Do You Have a Mr. Miyagi? Who is in Your Corner?

We all have moments that refuse to fade. The ones etched deep into memory. They’re rarely mundane – usually unforgettable because they’re either extraordinary…or devastating.

Today is Day 90.

It’s a day of commemoration – one where I received a green coin not for something I did, but for something I didn’t. That’s not how most things work. Usually, you do the work; you get the reward. Pass the test; get the diploma. Sink the putt; get the high five. I remember the trip across the stage. A first kiss. My son’s first cry.

I also remember the handcuffs. Seeing myself on the news. Explaining it to my son.

These things carve themselves into us like tattoos – never quite erasable.

Let me ask you something:  Who is cheering for you?

In other words – who has your back?

Picture yourself in the corner of a boxing ring. It’s between the 8th and 9th rounds. You get sixty seconds to catch your breath and prep for the next onslaught. Your eye is swollen, your face bloodied, and you’re gasping for air. You slump on the stool, seeing only the canvas and the tops of your shoes. The cold sponge hits your neck. Ice numbs the pain. A voice whispers in your ear: You’re right where you’re supposed to be.

This one is from the Larry Holmes fight. A rare loss for the greatest boxer in the history of ever.

Part of you wants to quit. You’ve gotten hit too many times. The crowd is yelling, most clueless about what it’s like to be in the ring. To land punches. To take them.

But that voice cuts through it all:
“Keep going… Don’t give up… I believe in you.”

You clench your jaw.
You rise from the stool.
You feel the slap on your back:
“Let’s go. You got this.”

That voice – who is it for you?

Let’s face it.  We live in a world in which the people visiting your grave are there only to dance upon it.

Back in 1984, when I was eleven, it made perfect sense that Daniel LaRusso would stumble into the friendship of someone like Miyagi – a mentor who’d teach him everything he needed to know about perseverance, balance, respect, and even mercy. At the end of The Karate Kid, Miyagi even gives Daniel one of his cars, which makes perfect sense to an eleven-year-old.

But as four decades clicked by, the idea of a real-life Miyagi faded to be exactly what it is…fiction.

Pat Morita’s character never wanted applause. He wanted Daniel to learn something lasting. Maybe pass it on someday. And if Ralph Macchio plays that mentor role in a future film, I’ll be first in line.  This has to happen, right?  Not only would it be a hit, but there’d be a brief revival of the original.  Hey Hollywood…There is money to be made here.

Everyone tried this back then.

Daniel-San was the closest thing Miyagi had to a son, and passing on his legacy was everything.

Today, for about ten seconds, I felt like Daniel. I stood in a room surrounded by a bunch of Mr. Miyagis.

Day 90 of not drinking came with a small green coin, applause, handshakes, and hugs. A simple, silent truth: not doing something is sometimes the worthiest thing of all. Especially when you’ve been in that ring. Especially when you’ve bled.

It’s not just shared pain that binds people in these rooms.
It’s shared hope. Shared recovery. Shared belief.

And even deeper than that?
Empathy. Kinship. Compassion.

I’ve been attending AA meetings every day since late January, missing only when absolutely necessary. These meetings are everywhere. Honestly, easier to find than a McDonald’s. When I miss, I get texts and phone calls from people I barely knew months ago – just checking on me.

That’s when I realized: most people don’t care.

But these people do.

You’d think that after a public fall, wrecking a reputation, a career, flushing self-esteem and dignity down the drain, you’d be swallowed by darkness. That’s what I thought would happen.

Instead, I found something awkward. Unexpected.
I found peace.

It turns out there are a lot of Mr. Miyagis out there.
And they’ve helped me restore more than just my footing.
They’ve restored my faith.

In just 90 days, I’ve learned more in these rooms full of strangers than in decades of education and professional development.

Ten seconds from today – those hugs, the applause, the look in their eyes – will live in my memory forever.