This is the Way

Why I choose hard things to find my own peace

Following “the way” isn’t a declaration of war, but a revolutionary path to peace.

The Mandalorians have a saying whenever they must choose to do something hard: this is the way. By nature, I’m not a committed person. I once tried tracking my macros and gave up by the third day, tossing out my spreadsheet almost as quickly as the wrapper of the fig bar I had inhaled without a second thought. I picked up hobbies during COVID only to abandon them promptly the second vaccines were released.

This mantra is not just an empty quote; it is a necessary counterpoint to the stagnation I see in others. One of my biggest frustrations is watching people live in a constant state of dissatisfaction because they won’t follow through on their intentions. I know that if I am not careful, I will become one of them. I hold onto “the way” because I’ve learned that when effort is gritty and unrelenting, it unlocks experiences I would otherwise never be able to access.

In jiu jitsu, I set a goal to compete in two major IBJJF competitions this year: the Europeans in January and the Worlds in May. I’m not doing this for the glory of saying I “competed in a major,” but rather to prove that I can choose to do something hard. I do it because I want to see how I respond when I am pushed to the edge—and then told to look down.

In the past, I grew from adversity and trauma that I could not avoid. Today, I seek growth from challenges of my own choosing.

The road to Euros was its own gauntlet. It began at home, when I dealt with the emotional fallout over seeing my main training partners get promoted, while I did not. Then, when everyone was getting ready to snuggle into cozy blankets during a long and dark winter, I was trudging with a suitcase full of heavy jiu jitsu gis through the Gothenburg snow where I spent a week at a pre-competition “camp” surviving brutal, high-intensity sparring rounds. I was constantly red-lining my heart rate against elite athletes in my weight class—people who hadn't just placed in major competitions, but had won them. Ironically, I later realized many of them weren’t even competing at Euros that year; they were just that good on a Tuesday. By the time I landed in Lisbon, I didn’t have much of a chance to chill in my hotel room because I was dealing with tracking down my delayed luggage in the smelly bowels of Humberto Delgado Airport. I had no coach in my corner, and I knew the odds of me losing in the first round were nearly certain. I did lose, exactly as expected—but I chose to step onto that mat anyway.

I finally stopped asking, “Am I enough?” and started asking, “So what if I’m not?”

Self-doubt and anxiety have nothing on the super-villain of Stagnation. They turned out to be mini-bosses in the face of this larger threat. The villain of Stagnation is more dangerous because it is the strongest when I’m comfortable. When I actually like what I’m doing a little too much because I would rather float on my back in stagnant waters than tread water amidst tumultuous waves. When you look back at the weeks, months, and years, you realize that you haven’t grown at all in the ways that you wanted to grow — that’s Stagnation’s ultimate victory. You are exactly the same person, older but not any wiser.

Even as I fight stagnation, I refuse to worship the false idols of “obsession” and “hustle.” Those forces can be as destructive as the status quo. My goal is to walk the delicate, ever-changing balance between doing too little and doing too much. I refuse to let a jiu jitsu influencer define that balance for me, nor will I chase the performative grind that serves as a distraction from the goals that actually matter.

People might ask, “Why the urgency? Why now?” To them, it looks like I “woke up and found religion” overnight, but they haven’t lived the years leading up to this. These seeds were planted long ago, born from the exhaustion of shrinking myself to fit into smaller rooms. This isn’t a sudden whim; it’s the result of a thousand quiet realizations. After so many sleepless nights, I’ve learned that following “the way” isn’t an act of war—it is how I choose peace.

This is the way.