Last Saturday night, the house was unusually quiet. The kids were off with friends at an eighth-grade dance. My wife was on driving duty. And I—suddenly alone—found myself wandering through the many streaming menus, searching for something new to half-watch.
There wasn’t much. But then I saw a film featuring Vince Vaughn and several older actresses I recognized by face—Susan Sarandon among them (never been a fan). Still, I paused. The story was simple: Vaughn’s character, grieving the loss of his Italian mother, uses her life insurance money to open a restaurant where Italian grandmothers serve as the chefs. It’s quirky, heart-driven, and unexpectedly moving.
One line landed on me with profound weight. Near the point of bankruptcy, Vaughn’s character quietly says to a diner, “Thank you for coming.” The gratitude in his voice caught me. It didn’t seem performative. It was raw, honest, and heavy with lived experience.
I felt it.
At nearly 55 years old, I’ve lived an improbable life—filled with some successes, near-misses, second chances, unexpected road blocks, and divine interruptions. To try and capture all of it would take more than an article. Maybe more than a book. But with that backdrop, those four words—thank you for coming—echoed in my mind.
I started my first sustained business, Krav Maga Houston, out of necessity. After the consulting firm I worked for collapsed—one partner fleeing to Mexico with everything—while my wife and I were just months away from the birth of our first son. We were blindsided. But something rose up in me. A determination. A vision. A willingness to fight for something that mattered. And, at the insistence of my wife, who knew it would take our life savings to get the business started. She has always believed in me, and in that, I am blessed.
Since then, I’ve taught more people than I can count. I’ve led through hurricanes, floods, fires, and personal loss. I’ve shared both laughter and heartache with my students and my staff. I’ve trained young instructors through their insecurities, only to watch some of them walk away much too early, lie to my face, and attempt to compete with what we built. I’ve experienced betrayal and dishonesty—but also fierce loyalty, unshakable support, and moments of breathtaking character from the people I work with and serve.
Over the years, we lost young people who were lights in our community—losses that left me gasping. I’ve held the weight of grief and the burden of leadership in a world that keeps moving, regardless of who’s hurting or why. And I’ve witnessed courage in its rawest form: people choosing to train for the one of the worst days of their life—and trusting my wildly talented instructor cadre and me to prepare them.
After the tragic and disorienting blow of the COVID lockdowns and the long road back from that rupture, I’ve gained something else: added perspective. I’ve learned how fragile communities can be—and how strong they become when rebuilt with trust.
So when I think about what comes next, how we continue to rebuild and grow at Krav Maga Houston, I also find myself looking back—with deep and abiding gratitude.
To the students who showed up, who committed, who trusted us…
To the ones who stayed through the storms…
To those who made this improbable life of mine possible…
Let me say this, from the deepest place in my heart:
Thank you for coming…
Because for many of us who build something from nothing, those four words carry more than gratitude. Sometimes they mean, thank you for seeing me. Sometimes they mean, thank you for saving me. And, they always mean: this wouldn’t exist without you.
And I don’t take that lightly.
Please come and see us again. We’re still here, still building, still serving.
