Thanksgiving just passed. And if you're like most people, you spent some time thinking about what you're grateful for. Your family. Your health. Your job. The roof over your head. The good things. That's easy. Gratitude is easy when life is good. Here's the harder question: What are you grateful for that didn't feel good? What struggle shaped you? What failure taught you? What hard moment made you who you are? Because gratitude isn't just about the wins. It's about the whole experience. The falls. The setbacks. The moments you didn't think you'd get through.That's where the real growth is. And if you can find gratitude there, you unlock something most people never do. I struggle with this. I'm constantly trying to improve myself. Always pushing. Always looking for what's next. What needs to be better. Where I'm falling short. It's exhausting. This weekend gave me an opportunity to slow down. To actually reflect on the progress I've made. The people I'm grateful for. The day-to-day challenges that grow me. The demand I put on myself? That's part of what shapes me. The pressure. The expectations. The constant push to be better. I used to think that was a problem. But it's the fuel. The struggle isn't something to fix. It's something to be grateful for. Because without it, I wouldn't be who I am. I wouldn't have built what I've built. I wouldn't have the relationships I have. I wouldn't have learned what I've learned. The hard moments? They're not interruptions. They're part of the experience. The Stoics called it amor fati. Love your fate. Not just accept it. Love it. All of it. Marcus Aurelius said, "The impediment to action advances action. What stands in the way becomes the way." The obstacle isn't blocking your path. It is the path. Buddhism teaches that suffering is the teacher. You don't grow in comfort. You grow in discomfort. In struggle. In the moments that break you open and force you to rebuild. Nietzsche said, "He who has a why to live can bear almost any how."

Last June, I ran the first Powerful Parenting Workshop. Some came because their kid was struggling. Some came because they were struggling. Most came because they knew something needed to change, they just didn't know what. I didn't sugarcoat it. I told them the truth: most of what's going on with your kid isn't about your kid. It's about you. Your patterns. Your triggers. Your unhealed stuff. One parent said, "I felt seen as a parent but not judged. I felt validated in my struggles, enlightened by the perspective, and encouraged for better." Another said, "My toolbox was empty when I walked in. I left with my toolbox full." And one of my favorites: "I would recommend this workshop to others, as it is not just for parents going through something difficult. Every parent could get some value from this and get a new perspective of their children and being a parent in today's world." That's what this work is about. It's about good parents raising their standards. Parents who care deeply but know there's more to learn. Parents who want to create connection, heal old wounds, and show up powerfully for the people who matter most. I'm a coach. I work with their kids every day. I see their struggles. Their strengths. Their potential. I also see the parents doing trying their best. And here's what I know: the most powerful thing I can do for a kid isn't just teach them jiu jitsu. It's help their parents show up powerfully at home. Because kids don't just need great coaches. They need great parents. Parents who lead with empathy and boundaries. Parents who validate feelings and set clear expectations. Parents who repair when they mess up. Parents who model the emotional regulation they want to see in their kids. That's what powerful parenting is. Most of us parent the way we were parented. We use the same phrases. We set the same boundaries. Or don't. We react the same way our parents reacted and most of the time, we don't even realize it. But here's the truth: the way you were parented shaped you. And the way you parent is shaping your kids.If you don't take the time to look under the hood, to examine your patterns, your triggers, your default responses; you'll keep repeating the cycle.

This weekend, we hosted our 5th Utopia Open. I watched kids compete, parents cheer, and coaches guide. I also watched frustration, tears, and moments that didn't go the way people hoped. And I was reminded: competition teaches us more than technique and game plans. It teaches us how to show up when things don't go our way. Drew and I spend a lot of time curating these matches. We want them to be competitive. We want them to push our student-athletes. We want them to be challenging, because that's where growth happens. But with competition comes adversity. Calls get missed. Matches feel unfair. Emotions run high. And that's not a flaw in the process. That's part of the lesson. The Reality of Competition Refs are human. Coaches are human. We miss things. A call doesn't go the way you think it should. A match feels one-sided. Your kid loses, and it doesn't feel fair. I get it. I see the frustration. I see parents questioning calls. I see kids crying after tough losses. And here's what I want you to know: we see it too. We care. We want every match to be fair, every call to be right, every kid to have their best moment. But competition isn't perfect. It can't be. Because the people running it, coaching through it, and the student athletes competing in it are all human. The Life Lesson Here's the truth: life doesn't always go your way either. You'll work hard and not get the promotion. You'll do everything right and still face setbacks. You'll show up with integrity and still encounter unfairness. That's not pessimism. That's reality. And if we only teach kids how to succeed when everything goes perfectly, we're not preparing them for life. We're setting them up to crumble the first time things don't go their way. Competition teaches resilience. It teaches you how to lose with grace. How to handle frustration without falling apart. How to keep showing up even when the outcome isn't what you hoped for. That's the lesson. Not the medal. Not the win. The ability to face adversity and choose to keep going.

This weekend our level 2 leadership group met, and it was one of those meetings that went over their heads, for good reason. I introduced a philosophy of Socractic questioning. The confusion was priceless and it opened the door to a different way of thinking. We are always looking for the answers, but what if you had better questions? The Problem: We're Trained to Answer, Not Question When I gave the students scenarios and asked them to use Socratic questioning, most of them had no idea what questions to ask. They tried to give me answers instead and that's not their fault. That's how we're trained. School teaches you what to think. Social media tells you what to believe. Society hands you answers and expects you to accept them. Here's a truth: your brain is great at creating stories. And a lot of those stories are disempowering. "I'm not good enough." "Everyone hates me." "I can't do this." Your brain tells you these things like they're facts. But they're not facts. They're stories. And most of the time, they're not even true. Socratic questioning teaches you to challenge those stories. To ask better questions. To uncover the truth of your thoughts and feelings instead of just accepting them. Because if you don't question your internal dialogue, you'll believe every lie your brain tells you. Most of society is designed to tell you what to think. What's right. What's wrong. What success looks like. What you should want. I'm not interested in teaching kids what to think. I'm interested in teaching them how to think. How to question assumptions. How to challenge beliefs. How to think critically instead of just accepting what they're told. Because the world is going to throw a lot at them. Pressure. Expectations. Opinions. Criticism. And if they don't know how to question what they hear, they'll believe all of it. But if they learn how to ask better questions, they can navigate anything. "Is this true, or is this just what someone told me?" "What evidence do I have for this belief?"

I take pride in being part of something bigger than me. This week reminded me what that really means. This past week, we hosted trunk-or-treat at the academy. Families showed up. Kids laughed. Parents connected. Our team came together to create something special; not because we had to, but because we wanted to. It wasn't just an event. It was a reminder of what we're building: a community. The Conversation That Stopped Me During trunk-or-treat, a parent of two of our student-athletes pulled me aside. He told me my posts and content have been inspiring to him. I was humbled. I thanked him. But here's what I didn't say in that moment: he inspires me just as much. He doesn't train jiu jitsu, but he's as committed to his own growth as he is to his kids'. He shows up. He invests. He models the kind of person he wants his children to become. That's the thing about community. Inspiration doesn't flow one way. It's mutual. What Really Inspires Me I find gratitude in those moments, when someone shares how something I've said or done has made a difference. The truth is, I find inspiration in my environment every single day. The sunrise. A child's laugh. A smile from a stranger. The simple things that remind me to stay present. I'm inspired by the team that shows up with energy and intention. By the families who trust us with their kids. By the friends who check in and show they care. Inspiration isn't reserved for grand gestures. It's in the everyday moments, if you're paying attention. Part of Something Bigger I take pride in being part of something bigger than me. Not just the academy, but the community we've built together. The team that works alongside me. The families who show up week after week. The friends who remind me what matters. This isn't my community. It's ours. And that's what makes it powerful. When you're part of something bigger, you stop asking "What can I get?" and start asking "What can I give?" You show up not because you have to, but because you want to. Because you know your presence matters. Because you're connected to something that transcends individual achievement.