Last Saturday I went to a barbecue with classmates and instructors from the Sutai gym. We ate and chatted; it was fun. Eventually, we talked about my fights, the instructors' fights, and their stories from years past. At one point, it was interesting to hear them talking about a fighter named Paul. They talked about his fight with one of my instructors and how he wasn't all that great, but he got a big head when he stepped into the ring, and that created a psychological effect on both of them.

It sounds like an excuse to those who aren't familiar with the world of sports in general. In soccer, it's not always the best team that ends up with the most goals in 90 minutes, or wins a penalty shootout. The best swimmer isn't always going to finish their laps in first place. Etc… It's logical to think that the best fighter doesn't always win. By this, I mean the one with the best technique, the most physically prepared, the one with the best cardio, or the one with the best coaches—that one doesn't always win.

And the reason that came up in this conversation seems very interesting to me. Because that's exactly what I've lacked my whole life. "Grit," "conviction," "courage"—that feeling people use to feel like the best, the most handsome, the smartest, or all of the above, depending on the context. I always strive for modesty, for not standing out. Between those two extremes, there's a version of me capable of winning but not arrogant.

I'm afraid of being perceived as arrogant. But maybe that's not modesty. It could be fear of failure. Fear of feeling like a liar when I say I'm strong and then I'm not.

That forced modesty can't be a virtue since it doesn't help anyone.

The world of competition is definitely not for everyone.