Of Guitars and Cage Fighting

“Success comes to those who are neither afraid to fail nor discouraged by failures”

My girlfriend gave me an acoustic guitar for Christmas.

I’d never played guitar in my life, had never even particularly wanted to learn the intrument, but it’s what I told her to get me.

It spends most of it’s time sitting upright in the corner of my bedroom.  I’ve had the thing since Christmas, and all I can do is tune it and play the theme to Halloween (albeit poorly). I admit, I haven’t put a lot of effort into learning, but it has got to be one of the most frustrating damn things I’ve ever worked with.  My fingers slip clumsily from chord to chord, my palm presses against the bottom strings if I stop paying attention for an instant, and I look about as awkward as George Bush picking up a baby when I’m holding the thing.  It’s disconcerting to remember that there are some dumbass people that can play the guitar proficiently, and I just can’t make any progress.

I could have receieved an iPod instead, but consciously said, “I think I’d like to have a guitar.”

The reason I said that has a lot in common with the reasn I’m going to be stepping into the cage on March 29th.  You see, I’m pretty naturally talented; I was a three sport athlete in high school, can learn absolutely anything academic quicker than anybody I’ve ever met, earn great grades, and generally don’t ever fail at things that I put effort into.  Throughout my life, I’ve pretty much been the best whenever I’ve chosen to be.

Enter the guitar.  I thought it would fix this problem, but unfortunately, it hasn’t quite gotten the job done.  Yes, it’s humbling, but it just doesn’t bother me as much as I expected.  With the guitar, it’s too easy to say, “Fuck it, I’m going to go [read a book, lift weights, jack off, whatever].”  It lets me escape from my failure to focus on my strengths.

With the cage, I don’t have that luxury.  When the doors shut in the cage, they stay shut until somebody taps or goes unconscious.  Despite my training, I’m fairly confident that I won’t transform myself into Georges St. Pierre within the next month. Because of my comeptitive nature, that bothers the shit out of me.  It eats at me knowing that I might be the underdog here, that someone might be better prepared and able to beat me at something that I’ve dedicated myself to.  Like my fingers mashing against the strings, there is a chance that my strikes will completely miss my opponent, that he will drive his fist straight into my jaw and I’ll wake up 30 seconds later wondering where the hell I am.

And that, folks, is the goal.  Stay hungry.  Stay humble.  Overcome. 

I’m not fighting because I want to lose; I’m fighting because a victory would mean something.

35 Days Until the Cage