Echoes of the Year’s Lessons Challenge
We are what we do
Did you ever read Willy Wonka?
Well, much like the main character Charlie, I got a Golden Ticket.
Last December I quit my job to move to the US and become a Brazilain Jiu Jistu coach. Unfortunately it didn't pan out that way, but I was in a position where for the first time in my adult life, I didn't have to work. Instead I could take a gap year and pursue my passions full time.
Jits tour '24 I called it. As January struck, I began training 5/6 times a week, practically doubling my mat time.
Determined to try every BJJ gym I could, I set out to tour the UK, Europe and maybe even parts of the US. I registered for at least a seminar and competition or two every month, looking to improve my skills and show my competence as a fresh new purple belt.
The first place I visited was local, as to not stray too far from the comfort or convenience of home. Triton it was called. The standard of Jiu Jitsu there was excellent, the competitive atmosphere vibrant and its students friendly.
Getting casually put through my paces by athletic or more frequent members, I knew there was a lot of work I had to do! As days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, I became a part of the Triton community. We bled, sweat and cried together. After staying with them for three months, I knew to continue my journey meant having to say goodbye.
As I left Triton, I went abroad to my first gym in Europe, Avant-Garde in Malta, then Barcelona, Paris, Rome... Travelling to different countries, attending seminars and meeting new people very quickly became something I loved.
On my travels, I got to roll with the pros, which was a blast! Making international friends and life long connections is all I hoped it would be. Along the way, I met giants of the jiu jitsu community, learning from the best of the best; Craig Jones, Danial Strauss, Ffion Davies, Vanessa English and Mauricio Gomes to name a few.
All this activity (competing in particular) was taking its toll. At my peak I was training 10 times a week, and as time went on, reality struck. Unable to keep up, my body ached and bank account dwindled.
Bringing home medals and mindset, I tried adapting to overcome each loss next time. Back again and again to the training room I'd go, troubleshooting the loss days before.By September, I had acquired a couple of injuries from competing that are only now starting to mend. Despite my rigorous efforts, I am still towards the middle of the pack when looking at my jiu jitsu peers (competition being the indicator).
The lifestyle I had become accustomed to was over... but by the gods did I have a good time!
The other side of the coin was all the time I spent at home. If I wasn't working, what was I doing? Well, I started babysitting my nephew. He's a little over one now and being in his life is such a privilege. As his Uncle Falcon, I take him to story time at the library (his favourite). I walk him to the park and push him on the swings. We play the name game pointing to each object in a room and read him pop-up and tactile books.
I have been there as he learned to roll over. Crawl. Stand and walk. Do baby sign language and dance. He's just getting to the stage now where he can actually say around 50 words.
He has been my little oasis during my chaotic travels and extreme physical exertion. Taking care of him is also a lovely excuse to see my sister and make sure she's okay (she's expecting baby #2 now!). Little Theo is my happiness. If I hadn't taken a year off, I wouldn't know him or share the rich bond we've built over these last 16 months and I wouldn't change that for the world. Taking weeks at a time out of the country became hard as I really missed him.
Anyway, to balance the physical and emotional stimulation, I also challenged myself to schedule regular Dungeons and Dragons games with friends for added mental stimulation (or torture depending on who you speak to). Building fantastical settings in a dynamic, collaborative campaign. My days became full of love, violence and wonder (a cocktail of champions if you ask me).
Between the pandemonium of DnD, the chaos of competing and the joy of being an uncle, I found myself mostly content and fulfilled but, the looming chill of needing money was fast creeping back!
By the end of July I started thinking of my future and ways to reach the avenue of the US. I would need a job. One that gave me financial freedom or opportunity. So I put out into the universe my intention, and wrote down what I wanted to happen. Then, I started to apply to jobs and colleges alike. I would take apprenticeships for expanding trade roles, sales jobs that paid great commission or management jobs that gave me the opportunity to make something a success and for it to be mine...
It took me three months. Three months of applications and interviews while maintaining my social schedule to find something which fit. I am now finishing my first month managing something that's mine, on a salary that can give me a measure of financial freedom.
Will I move out to the US? Will I become a BJJ coach?
Hell yes!
If I can manifest my goals into existence in a matter of months, imagine what I can do if I keep working towards this goal for the next few years. One of my guilty pleasures of the noughties is the film 'mean girls'. There is a line in it that I love and applies here "The limit does not exist".
Never give up, believe in yourself and work towards your goals. I guarantee, you'll live an extraordinary life.
This is Falcon, Signing off for 2024, peace x
About the Creator
Falcon
Family is everything to me, I do this in the hope I can one day to support them. You'll find short stories and tantalizing prologues. Sickly dark humour and honest realism. A wannabe writer testing the waters.
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Looking back: 2025 was a beast
It's difficult to know how to start this. I've suggested that it's been a tough one from my title and in many ways, it has; however, there is an argument that it's not been that extraordinary at all, merely this wonderful thing we call "life" with all its climaxes and pitfalls.
By Rachel Deeming22 days ago in Motivation
“One Day, I Realized Nobody Was Coming to Save Me—So I Saved Myself”
For the longest time, I believed my life was simply paused. Not broken. Not finished. Just waiting. Waiting for the right moment. Waiting for the right person. Waiting for something—anything—to arrive and change everything. I didn’t know exactly what I was waiting for, but I was sure it would come. People always said things like “It’ll get better” or “Your time will come”, and I clung to those words like promises written in invisible ink. I believed that if I endured long enough, life would eventually reward my patience. So I waited. I waited quietly, because I didn’t want to be a burden. I waited politely, because I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. I waited silently, because I didn’t even know how to explain what was wrong. From the outside, my life looked acceptable. I functioned. I showed up. I smiled when it was expected of me. I laughed at jokes that didn’t reach my heart. I answered “I’m fine” so often that it started to feel like muscle memory. But inside, something was eroding. Every day felt heavier than the last, like I was carrying a weight that kept growing while no one was looking. I woke up tired, went to bed tired, and spent the hours in between pretending I wasn’t. There was a quiet exhaustion that sleep couldn’t touch—a tiredness that came from constantly hoping for relief that never arrived. I thought suffering had to be loud to be real. I thought pain needed witnesses to matter. Mine had neither. There was no dramatic breaking point, no single moment when everything fell apart. Instead, it unraveled slowly. Almost gently. Like a thread pulled so gradually you don’t notice the fabric weakening until it’s too late. I kept telling myself, Just hold on a little longer. Surely someone would notice. Surely someone would step in. Surely life wouldn’t let me keep feeling this way forever. But life did. And then one day—an ordinary day that didn’t announce its importance—I realized something that changed everything. Nobody was coming. That realization didn’t arrive with clarity or relief. It arrived like grief. Heavy. Sharp. Unforgiving. I remember sitting alone, staring at nothing in particular, and feeling the truth settle into my bones. There would be no rescue. No sudden turning point delivered by someone else’s effort. No moment where everything magically aligned and lifted me out of my own life. It wasn’t that people didn’t care. It was that everyone was busy surviving their own storms. I had been waiting for someone to save me from a life that only I was living. And for a while, that realization shattered me. I felt abandoned by the world, betrayed by hope itself. I questioned every prayer I had whispered into the dark, every moment I had chosen patience over action. I wondered if I had misunderstood life completely—if the promises I believed in were never meant for people like me. I mourned the version of myself who thought endurance alone was enough. There is a special kind of loneliness that comes from realizing your pain is invisible. That no matter how heavy it feels to you, the world keeps moving at the same pace. Bills still need to be paid. Responsibilities still demand attention. Smiles are still expected. So I kept going. But something inside me had cracked open. Once you see the truth, you can’t unsee it. And the truth was this: waiting had become my hiding place. Hope, without action, had become an excuse to stay small. I had been standing still, convincing myself that stillness was strength. It wasn’t. Saving myself didn’t begin with confidence. It began with fear. Fear of staying the same. Fear of waking up ten years later in the same emotional place. Fear of realizing that I had wasted my own life waiting for permission to live it. I didn’t suddenly become brave. I became tired of being helpless. The first steps were almost embarrassing in their simplicity. There was nothing poetic about them. No montage-worthy transformation. Just small decisions that felt enormous at the time. Getting out of bed even when my body begged me not to. Choosing one task, then another, then another. Letting myself admit—quietly—that I was not okay. Some days, saving myself meant setting boundaries that made other people uncomfortable. I learned how often my exhaustion came from overextending myself to earn love, approval, or relevance. Saying no felt selfish at first. It felt wrong. But it also felt like oxygen. Other days, saving myself meant sitting alone with my feelings instead of numbing them. No distractions. No pretending. Just honesty. That was harder than any physical effort I had ever made. Facing your own thoughts can feel like standing in front of a mirror that refuses to lie. I began to understand something no one had taught me: healing is not linear, and it is rarely beautiful. It’s messy. Inconsistent. Frustrating. Some days feel like progress, others feel like failure. But both are part of the same road. There were days I missed the comfort of waiting. Waiting meant responsibility belonged to someone else. Taking control meant accepting that my life—every imperfect part of it—was in my hands. That was terrifying. But it was also freeing. As I slowly rebuilt myself, I noticed something else. Not everyone wanted to walk with me into this new version of myself. Some people preferred the me who needed saving. The me who was easier to control, easier to dismiss, easier to define. Outgrowing people hurts. Outgrowing places hurts. Outgrowing old versions of yourself hurts most of all. But staying the same hurts longer. I lost connections I thought were permanent. I stepped away from spaces that no longer fit who I was becoming. Loneliness returned—but this time, it was different. This loneliness felt honest. It didn’t come from abandonment; it came from alignment. I learned that being alone while growing is far healthier than being surrounded while shrinking. Strength, I discovered, isn’t loud. It doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t demand recognition. Strength shows up quietly, day after day, in the choices you make when no one is watching. It shows up when you keep going even though the results are slow. When you forgive yourself for falling back into old habits. When you choose patience with yourself instead of punishment. There were setbacks—many of them. I stumbled. I doubted myself. I wondered if I was doing everything wrong. But this time, I didn’t collapse and wait for someone else to fix the damage. I picked myself up. Again and again. And something unexpected happened as I kept choosing myself: the world didn’t suddenly become easier, but I became stronger. Problems that once felt unbearable became manageable. Pain that once consumed me became something I could sit with without losing myself. I stopped asking, Why is this happening to me? I started asking, What can I do with what’s happening? That question changed everything. Today, my life is not perfect. I still have days when old fears resurface. I still feel tired sometimes. I still wish things were easier. But I no longer wait for rescue. I trust myself now. I trust that even if things fall apart, I will be there to put them back together. I trust that my worth doesn’t depend on who shows up for me. I trust that I am capable of building a life that feels like my own. And maybe the most important thing I’ve learned is this: realizing nobody is coming to save you is not a sentence. It’s an invitation. An invitation to stop shrinking. An invitation to take responsibility for your healing. An invitation to become the person you’ve been waiting for. If you’re reading this and you feel stuck—if you feel invisible, exhausted, or quietly breaking—I want you to know this: you are not weak for waiting. You were doing the best you could with what you knew. But you don’t have to wait anymore. Sometimes, saving yourself doesn’t mean changing everything. It means choosing yourself once—then choosing yourself again tomorrow. And one day, you’ll look back and realize that the moment nobody came was the moment your life truly began.Start writing...
By Ihtisham Ulhaq7 days ago in Motivation
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