opportunity to make better choices in how I act, speak and think. And you’re absolutely right that we can get distracted into believing that the physical path of personal growth is an end in itself and not merely a means to an end. But it’s just a vehicle. Not the destination.

It’s not the size of our muscle, but the size of our heart, which determines our life’s quality. If we’re going to lift weights, let’s lift the weight off of others, and build our compassion, while we build our muscle.

Speak kindly to others. Act with kindness. Focus on kind thoughts. Violent language, acts and thoughts are easy, slippery and contagious. Fortunately, so our compassionate ones.

It’s not the size of the arm that counts, but its reach we use to help others that matters most. If you feel like you can’t lift even your own weight, lift someone else’s Spirit. Even with only a kind word, rather than an ugly one.

The Heart is a muscle. Make Compassion an exercise. You’ll help others feel better. And your heart will grow in the process.

To the poster: Now, settle down, go do something kind instead of disrespecting yourself with such comments. You’re better than that.

very respectfully,
Scott Sonnon
www.facebook.com/scottsonnon

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Still Do It.

My coach first assessed my fighting skill and said, “The good news is that you only need to change everything.” Dumbfounded, I gasped, “How is THAT a GOOD thing?” He replied, “Sometimes, it’s easier to start over and make a complete overhaul, than to change one or two things deeply embedded in your lifestyle.”

In my case, this also involved my nutrition; changing what I ate, when I ate, and in which combination of foods. I had to increase the quality of what I ate, the quantity, and the frequency. And I also, indeed, had to displace all of the unhealthy substances to which my body had become addicted. Doing so, I faced tenacious gremlins whispering their powerful hold over me: sugar, dairy, wheat, pasta, pastry, bread, soda, alcohol and coffee. I had to wipe the slate completely clean and start over, with dramatic lifestyle change, in order to get clean and clear.

Slight modifications or exclusion of one or two failed because they remained inextricably intertwined in the lifestyle behaviors I had habitually woven. I had to tear apart the fabric and begin completely over.

Family and friends who did not want to change their situation, so when they observed my changes, they laughed and offered no support for my challenges. Some were toxic individuals who are no longer around me, and some observed the health improvements my overhaul made, and implemented changed themselves.

No proper education could be found at the time because nutrition had been such inaccessible, and biased discipline at the time of my decision to change. And even if the education had been available, nutrition is so highly individualized that I would still have had to make the choices to investigate what specifically worked for me and what did not.

In some of the changes, I could prepare meal plans, grocery lists and schedule my cooking. But most of the real hurdles only presented themselves once I realized when these plans went awry, I had to improvise without compromise. In many situations, despite lack of preparation, sometimes I had to do it anyway.

The addictions DID need to be addressed and healed, but those few legitimate dragons could ONLY be faced when I accepted that phantom or real, I would. The decision to confront and overcome them all was simpler and more feasible than attempting to face only one.

Mark Twain wryly joked, “I’ve lived through some terrible things in my life, some of which actually happened.” We all have chemical wraiths in the belfry of our minds; imagined phantoms which we allow to immobilize us into indecision. We create excuses and rationalizations why we cannot change a harmful or suboptimal situation… that just aren’t real. Oh, there are a few legitimate dragons we must slay, too; but they aren’t everywhere, and they aren’t omnipotent.

It takes great courage to be who we really are, because we’re hidden on the other side of those invented horrors, and revealed only by facing our few, real demons. Who you first meet in a person is what they had eaten, and when they had eaten it. Who others meet in you is the same. The question my teacher posed to me still echoes in every emotional outburst I feel, “Who is acting right now: you, or what you ate and when?”

You can and should get support, educated and prepared. But only one person will ever be able to make the choice to change the situation; and because of your personal power, even if you have no support, education or preparation, you can STILL do it.

As Calvin Coolidge said, “Only persistence and determination are omnipotent.” Regardless of the legitimate excuses why you cannot. Despite how hard it appears, and how difficult some issues will indeed be… If you want to make changes to improve your health, still do it.

Very Respectfully,
Scott Sonnon
www.facebook.com/ScottSonnon

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My father’s wooden camel

When my father returned from the Korean War, he had brought home violence inside him. Because he passed away from heart disease in 2005, I didn’t have the chance to hear this story from himself. I had to piece it together through a painful, but liberating journey.

A four year old cannot comprehend violence, so the image of my father beating my mother caused me to feel I had done something wrong: “If I had only been a better behaved boy, maybe they wouldn’t fight,” I had thought. Walking into my mother’s room where she lay crying, holding her swollen face, I could only say, “I’m sorry, Mom. Please don’t cry.”

Fortunately for her, they divorced the next year, but taking full custody of the four of her children - except for fleeting images of scant, horrific memories - that ended my relationship with my father. My father took everything in the marriage: the accounts, the farm and horse ranch, the house and cars. My mother had agreed to sign over all assets in exchange for him relinquishing all custody of us kids.

So we moved into a trailer court, and my mother arranged two full time labor jobs, becoming the first female steelworker in Pennsylvania. Her hate for my abusive father burned within her. Too young and unaware, I imported that hate within me. Not that she was unjustified for how she felt as a result of the physical and emotional abuse, but I had not had the chance to develop my own independent, adult relationship with him.

We saw him on holidays. One Christmas, he returned from a baptismal pilgrimage to Jerusalem. It was a strange thing for a child to comprehend that he had given up his alcohol and rage, and turned to God, becoming a senior member of his Church.

He handed me a wooden camel with a bow on it. Overwhelmed with my own problems - my learning disabilities and obesity, the fights and humiliation I faced at school, our impoverishment thrust upon us when they divorced - I felt angry that with all of his resources, he couldn’t give me a computer or something, anything that could help me. Instead, he hands me a damned wooden camel. I threw it to the floor, the leg snapping off.

My brother scooped up the pieces and later gave them to me glued back together saying, “You may not understand it, but he’s trying to share with you a piece of him. You’ve shattered it, but it can be glued back together.” I threw it in my closet, unable to forgive him for hurting Mom, for abandoning us for money rather than fighting for us, for leaving me alone to face all of my issues. I eventually forgot about the camel, lost somewhere in many moves.

Thirty years later, I was on a job in Israel to train their special forces. The Lieutenant Colonel wanted to give my teammate, Alberto, and I, a special gift for our work. Driving us north to the river Jordan, he took us to place where Jesus had been baptized by John at Al-Maghtas near Jericho. We didn’t know what had been expected of us; so, when we emerged from the changing room covered in tattoos and wearing fight shorts, stunned parents grabbed their children. Embarrassed, we found the robes, donned them, and returned to the waters.

When I came out from under the water, the full weight of significance struck me. “As soon as Jesus was baptized, he went up out of the water. At that moment heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and lighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, whom I love.” (Matthew 3:16-17)

My eyes went first to the sky, and immediately next, to a small vendor at the river bank with his cart. In it… wooden camels. Uncontrollably tears welled my eyes, and the lieutenant colonel asked me if the event was overwhelming me, talking about how all of his guests have a similar experience when he brings them. I nodded and could only manage, “My father was here.” The LTC replied, “Yes, all of our Christians friends have a similar response.” I muttered, “My FATHER was here!” I dashed out into the dressing room, changed in solemnity, walked to the vendor, and delicately picked up one of the camels. Paying the carver, I placed it gently in my pack, so afraid that I might snap off its legs.

The weight crushed me when I returned to our room, and I hid in the bathroom, holding the camel. My entire life had evolved into a career of helping restore soldiers’ health, of helping others who face extreme crises, and their families, recover from and prepare for the shock and trauma of violence.

Somehow, I experienced a private miracle. In my own process of healing by helping others heal, I had journeyed back to the exact spot where my own father came to repent and forgive himself for the damages he experienced from war, and the cost his family had unfairly born as a result. I cannot imagine a worse penance than to endure the knowledge that his own son could never forgive him, for internal events which must have felt out of his control.

Looking upon this camel on Father’s Day, its legs unbroken, standing strong on my desk in front of every word I type, I feel so sorry for the burden he carried. Of course, his violence could not have been permitted or excused, but it can be understood and forgiven. And I ask you, Dad, to forgive me again, for taking so long… You have been here all along, silently steering my life from Heaven.

When it is all finished, you will discover none of this life has been random. It will seem like you must discover things out in the world - skills and tools, concepts and theories - and that your life fumbles along one coincidence after another. But ,like assembling a puzzle, each piece appears disconnected until close to completion, when your eyes begin to focus on the bigger picture, and each seemingly unrelated segment coalesces into a masterful mosaic.

As Rumi wrote, “Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all of the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.” Today, alive and bare, I fully remove those barriers to you, Dad. I honor you and our elegant life we had alone, but together. I honor you by keeping down the walls that prevent me from being the best father I can to the tender spirits of your grandchildren. I love you, Dad. Thank you for this amazing life.

Very Respectfully,
Scott Sonnon
www.facebook.com/ScottSonnon

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Keeping it Real: My Own Accountability

After posting my recommendation to the media to boycott airbrushing physique distortions, a photographer accused me of altering my own writing, “I’ve been a professional photographer for nearly two years, and no one your age can look like that without steroids or photoshop.”

Well… I’m not huge, I’m not pretty, but at 43, I’m in my top shape, and still able to step on the mat with anyone and tango. So, here’s the unaltered original of the photograph he accused of manipulation taken by my iPhone. Any cursory examination can prove that it is untouched.

Another, very respectful poster, started a similar but different conversation on the nature of beauty writing, “Scott, I enjoy your posts that have been on a variety of subjects as they give a perspective that always seem to contain an openness and honesty to them….so much so, I’ve shared some. However, can you do one on ‘vanity’ and its hold on us (general public) today. Admittedly, when I’m of a condition and discipline, as you appear to be in a constant state of (this picture as an example), I too feel much more relaxed in showing more of my physicality but is that not a form of vanity? I like to read your perspective.”

I replied, “The real question isn’t my perspective on vanity but what triggered yours coming to my page and posting on my photo.”

So he respectfully expanded, “Your right, when I look/read on your posts they do motivate me and help drive my weakest personal area…discipline. If I held that, I know I would feel (because I have done before) better generally. MY issue today (which is where I feel your page differs) is all about the ‘glossies/look at me’ approach that seem to constantly tap into that ‘you have to look this way’ approach. They’ve brought to the forefront the ‘vanity’ mindset. I think I’m responding to this picture of yours as its the 1st ‘poser’ shot I’ve seen you do and I only comment like this  because I don’t see you as a ‘poser’ but the picture (to me) tags along those lines….But ‘it also screams motivation’…”

I’d like to share my reply to the poster, because it applies to all of my accountability shots I share on my own growth and development:

Please don’t try to look like me. God help you! LOL. I look like me. Busted teeth, broken eye, 43. With a clean diet and a daily practice, I only look like myself. But without the artifice of steroids, without airbrushing distortions to my size, without any concern to my lack of symmetry and my departure from physique models.
But when I post my own progress (which I continually do as this is not the first), I do so out of personal accountability. As a once obese individual, I would never ask anyone to do what I do not first embody in my own life. You cannot NOT look like you and the goal is to make more of that be revealed. As my teacher said to me, “you’re perfect as you are right now, and you could use a little work.”

Beauty is individually defined. I’m not attempted to be beautiful. We are each beautiful always and already. I AM however, continually deepening my personal exploration into my unique nutritional and exercise needs. Its visible impact is merely a byproduct of that journey. Please do not mistake me sharing mile markers on my own process as an indictment, or a suggestion that you ought to do the same. Even if we drive in similar vehicles, we cannot follow the same path. I hope that sharing my struggles, my process and my current triumphs will somehow inspire you on your journey, and perhaps help you avoid some of the pitfalls on your path.

very respectfully,
Scott Sonnon
www.facebook.com/scottsonnon

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Meet fears with faith

Sitting at a shack of a cafe on the Black Sea, my coach said to me, “If you want me to teach you what I know, the door is open. If you don’t want me to teach you what I know, the door is open. Just don’t block the doorway. Take a step: inside or outside. Distrust your steps, and even in the safest place, your fear will keep you prisoner. Trust your steps, and no matter how dangerous everything may appear, you will remain safe. Either way, you will take a step by choice or by circumstance. Sometimes God closes doors because it’s time to move; because He knows you won’t move unless circumstances force you to. So, will you take a step inside or outside, by choice or by circumstance?”

As if on queue, we heard a large diesel vehicle approaching. When it stopped, our coach - a military general himself - told us to quickly get up, calmly walk out the back door, to not take the road, but run down the beach to our barracks. Hastily, we looked back to see a personnel carrier unloading soldiers into the cafe, as if on an “official visit.” We ran a bit faster once we were clear of the lights.

At our room, we waited until our coach finally knocked and advised us we’d be leaving in two hours, 0400, on our way back to Krasnodar. We packed our duffles, set our watches, and pretended to sleep.

Our driver and a translator were waiting for us - car running - when we got down at 0350. We departed in silence. Winding through the pitch Caucasian mountains, my teammate and I passed out from a combination of lack of calories, over-training, and adrenal fatigue from the suspect departure.

We awoke to the sound of horns blazing. Behind a military carrier, our driver was nailing on the horn at the uphill-creeping truck. Agitated, he pulled into the oncoming lane and began bumping the truck off the road. Uncertain this wasn’t the same carrier as the evening before, my teammate and I were white-knuckled. Finally, sweat beading, we out-paced the truck, and continued for another three, silent hours. Our questions were not met with any response.

Were these inside or outside steps? Had I made this choice or was this circumstance thrust upon me? I certainly didn’t feel like I trusted what was happening so it must be the latter of the above two questions.

Flying from Krasnodar to Moscow, we were met by an associate who had loaned his apartment to “keep” us until our return flight to USA three days later (as we had mysteriously left early from our southern camp.) At last, they revealed the mystery that our passport stamps were no longer valid, and the soldiers had come to look for the Americans. I asked why, since the stamps were supposed to be valid for another two months. We received only, “Politics,” shrugged as an answer.

Puzzle pieces fell into place. This had been the post-Perestroika 90s, and the temporary Prime Minister was up for election as the new President of Russia… competing with several other nominees from parties old and new. The Prime Minister intended to ally himself to the publicly favorable West, by establishing cultural programs to bring Russian culture to the world, and thereby foster international understanding (and with that… would follow support.)

Our coach had been the primary electoral representative in Saint Petersburg for the Prime Minister. The Russian Olympic Committee had selected us as the two Americans to represent our country as ambassadors to the Russian cultural martial traditions when we returned to the States after our internship.

Our presence in Russia, had become an undesirably high-profile program, which if failing, would have reflected poorly on the Prime Minister’s rise to presidency. If we had, through our actions, embarrassed the program, or if we had somehow been disgraced (such as being arrested for traveling illegally throughout Russia), those who did not want the Prime Minister in power would have used it as leverage against him, despite for his intention of Western sympathies.

This certainly felt like circumstances thrust upon us. I felt like I was an trapped outsider; helpless and without resources or options. How could I trust in an invisible game of such a magnitude that I had no business being involved in. I panicked within my own thoughts, and then made an unwise choice…

There was nothing in the apartment but some stale bread, a half jar of jam, and a bottle of vodka. Instead of being smart and following directions, we convinced our translator to take us out to the grocery to get some provisions. But we didn’t make it a block, before a police car screeched to a halt from our very noticeable American clothing. The driver rounded the car demanding our papers. The passenger leveled a Kalashnikov muzzle on me, trigger finger trembling with excitement. He wasn’t much more than a teenager dreaming of the potential promotion for arresting two Americans.

Though our entry stamps had suspiciously expired by sudden policy changes DURING our stay, our translator handed our “special license” from the Olympic committee, as well as a hefty bribe. Smiling at the cash, the two officers took down our apartment address and pocketed our passports. He said that we had to report to the headquarters by midnight to retrieve our documents or we’d be prevented from boarding our plane. 

The translator suggested, we should head off straight away to “pay” for new stamps. As the policemen departed, we walked to the headquarters. Once we had arrived, we were escorted into a holding cell and a female lieutenant entered the room. Our translator surprised us both when instead of shaking her hand, they both looked around quickly, leaned in, and kissed. 

Trust sparked within me, but did not light.

She told us there wasn’t much time and we had to move fast. Taking us to another desk, she barked orders to a clerk to mark our documents with the updated stamp. He hesitated, and she barked louder. Conceding with a “thunk, thunk,” we retrieved us revised papers and passports and hustled out of the department.

Belief in the process ignited again, and I began to dare hope that we would get our of this safely.

Returning to our apartment after a silently rapid march, we were introduced to the lieutenant: Oxsana, a master of sport in Sambo, a student of my coach, the head instructor for hand to hand combat at the police academy, and a past amoureux of our translator. In the pre-cellphone era, we had no idea how she had been forewarned of our predicament, other than our guess at the level of awareness that our presence had elicited as pawns in this very overwhelming political maneuvering.

The windfall reignited my trust in the steps we had been taking.

Two tense days creeped with no distractions, locked in the apartment. Oxsana and Yuri (our translator) had left on their own, to rekindle their relationships presumably. So, my teammate and I sat there awaiting door to be kicked in by OMON after the inevitable discovery of our spuriously updated stamps. Time clicked by, one painfully imprisoned minute after another.

The door opened two days later, and Yuri and Oxsana drove us to the airport in silence. I don’t think I exhaled. Feeling nerve bare passing border patrol, I tried not to look nervous. Oxsana called over the supervisor and took us through the “green lane.” The supervising captain smiled and whispered, “Alexander Ivanovich is the best. Yes?”

We are protected, I thought. Despite all of the ominous danger of pursuit and arrest, even though we could be potentially used as pawns in a large plot beyond our comprehension, we remain safe. Could I truly believe in this process without any doubts? 

Not until the plane was in the air, did I relax. And only when we saw those waving Stars and Stripes, did I fully appreciate the magnitude of the unintended pawns we had become on a grand chessboard; within close proximity to players WAY above our normal field of view. We were nothing; just fighters, mere athletes, and neither bright, nor aware.

But I began to discover that no matter how overwhelming, I could keep faith in the process and trust the steps. I had escaped paralyzing fear jeopardizing our discovery by trusting in the journey.

As we landed in USA, I knelt and kissed JFK ground (much to the disgust of NYC frequenters.) My coach’s words still echoed in my ears: I remained safe, because I trusted in the process, but in the moments I did not, in the time that I collapsed upon myself with fear, even in the safe places, I felt imprisoned.

The truly fearless are not those who don’t feel fear, I realized. The fearless are those who let the natural, real dangers alert them, and heighten their readiness without paralyzing them. Fear is a gift of awareness, but faith is freedom from imprisonment by fear.

Robert F. Kennedy cautioned, ”Fear not the path of Truth for the lack of People walking on it.” If you dare to keep your courage, and by choice, take steps forward, you will be safe. Even if your fear turns into panic, and you forfeit your choice to act, circumstances will be thrust upon you to give greater opportunity to believe in your journey, and restore your faith in the process. As Max Lucado suggested, “Meet your fears with faith.”

Very Respectfully,
Scott Sonnon
www.facebook.com/ScottSonnon

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Boycott the Airbrush

“We have a moral obligation to ban the airbrush”: Debenhams vows not to retouch model shots… and calls on others to follow suit:
-> High-street giant slaps ban on Photoshopped lingerie model shots
-> No more arm and leg thinning, teeth whitening or bust boosting
-> Now only airbrush minor things like pigmentation or stray hair
-> Retailer calls on rivals to follow suit and ‘encourage positive body image’
-> Studies show young girls’ self esteem is crushed by altered adverts

Debenhams’ move comes just weeks after a row between Beyonce and H&M as claims surfaced the singer was furious to discover the store had Photoshopped images of her for its swimwear campaign. Originals showing off her real curves were then used around the world.

The chief executive of H&M admitted the company had a huge responsibility to portray a healthy body image to customers.

The use of some digital photography techniques to create unrealistic body shapes and flawless skin can make men and women feel more insecure about their natural looks and size.

Recent research shows that half of schoolgirls as young as 12 are unhappy with their weight and some are skipping meals in an effort to slim, ‘due to exposure to airbrushed images’.

A further 58 per cent of girls aged 14 or 15 said they wanted to lose weight, according to the study by the Schools Health Education Unit.

Rosi Prescott, Chief Executive, Central YMCA commented on Debenhams’ announcement.

‘Digital manipulation contributes to the unattainable body ideal portrayed in the majority of media and advertising.

‘Millions of young people want to look like the pictures of models they see everywhere and the fact that 95 per cent can’t makes them feel bad about themselves,’ he said.

Other advertisers regularly use digital techniques to slim waists, lengthen legs, perfect teeth, and even change eye colour and skin tone.

‘We’ve been showing natural beauty for years and will continue to present women in a natural and positive way,’ says Webb.

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2340800/Retailers-moral-obligation-ban-airbrush-Debenhams-spearheads-ban-retouched-model-shots-calls-follow-suit.html

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Simple Ain’t Easy

While trying to save money to go to college, I worked selling time-share vacation memberships, what felt like a soul-less job to me at the time, because everything we said, everything the prospect replied, had a prepared, canned response. Each argument had been flow-charted in a specific sequence of predicted conversations. It was so thoroughly-planned, that when the prospect arrived to claim their free gift they had been notified in the mail to have won, almost all of them left with a membership contract signed in their hands. It felt like stealing, because most of these people did not need or want these offers, but the arguments were so persuasive, that they inevitably purchased regardless, even when they couldn’t afford it.

I brought my concerns to my supervisor. He shushed me out of the door. But at the next morning’s “pump” meeting, he called me to the front of the team. Pointing at me he said, “Scott here is a dreamer. He doesn’t believe that these people should be sold something they don’t want.” Then, he looked at me and said, “Scott, you, like everyone of us here, will never be a world champion and never get in the Hall of Fame, but what we can do is become millionaires and then we can truly enjoy life’s pleasures. But you, like everyone of us, need to get over your little weak voices talking about unrealistic dreams. Now, all of you get out there and make some big sales!” I quit that day, and took a lesser paying job doing honest work.

On the side, I’d train every day after long hours of working labor. An individual once laughed, “You work too hard and are never going to be successful at this, because you love it too much. If you want to be successful, find something that you hate to do but can tolerate long enough to fund what you love.” He would make suspect choices claiming that he, “didn’t have a conscience, and didn’t need to live by other people’s ethics.” In the hope of making a final impact upon him I said his approach could potentially work for him, but could never work for me; I had already found a difficult but simple way to be successful at what I love to do.

Another individual later said his marketing advisor told him to, “Monetize every action, make his relationships into transactions, so each becomes a revenue stream.” So, when he would ask me if he could apprentice with me to learn one of my approaches, I’d later receive an invoice in my inbox. I tried to explain to him that if I am teaching him a subject he asked to learn, especially when I am not charging him, that I wouldn’t be paying him to study it. Attempting to guide him to an approach more suited to his lifestyle, I would create joint venture opportunities for him; only to discover that he’d changed them so that only he kept all of the profit. I had to let him go.

There will always be aspects of becoming successful at what you love that are mundane, tedious and repetitive. Every discipline has these necessary practical steps. But performing a task so vile to your conscience that you cannot look at yourself in the mirror at night without contempt will not lead you closer to fulfillment, no matter how much money you amass.

If you find a way to monetize your activities so that the value contributes to someone’s growth, development, or satisfaction, you’ll find small rivers of revenue begin to converge into a torrent. But not everything you do, nor everyone you meet, should be viewed as transactional, like a mercenary hunting the next purse of gold.

Jack Canfield writes, “”The most successful people I’ve met love what they do so much, they would actually do it for free. But they’re successful because they’ve found a way to make a living doing what they love to do. If you’re not skilled enough to do the work you’d love to do, make time to educate yourself so you are. Do whatever it takes to prepare — working part time in your dream job or even volunteering as an intern — while still maintaining your current job.”

Go the distance with persistence AND integrity. Attack your dreams with courage AND honor. Tenaciously fight for a noble cause, and have faith that the universe will flood behind you to support your mission. Keep tremendous belief that every event silently conspires to your success, if you view moral character as your most important asset to be protected. Walk with boldness confidently knowing you place your highest value in serving others; and you will never quit, because loving to help others, expressing your talents to aid their growth, development and satisfaction, will carry you the distance, far beyond those who compromise their ethics for the allure of short-term self-gain.

Stay strong. Sometimes you face difficulties, not because you’re doing something wrong, but because you’re doing something right. It’s very simple to be happy doing what you love, but it is very difficult remaining simple. Keep going. You’re almost there.

Very Respectfully,
Scott Sonnon
www.facebook.com/ScottSonnon

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Don’t punch a lake.

Most of my martial art is unknown to me. It unfolds in the moment. That is why we drill to explore responses, rather than rehearse to impose complicated combinations. The Dalai Lama said, “This is my simple religion. There is no need for complicated philosophies. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple. My philosophy is compassion.”

Once at Capital Games Championships in Washington, DC, a fighter was attempting to place an ankle lock on me, and didn’t realize that in Sambo you’re prohibited from making any noises; since as an international sport the referee may not know the language and the athlete may be crying out in pain for the match to stop, so any noise is taken to mean submission. He called to the referee that my foot was trapped in his jacket, and the referee blew the whistle ending the match. Incredible angry, he screamed at the ref as to the injustice of his loss.

I intervened and asked the official if we could continue as my opponent didn’t understand, coming from a form of grappling where talking had been permitted. The referee was confused but conceded, and restarted us in the same position. My opponent was so stunned that I would sacrifice up the cheap win that he redoubled his effort in hopes of securing the win for his team. His force, however, could find no purchase, because he was too tense, causing him to move slowly and insensitively; desperately switching from one lock to the next. Eventually, this placed his own leg in knee bar position, so I captured his heel and held it close, as he submitted himself, and tapped.

After the match, my opponent came to me and shook my hand telling me how much he respected me for not accepting a dishonorable victory; and instead, allowing the match to continue. He laughed as only a real martial artist can, and admitted to himself, that his excitement at the chance to win after nearly losing by ignorance of the rules, caused him to use too much force and become, “blind” to the danger he placed his own legs in. We have ALL done this; and I’ve lost matches because of the very same imposed force; in life off the mat, as well, in my career, in my fitness and nutrition, in my relationships, in parenting… It’s a lesson we repeatedly re-learn.

Most of grappling remains inaccessible to us when we attempt to impose with force our intentions upon our partner. Only when we open our senses, when we do not hold fear of what happened in the past, or feel anxiety of what might happen in the future, can we respond to what actually unfolds in the present moment.

Grappling, therefore, becomes a metaphor for life. When we impose our plans upon life, when we force our intentions, we either respond too late and ineffectually, or we instantly feel the push back of life’s reactions to our force. However, when we nudge the forces acting against us into an innocuous direction, without emotional reaction to them, force cannot escalate because it has no fulcrum to leverage upon; in fact, it even defuses like trying to punch a lake, flowing around the strike.

“Empty your mind. Be formless. Shapeless. Be like water, my friend,” advised Bruce Lee. Good things come to those who are patient. Better things come to those who refuse to give up. But the best things come to those who compassionately respond to the forces they experience in life. When in doubt, wait. When you regain your courage, keep going. And when you hold your faith, let go and flow.

Very Respectfully,
Scott Sonnon
www.facebook.com/ScottSonnon

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as much as you dream, can you be

When I was 7, my mother read me a short poem:

“Only as high as I reach can I grow

Only as far as I seek can I go

Only as deep as I look can I see

Only as much as I dream can I be” 

She’d often mention the final line throughout my childhood whenever I’d talk of the bold things I wanted to do with my life by saying: “Only as much as you dream, can you be.” Whenever I pursued something, she would tell me however strongly I believed in my dream determined if I would achieve it. And she stood behind those words with her parenting.

I remember I was 7 because it was that Summer that I asked my mom if my friend and I could pull out my mattresses into the back hard to use as mats. She nodded with a puzzled expression, and we began a ritual for afternoons that Summer, and even into the Fall: ” Backyard Kungfu Theater.”

We’d create massive battles choreographed with our martial arts techniques we “learned” from watching television. Once practiced, we would act them out with great flourish and panache for my mother, who always clapped at the end. She would ask, “What is the moral of this story?” So, I would elaborate on the reason and the reluctances, the righteousness or the regrets. She would clap again, and tell me how fascinating my imagination.

She catalyzed my future career as a fighter and a writer, as a teacher and a speaker, with her simple questions, and her constant reminders to reach high, go far, look deep, and dream big.

David Schwartz stated, “Attitudes mirror our mind. How we think shows through in how we act.” My mother never encouraged me to fight for a living; neither did she ever try to stop me. However, asking me the moral within each battle I faced formed the foundation to all my actions in later life. Her repeated question became the filter with which I formed my own attitudes toward challenges. Today, I cannot help but view each challenge with the same attitude: what is the moral of the story? 

You can define the value of each, as much as you dare dream. Whatever you’re facing right now, emotionally, nutritionally, physically, relationally, vocationally, financially, even spiritually, you can ask yourself, and define the moral of the story you want to learn from it. Dream it large, hold that attitude through all of your choices, and you WILL find your way through to brighter, better days. 

Very Respectfully,

Scott Sonnon

www.facebook.com/ScottSonnon

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