Vachon Imagined

My son’s Taekwondo teacher is firm.

And I mean firm in the way where you immediately understand the boundaries of the universe. You know exactly where you stand, what is expected of you, and that there is probably no point in negotiating. Not because he is intimidating, but because discipline has a presence. You can feel it.

He is one of the most captivating people I have encountered because he demonstrates the great paradox of humanity: strength and tenderness existing in the same person.

You can see his discipline in the way he speaks to the children. They know their boundaries with him, but more importantly, he teaches them how to create boundaries for themselves. Watching children learn this from someone who embodies it is fascinating.

To say it is enjoyable to witness is an understatement.

Honestly, I sometimes think I am getting just as much training as my son, except my only skill being developed is learning when to stop talking and pay attention.

I cannot overstate how much he fascinates me.

I talk with him about his belt, his testing, his journey, the years and years of study that brought him to where he is today. He is a Grand Master—the highest level one can achieve—and yet he is still teaching.

Still learning.

Still refining.

There is something incredibly humbling about that.

You would think reaching the top would come with a permanent sign that says, “Congratulations, you are finished.” Apparently, Taekwondo did not get that memo.

He is expressive. If he is excited, you know it. If he is thankful, you know it. If he feels sympathy, sadness, or care, you feel that too.

And what is remarkable is that you don’t just see those emotions in him—you recognize them in yourself.

Being around him gives me permission to embrace my own contradictions. To be strong and sensitive. Disciplined and compassionate. Powerful and human.

His strength is not just created through physical practice; it is created through years of commitment, sacrifice, and showing up when most people would rather find a comfortable chair and tell themselves they will start tomorrow.

His belt carries achievements that most people will never know and many would never choose to sacrifice for.

But even with all his strength, determination, and will, he is still human.

And he shows it.

That is what makes him remarkable.

Of course, he is not someone you want to test. At least, I personally have no desire to discover exactly what a Grand Master is capable of underneath that belt. I have enough curiosity to admire the mountain without needing to climb it wearing a helmet and poor decision-making skills.

But knowing him, seeing his contradictions, and being around someone who has cultivated that level of discipline introduces me to my own humanity.

My own strength.

My own willingness to stand fully in who I am.

Unapologetically.

Because the greatest teachers do not just show us what they have mastered.

They reveal what is possible within us.