I’ve been doing martial arts since I was seven years old. Forty-nine years. And I’ll tell you a secret: every single time I walk into a new school or learn a new style, I’m still a white belt. Still awkward. Still getting hit because I’m thinking about what I wish was happening instead of what’s actually in front of me.

I started in an Okinawan karate school that gradually filled up with full-contact kickboxers from the Philippines. So even as a kid, I was getting this weird blend of traditional forms and Muay Thai knees and elbows. I did that until college, then basically didn’t do any martial arts for a few years. Just tried to stay in shape.

In 1991 or 1992, I stumbled into a Kung Fu San Soo class at the San Francisco Bay Club. Without a comped membership, there was no way a 23-year-old nonprofit worker could afford that gym otherwise.

Michael “Seib” Seibl was teaching, along with Wayne, Orlin, and Sheila. Five of us, working out at the Bay Club for a good long while before the class built up. By then, I kept hearing about this guy, Master André Salvage, who had been Seib’s teacher down in Los Angeles.

I’ll never forget watching Master André teach seminars on his visits to San Francisco. I’d seen a lot of technically proficient martial artists by that point. But André was different. He was connected to something underneath the movements. The best way I can describe it is as if I’d been living my whole life in a small apartment - thinking that was my entire house - and someone said, “Hey, there’s a door over there you’ve never opened.” And behind it? A whole house I didn’t know I had access to.

Three Teachers, One Art, and The Gift of Getting to Compare Them

Here’s something I think makes my path a little unusual: I didn’t just learn from Master André. When I moved to LA, I trained under Master Darren Carl and Master Matt Ember — two guys who could not have been more different from each other, and from André.

Darren Carl was a street fighter. A bodyguard, actually. And he’s only a little bigger than me, so being efficient in a real fight wasn’t academic for him. It was the job. No fancy moves, no exploring, just “Does this work? Yes or no.”

Matt Ember was the professor. A TV screenwriter, mild-mannered, lived out in the San Fernando Valley. Probably never been in a street fight in his life. His approach to San Soo was intellectual, curious, and willing to experiment and poke at the “why” something worked.

And then there’s Master André, who has all of that: the street fighter’s efficiency, the professor’s curiosity, plus something more. He can do all the old traditional stuff, but then you watch him move, and there’s boxing in there, kickboxing, Aikido, Tae Kwon Do. And it’s all just “San Soo.” Because if it works, it’s San Soo. Throwing a chair is San Soo. I have never trained anywhere else where that’s true.

I’m at a great school right now doing Kali and Jeet Kune Do, and if I threw an Aikido technique into the Muay Thai class, people would look at me like I’d lost my mind. With Master André, there’s never that wall. Either it works — and he’ll tell you exactly how to set it up so it does — or it doesn’t, and that’s fine too. Nobody else I’ve trained with can do that.

The Master’s Belt That Made Me Feel Guilty

I got my master’s rank in September 2009, training with Master André on Mark Drive in San Rafael, California. And I have to be honest with you — I have complicated feelings about it.

I’ve been a white belt so many times across so many styles that belt rank just, well, it doesn’t mean much to me personally. However, the recognition from someone I respect as much as Master André? That means everything. But “Master Irvine”? Kind of awkward, honestly.

Worse than awkward, for a while it actually felt like a burden. Right around when I got it, my life pulled me away from training as much as I wanted. And here’s this red sash and master’s degree sitting there, draped over a chair and staring at me. Meanwhile, I’m getting older, slower, weaker. I’d get so frustrated with myself, saying, “I should be better than this. I should be faster. I should be at the studio more.” It took me a while to make peace with it: to accept this thing as an honor, not an obligation. It was given freely, no strings attached. It doesn’t erase the rest of your life’s responsibilities — and sometimes those responsibilities mean you’re not going to be as good at kung fu as you’d like. That’s just true.

From A Gun On My Hip To A Knife In My Pocket

I was a cop for over twenty years, and for most of that time I carried a gun. At work, and usually off duty too. I don’t anymore. Legally, I can as a retired officer…and I’ve actually got my annual qualification coming up next week. But I just... don’t.

If I’m somewhere I’m thinking about safety, I’ll carry a folding knife instead. It’s not about effectiveness. It’s that carrying a gun changes everything. How you dress, how you move through a crowd, how you sit in a restaurant. That whole way of being in the world is tied to twenty-plus years of my life, and most days, I don’t need to bring that with me anymore. A folding knife lets me be just a guy at the grocery store.

Getting Hit In The Face, and The Mike Tyson Line

Someone once asked me what the most important thing San Soo taught me that applies to my life, not my career. And I had to think about it. Because honestly, the police parallels are too obvious. But here’s what I landed on:

When you’re on the mat, you have to be completely present. Not what you wish was happening, not what happened five seconds ago, not what might happen five seconds from now. Right now. Balanced, aware, responsive. Without all the chatter in your head about who you are or what you’re worried about. Or you get hit in the face.

Mike Tyson — somebody a lot less evolved than Master André, but in this case Mike really nailed it — said, “Everybody has a plan until they get hit in the face.” That’s it exactly. No amount of planning or puffery survives contact with what’s actually happening. You show up with what you’ve got, and you flow.

I’m naturally an anxious “planner-and-preparer” type. In Master André’s studio, we called that being a ‘technician,’ the opposite of being a ‘bull.’ San Soo taught me this: plan, yes, prepare, sure. But when you’re in a fight, if it’s not the thing you prepared for, you let go of the plan and work with what’s in front of you.

The Trust Fall, and Being Somebody’s Brother

There’s a moment from a lunch I had recently with Master Seib that has stuck with me. He was talking about doing the two-man drills at speed with another skilled fighter. You are, genuinely, putting your life in that person’s hands. It’s a trust fall. You’re completely vulnerable, and you find out everything about someone’s nature in how they catch you.

That’s the thing about this community — I don’t always know what my San Soo brothers and sisters do for a living, where they’re from, what their families look like. But I know what they’re like when my safety is literally in their hands. That tells you more than a résumé ever could.

And honestly? When I think about what’s inspired me over the years, it’s my kung fu family. It’s Master Ron, still showing up and giving everything, even as his body got older and banged up. It’s Master Dave, this force of nature who’s a beautiful guy and an absolute beast on the mat. And it’s people like Master Sally, who’s built a life with a thousand responsibilities and still shows up and makes it work. Not by training forty hours a week, but by figuring out how this art fits into a whole, balanced life. That’s the real lesson. Not how high you can kick. It’s how you carry it with you when you walk off the mat and out the door.

So — what would I do if I weren’t afraid? That’s the question Master André’s been asking all of us for years, in one form or another. I don’t have a tidy answer.

But I know this: nearly 50 years in, I’m still finding out.

— written by Sally Carlile, based on an interview with Master Matt Irvine

Matt Irvine is a Kung Fu Master, retired detective supervisor, and law enforcement instructor. Did twenty years as a beat cop in Glendale, CA. He’s the guy you want with you in a dark alley. He lives in the Pacific Northwest with his wife and has two children who are grown and flown.

This post is part of a series of stories and interviews, written by Sally Carlile, about becoming a Kung Fu Master. If you liked this and want more, please consider subscribing to receive the next story about the Kung Fu San Soo Masters’ Path, as taught by Master André Salvage.

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I’ll never forget the exact moment when I realized there was a way that I could stop being afraid. I was twenty years old, working at my college Women’s Resource Center, when I first saw what was possible. A woman named Donna Jean Loudon came in to teach an assault prevention class. She was a yellow belt, an actor, and she was electric.

I still see her kicking a chair across the room and saying, “It only takes thirty pounds of pressure to bust a knee.”

I was hooked.

I’d been afraid for years. I carried Mace at 16. I was a competitive distance runner at UC Irvine. Once, on a long van ride with a group of women teammates, the discussion topic was, “Tell your scariest running story.” Every single woman in that van had one. I was sick of being afraid, and I was sick of having a reason to be.

Donna Jean pointed me to a man named André Salvage in North Hollywood who had a martial arts studio. When I sat down with him, I told him exactly that: “I’m afraid, and I don’t want to be afraid anymore.” He looked at me and said, “I’ll teach you everything I know.“

I was in.

I commuted 37.9 miles each way from Long Beach to North Hollywood for years. Changing out of my work clothes on the 101 freeway, trying to get there on time. I arrived at a studio with concrete floors covered by thin carpet and barely any padding, but I didn’t care. I was learning something that was changing me from the inside out.

For those of you unfamiliar with martial arts belt progressions, in Kung Fu San Soo the belts go white, yellow, green, brown, and black. The green belt nearly broke me. Not physically, but emotionally. The green belt level is all about moving offensively. Something deep in me resisted it. Did I deserve to be on offense? Was I a bad person for going there? Punching, kicking, learning to hurt someone? That belt was hard work.

But I got through it. Made it to brown belt. Then, when Master André told me he was moving to the San Francisco Bay Area, I said, “Okay, I’ll just move too.” He stopped me there and asked why I could just do that…just pick up and follow what I was learning. It took him weaving around the question for me to realize: it’s because I think fast on my feet. Fun fact: that’s the same reason why I’m a good fighter.

There were two special moments that showed me who I was becoming.

The first: late at night, alone in a downtown LA office tower. I turned a corner, and someone was there. Before I even thought about it, I dropped my weight into ready position, just pure readiness. My body knew.

The second: living in Oakland, in the shower, I heard a crash. I stepped out, walked down the hall without a towel and without hesitation. Just moving toward whatever it was. Turns out, it was the cat! But what struck me was: I didn’t freeze. I moved. Moved towards, not away from, the target. Sought out the potential threat. That was different. That was new.

Master Lorraine’s Favorite Weapon

Even though the photos above show my sword form, and I do love sword fighting, my favorite weapon is absolutely knife. I was terrified of knives when I started. Shaking through the entire first class. But I became the first green belt ever invited into the advanced knife course, sitting with black belts and fifth-degree masters. It was hard. It was humbling. And it completely dismantled my fear of running alone in the hills. I’d go out with my knife in my pocket and my short stick tucked in the T-back of my sports bra, and I felt ready. Safe. Myself.

The master’s path, to me, wasn’t something clearly defined. It was more like... know yourself. Listen. Find objectivity. Being a master shows up in my real life. In workplaces, in difficult conversations. Put everything out on the table. I had a boss once who spoke to me disrespectfully. In that moment and others since, I find myself speaking directly and kindly, things like, “The way you speak to me is interfering with the positive regard I have for you, and it has to stop.” I knew I couldn’t have done that without Kung Fu.

Getting my kung fu master’s belt is still the best thing I’ve ever done. Better than any degree. And when I say it’s just what I do — that’s exactly what kung fu and Master André gave me.

Do I always move like a master? No. Honestly, no. Having confidence in what I know is still sometimes the hardest thing. But I’ve stopped thinking of that as failure. It’s just evolution. The raw stuff I came in with is still part of the story — how I look at it has changed enormously, but it’s always there.

And while I no longer practice kung fu in the studio, every once in a while, I do feel like going out and starting a good bar fight. 😂

- written by Master Sally Carlile, as told to me by Master Lorraine Wilson

Lorraine Wilson is the founder and owner of Love Up Pup, LLC, where she masterfully trains dogs and their humans to build strong, pawsitive relationships. Her deep understanding of humans and canines was honed by decades of coaching high-level performance at national educational and health service organizations.

This post is part of a series of stories and interviews, written by Sally Carlile, about becoming a Kung Fu Master. If you liked this and want more, please consider subscribing to receive the next story about the Kung Fu San Soo Masters Path, as taught by Master André Salvage.

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And if you are working on learning to move through fear and want support, let’s hop on a call to learn how you too can master what life throws at you. Not sure you are ready for a call? Check out my website at Art of Futuring for more information about Master Sally.

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I was driving my baby blue 1986 Honda Civic — four doors, reliable as a handshake — coming up on a four-way intersection I’d crossed a thousand times before. Nothing unusual. Nothing that should’ve made me pause.

Then I heard it.

“Stop.”

A voice in my right ear, clear as someone leaning in close. Not quite a woman’s voice. Not quite a man’s either. If I had to describe it: your best friend, your godparent, and your wisest elder, rolled into one. Not panicked. Intent. The kind of intent you can’t argue with. Calm. Unmistakable. Non-negotiable.

So I stopped

A rolling stop, but a stop.

I waited three full beats, because something about that voice made me listen. Did what it told me to do. Stopped.

Then the truck came

A massive truck full of cement blew straight through the red light on my right. Didn’t slow down. Didn’t hesitate. Thundered through that intersection as if it owned it, as if the laws of physics and traffic signals applied to everyone except it.

And in that instant, I understood exactly what had just NOT happened to me. If I'd rolled through, that truck would have T-boned my little Civic and sent me somewhere I wasn’t ready to go. I saw it clear as day. Not as a memory. As a vision of the very near future that had just been erased.

I sat there for a moment, hands on the wheel, heart doing something loud and complicated in my chest.

I have never forgotten that day.

Sally, Meet Your Intuition

Before that intersection, I thought of my intuition as a vague, amorphous kind of thing. A maybe. A suggestion. Woo-woo. Something you acknowledged and then politely ignored in favor of logic or habit or whatever you were already doing.

I was not someone who stopped for whispers.

But that voice didn’t feel like a whisper from nowhere. It felt like information. Fast, precise, and delivered by something that had access to data I did not.

Living Your Life By Intuition

Since that day, I listen differently.

• When the hair on my neck lifts for no reason.

• When a question rises unbidden in my gut.

• When I’m reaching for a cantaloupe at the grocery store, and something says “Not that one.”

I don’t always understand it. I don’t have to. I listen anyway.

Kung fu taught me even more about intuition.

As students of Kung Fu San Soo under Master André Salvage, we didn’t just train the body — we trained to be still enough to hear:

• To quiet the thinking mind long enough to catch what the deeper intelligence is already saying. My gaze goes to an opponent’s right knee, and I somehow already know it’s their old injury — so I strike there first.

• I feel where the danger’s coming from before I see it.

• I understand what’s truly underneath someone’s words before they finish their sentence.

In sparring, the ones who survive aren’t the biggest or the fastest. They’re the ones who feel the strike before it’s thrown — and move.

That afternoon in my Civic was my first real lesson in that kind of listening. No dojo. No Sifu. Just a voice in my right ear, and the choice to trust it.

I made the right choice. I’ve been practicing ever since.

Four Things Intuition Taught Me

- Master Sally Carlile

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Sally Carlile is an intuition guide, manifestation coach, and strategist who helps dynamic individuals reconnect with their inner wisdom to manifest big ass goals. She brings a rare combination of spiritual depth and grounded business acumen to everything she does. At 28 years old, she founded Ideas Unlimited International Group to partner with global companies to increase worldwide sales, applying out-of-the-box thinking learned while working in international sales at Patagonia. MBA, Master Certification in Intuition Medicine, bilingual in English and Spanish.

I’m not a fighter.

I used to be. For a long time, that’s all I was.

I came out of the womb fighting. For peace, almost for my life. Born in Washington, DC during the riots. Put up for adoption. Put into an orphanage. From as long as I can remember, the world was something you had to push back against.

So I pushed. Boxing first. Then Taekwondo. Then, 26 years ago, Kung Fu. By the time I walked into Master André’s studio, I had the body of someone who could bench press a small car and the emotional toolkit of a 12-year-old boy locked in a room, asking the universe to please, please, make things different.

Spoiler: the universe listened. It just had a very specific plan for how it was going to answer.

The Job Interview That Changed My Life

I didn’t walk into the Master’s Path looking for enlightenment. I walked in looking for a job.

A red-haired woman at the fitness club where I was working the front desk told me that Master André Salvage had a position open working with at-risk youth. It was called being a “Quincy.”

In a nutshell, the job of a Quincy was to deck yourself out in a suit with massive padding and protective gear, including a duct-taped helmet that looked like a cross between an alien head and an XL bowling ball, and play the bad guy in assault prevention scenarios in Andre Salvage’s rape prevention classes. She thought I’d be a good fit. Little did I know this woman was Sheila Chandor, soon to become Master Sheila.

Within the first hour of sitting down with Master André in the interview, I knew this man had something I’d been searching for. I couldn’t have told you what it was. I just knew I was staying.

Back to Becoming a Kung Fu Master: My Version of Chasing Enlightenment

I had a very clear picture of what any Master’s Path was going to look like: a temple in Hong Kong. Hundreds of stairs. Carrying water on my shoulders. A grandmaster on a mountain. Kicking, punching, and meditating for hours until all the clutter in my life just dissolved.

When I told Master André about my version, he asked me, “What if I could get you there without all the pain and suffering?”

I said yes before he finished the sentence.

Homework Assignments for a Grown Man Who Thought He Had It Together

I was big. I was strong. I bench-pressed a lot of weight. I was not the kind of person who cried.

Master André gave me a homework assignment. Write a letter to your mother with your left hand. “The non-dominant hand,” he explained, “brings out the inner child.” I nodded. I thought, “Okay, this will be easy, I have it under control.”

I did not have it under control.

I couldn’t stop writing. The paper was soaked with ink and tears. Every feeling I’d ever swallowed about a mother who didn’t love me the way I needed — it all came out through my left hand, in the handwriting of a little kid who was still in there somewhere, still asking for something he never got.

I held onto that letter for a year and a half. When I finally saw her, she was in the early stages of dementia. It was Thanksgiving. The first time I’d brought my wife to meet the family. I didn’t want to disturb the day's energy.

So I slipped the letter into her pocketbook before I left.

She never said a word about it. And then she was gone. But I knew she got it. You couldn’t miss that letter. When I walked away, there was something I hadn’t expected — a peace. A forgiveness. Not just of her. Of myself.

Eighteen Years Later

I thought I was done with that story. I went a decade at peace with it. More than a decade.

Then, about a year and a half ago, I told Master André I’d never heard back from her. He looked at me and said, “You can get a letter from her.”

Huh?

Andre said, “Write the letter you wanted to receive. Address it to yourself. Mail it. Open it when you’re ready.”

So I did. I wrote it before a big trip to Hawaii. When I came home, there was a letter at my door. From Fannie Johnson.

My mother’s name.

It’s sitting in my dresser drawer right now. Still sealed. I don’t know when I’ll be ready to open it. But here’s what I know: she wrote me back.

I have it. That’s enough for now.

What "Lightening The Load" Actually Means

People look at me and see someone who carries things. I do. Heavy things — at the gym, on the job, with my kids on my back and dogs orbiting my feet. That part is easy.

The Master’s Path taught me about the other kind of weight. The kind you carry in your chest, in your history, in the story you keep telling yourself about who you are and what you deserve.

I used to demand respect. Force it out of people. In middle age, I started to want to earn it instead. Now? I don’t chase it at all. I try to be in my true nature, and the universe takes care of the rest. If you give me respect, I genuinely appreciate it. If you don’t, I still love you.

That’s not weakness. That’s the work.

Things that lighten my load:

• My boys.

• My dogs — animals who show you appreciation the second you walk in, every single day, without fail.

• The people who let me into their home and say, “Dave, you don’t have to ask — my kitchen is your kitchen.”

That’s love. That’s the universe providing.

When you’re surrounded by that, the heavy stuff feels lighter. Almost automatically.

One More Thing: Pickleball

For those of you who need a little excitement in your life — a little joy, a little community, a place where respect is actually practiced out loud — I have two words.

Pickleball.

I guess that’s only one word. Whatever. Five years in, and nothing makes me happier than being on that court in the sunshine. And yes, before you ask: it’s also basically kung fu. The footwork is the same. The energy transfer is the same. Some of my best shots come straight from weapons training — an upward block converted into a cross-court winner, and my opponent is standing there going, “How did you do that?”

I have a wooden paddle made from Kona Wood by a craftsman in Hawaii. It’s heavy. It feels like a weapon. I haven’t used it yet.

I’m waiting for the right moment.

I’ve learned to do that.

- written by Master Sally Carlile, as told to me by Master Dave Williams

Dave Williams is an elite master dog trainer and devoted husband and father. He lives in San Francisco and is a well-known and beloved dog walker/trainer around the neighborhood.

This post is part of a series of stories and interviews, written by Sally Carlile, about becoming a Kung Fu Master. If you liked this and want more, please consider subscribing to receive the next story about the Kung Fu San Soo Masters Path, as taught by Master André Salvage.

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If you Google “how to throw a right punch,” you will find exactly 2,450,710 sources. I know. I checked.

They’ll all tell you step by step how to throw a right punch. But none of them will tell you what I learned when I became a kung fu master. And it’s all about draining.

First Things First

According to the Google, here’s how to throw a solid right punch, for right-handers, known as a “cross.”

1. Get your stance right — feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, weight balanced and grounded. Eyes on your target.

2. Keep your left hand up to protect your face before you throw anything. Chin down.

3. Push off your back foot and let the power travel upward — from the ground, through your legs, rotating your rear hip forward explosively. That torque is where the real force lives, not in your arm.

4. Let that kinetic energy ride up through your core and shoulder, extending your right hand in a straight line through the centerline of your target. Drive through the target, not just to it.

5. Exhale sharply on contact, snap your hand back, and reset — hands up, eyes open. The punch isn’t over when it lands.

What They Don’t Tell You, But I Will

If you are throwing a right punch and you’re still angry from the fight you had with your wife earlier that morning, or you’re worried about an upcoming negotiation with your boss next week, or you can’t stop thinking about that weird-looking mole on your left arm — all of those things keep you out of the moment, out of the fight.

What’s worse is you load up your right punch with all that angst and worry and throw a haymaker. Only if you are lucky, like I was once, will this ever be effective. Most fights are rarely ended with one shot, even a good one. And people can see it coming by a country mile. You’ve loaded everything into that right punch, neglecting to notice that your opponent is a trained boxer who knows how to bob and weave. Or you get lucky — they take it hard on the chin, but grab you on the way down and bring you with them. Or worse, while you’re admiring your haymaker, you neglect to notice they had five friends standing behind them, ready to finish you off.

That’s why you drain.

So What Is Draining?

Think of a French press coffee maker. You put the coffee and water in, then slowly compress the plunger until all the grounds sink to the bottom. What remains is clear, delicious coffee.

Draining works the same way. Starting at the top of your head, you run an imaginary French press through your body on a slow exhale — sweeping out everything that doesn’t belong in this moment. That fight with your spouse. The meeting with your boss. The weird mole. Past regrets, present fears, anxiety about the future. Every little bit, no exceptions.

Before any fight — whether on the martial arts mat or in a meeting with a tricky client — I drain. I press everything down. The worry, the angst, the anticipation. What remains is clarity. Presence. Just the moment itself.

That’s the best way to throw a right punch. Not with anger. Not with fear. Not with yesterday or next week loaded into your fist. Just you, the moment, and the ground beneath your feet.

With practice, you can drain with a single out breath. That is what I learned as a kung fu master. I step onto the mat, and with one out breath — whoosh — I’m present and ready.

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How It Started

I walked into Master André’s studio at 55 years old thinking I already knew something about fighting. I’d been a Marine. I’d thrown a punch or two in my life. But my daughter Lori — she made me honest.

She’d found Master André when she was running the hills of LA and started feeling like she wasn’t safe alone. Like I said, as a Marine I’d taught her to punch. But a punch is just one note. What she was learning with André was a whole language. When she was still a yellow belt, she sent me a video of herself working out with Barbara, and I watched it the way you watch something that quietly changes you. I called Lori and said, “Introduce me to this man.”

The Letter

Before André would agree to teach me, he gave me one assignment. He asked me to write a letter to each of my three daughters to ask their forgiveness for not having been the father I should have been, to promise I’d do better, and to tell them I loved them. I’m a Marine. That was the hardest thing he ever asked me to do. I did it. I gave him a copy of each letter. He nodded and said he’d teach me.

That was the beginning.

Who Inspired Me

I trained alongside twenty-year-olds who could move like water, and forty-year-old women who had fought harder battles than any of us knew. Every one of them inspired me. Especially the women. Many of them were carrying wounds from before they ever set foot on the mat, and there they were, sparring with people two belt levels above their own without flinching. Pure guts.

Learning to Yield

For those of you unfamiliar with what yielding means in martial arts, it is the principle of redirecting an opponent’s force rather than meeting it head-on. Stop using brute strength, and instead focus on staying relaxed, absorbing their force, and using their own momentum against them. And in San Soo, we always hit them on their way down.

Here’s what not yielding looks like!

André kept asking me why I wouldn’t yield. It frustrated him. It probably frustrated me more. But somewhere in those years — in the sweat and the stumbling and the starting over — I finally understood it. During my Master’s Sash test, Master Jon leaned close and whispered, “Finally. You are yielding. You’ve figured it out.” I’ll carry that moment for the rest of my life.

Lori earned her Master’s sash two years before I did. She and Master Barb together. I watched my daughter become a Master and felt something a father rarely gets to feel: pure, uncomplicated pride, and just a little bit of humility.

Still a Work in Progress

The more I learned in that kung fu studio, the more I understood how little I know. That’s not a complaint. That’s the gift. I’m still a work in progress, and I hope I always will be.

— written by Master Sally Carlile, based on an interview with Master Ron Wilson

Retired after 50 years at Omni Insurance, Master Ron Wilson is a beloved father figure to many in the kung fu studio. Retired from bug collecting (his 4746-specimen collection was recently donated to the California Academy of Sciences) and playing basketball, Ron reports that the bright side of aging is, “I’ve outlived Chuck Norris!”

For more wisdom and kung fu, head over to previous post.

Most people who walk into one of my Kung Fu classes think they’re signing up to learn how to fight. Some of them are right. But those who stay from white belt to 8th degree black belt, what I call the Master’s Path, figure out they’ve signed up for something else entirely.

I’ve been teaching for over forty years. I’ve seen roughly 100 students earn their master’s degree under me. If you ask any of them what the Master’s Path is, every single one will give you a different answer. I consider that my greatest achievement.

How I Found San Soo

I found Kung Fu San Soo the way most life-defining things arrive: by accident, and at the right moment. It was 1972 or 1973. I was in college, working nights at UPS, surfing south of Santa Monica pier in the mornings, and already training in martial arts. But something was bothering me. The styles I’d studied were built around sport. Points, rules, controlled environments. Fighting on the street doesn’t care about any of that. There are so many variables on the street: unseen attackers, knives whipped out, guns in your face, blinding sun in your eyes. I was looking for one cohesive style for all that. Something real.

As luck would have it, Masters Larry and Sharon Wikel opened a studio three doors down from where I was working. As I gazed through the glass window into their studio, onto which was posted a sign that read “Fifteen minutes watching allowed,” I saw people fighting. Not performing. Not drilling in lines. Actually fighting, the way people fight when it matters. After my 15 minutes were up, I came back and started my training.

The Detour That Became My Life’s Work

As an undergrad at UCLA, I was on track to become a psychologist working with children. My professor gave the class a hundred-question test, but told us that if we answered the very last question correctly, we could earn an internship at his clinic.

Question #100: What’s the name of the janitor waiting outside to clean this room?

Nobody else knew. I did. Why? Because earlier in the semester I’d said hello and asked his name. Why? My mother had cleaned houses. In my neighborhood, you greeted your elders. You asked their names. That was just how I was raised.

I got the internship. And then, at eighteen years old, I told a wealthy, prominent couple that their son was fine — but they needed therapy. Separately. Then together. That they needed to apologize to their kid for four specific things they had done.

The parents were not pleased. The clinic administrator told me - three times to my face - that we were there to get the money for providing therapy for children. Not to fix families.

I couldn’t click with that. My professor resigned from the board of the clinic. I left the clinic, ran out of scholarship funding, and made a decision: open a Kung Fu studio. Teach what I actually believe. There are certain principles I believe in, and I was going to teach those principles and do what I love — working out, sharing, seeing people move from one point to another, watching that “aha” moment of awakening. Whether it’s something they understand about themselves physically, spiritually, or emotionally, I knew that was one of my reasons for being on this earth.

Back to Kung Fu…

Kung Fu San Soo is a complete fighting system — one of the most direct and effective street self-defense arts in the world. It doesn’t look like what you’ve seen in movies. There are no kata, no points, no waiting for your turn. It works because it was built around how violence actually happens: chaotic, fast, and unforgiving.

But I never stopped at the physical.

…And What the Master’s Path Actually Is

What I believe:

• We all have a True Nature.

• The most direct way to access your True Nature is knowing, listening to, and following your intuition.

• The Ego is always trying to protect you with FEAR (False-Evidence-Appearing-Real)

• We all have a unique Gift. Our purpose is to know it and share it.

• Your worth is inherent, and not predicated on someone’s good or bad opinion of you.

These are the core principles of the Master’s Path. My work is about helping people stop moving from fear, whether in a fight, in a conversation, or living their lives. The physical training and the internal work aren’t two separate programs. They’re the same thing.

And, by the way, it’s also how to be a great fighter.

You can’t be in a fight with your ego up, guarded, afraid. You have to be relaxed, present, able to yield, move freely, and be spontaneous. That’s also how you resolve conflict. That’s how you truly listen to someone without all the noise and debating and waiting for your turn to talk. Somebody has to put their wall down first. And the minute I put it down, if you’re really concerned about resolution, the act of me dropping my ego will help you do the same. Because I’m being authentic. I’m being vulnerable. I’m being real.

I teach this in the studio. I teach it in boardrooms and corporations. I’ve taught it to executives struggling to communicate, to children, to women in assault prevention classes. The principles don’t change. The delivery does.

Honestly, if I were digging ditches, I’d still be teaching this. These are the same exact principles. This is my reason for being here.

The Thing About Clones

When I was fighting in martial arts tournaments in Los Angeles, I noticed something: I could identify a fighter’s style before the match even started just by watching how they move. Because they move exactly like their teacher. Predictable. Contained. A copy. I decided right then that none of my students would move like me.

My job is to find their movement, find their power, find their unique way of seeing this art. Then I nurture that. No one moves like me in Kung Fu. None of my students does it the same way I do, and they’re not supposed to. Because it doesn’t grow that way. When they’re better than I am and they bring their unique way of looking at it, then the art grows, and they grow. They’re not clones.

The poet Rumi said we each have a unique, secret way of being with the mystery. Not to be judged. That’s what I’m trying to find in each person — their uniqueness in their movement, in their soul, what they’re here for — and then feed that. I can give the same lesson, the same principle, to thirty people in a room. But I’m going to make sure they’re not all acting like me. You’re going to find you. You’re going to move the way you move.

So when people who’ve trained with me describe the Master’s Path and every single one says something different, that tells me they got what they needed. That I was not feeding them my own idea of who I am. Because that would be a dictatorship. That’s people surrendering who they are for who you are. I’ve never wanted that. That’s the worst thing ever.

What You’re Getting Into

When I solidified the Master’s Path here in the Bay Area, I made it explicit from the start. If you want basic self-defense tools, I have assault prevention classes for that. And you’ll get something real from them.

But if you want to go all the way, to commit emotionally, financially, spiritually, then I’ll take you as a student. That commitment naturally brought the number down to around 20 or 30 people. The ones who mean it. You’ll find their stories here in this Substack series.

There are principles, tools, skills, and practices I’m going to have you do. [And endless privates at Just Desserts. IYKYK.] And it’s a commitment to go from white belt to master. Becoming a master in my school doesn’t mean you’ve beaten enough opponents or logged enough hours. It means you’ve done the internal work alongside the physical. It means you’ve learned to recognize when your ego is running the show — in a sparring match, in a conflict at home, in a meeting at work — and you’ve practiced, again and again, the discipline of putting your ego down.

It means you’ve developed the balance. The balance between the emotional and the physical. Between the warrior and the person. Some of the greatest fighters I’ve ever seen had so many wounds, so many traumas, so many hurt places inside them. Kung Fu relieved these burdens — being in the studio space, being around the people. But relief isn’t mastery. The balance is what I was always trying to teach.

I don’t teach anything I can’t do. I have a gift for making really complicated things really simple, and I use that. What I’m doing now — what I’ve always been doing, since I walked out of that clinic in the ‘70s — is helping people find their true nature and stop apologizing for it.

The fighting is real. The art is serious. But it’s always been in the service of finding and moving from your own true nature.

- written by Master Sally Carlile, as told to by Andre Salvage

In 1979, Master Andre Salvage began teaching students the principles and skills of safety, peace of mind, courage, abundance, love, and confidence in a small martial arts studio. He is a much beloved teacher, mentor, father, and grandfather. Today, Andre Salvage and Associates is a nationally acclaimed company that trains organizations and individuals in communication, assertiveness, and conflict resolution.

Welcome to The Art of Futuring

This is me.

I want to be clear about that from the start — this Substack is a reflection of who I am and what I believe in. My name is Sally Carlile, and what you’ll find here, in The Art of Futuring and The Secrets of a Kung Fu Master, is the work I was born to do.

Over the past three years, I’ve had the profound privilege of interviewing kung fu masters, wisdom keepers, manifesters, and extraordinary people who have walked paths most of us only dream about. Real stories, real people, almost always funny, I’ve sat with folks and listened deeply, gathering the kind of knowledge that doesn’t come from books. And now, I’m sharing it with you.

On the Power of Storytelling

We live in an age of information overload. Knowledge is cheap. It’s everywhere, it’s instant, and honestly, most of it washes right over us. How many saved posts of ideal workouts, 10 tips for just about anything, and things you should or should not be doing do you really need? If you are like me, you always feel good when you click that save button, but never actually get back to doing them.

Wisdom, on the other hand, is rare. It’s hard-won. And the most powerful vessel I know for carrying real wisdom from one heart to another is story.

Storytelling is not just a teaching tool — it is the teaching tool. It’s how humanity has passed down truth for thousands of years, and it’s a lost art. I share wisdom through story, one interview at a time. When you hear someone’s story and see yourself in it — when you feel that spark of I could do that too — that’s not entertainment. That’s transformation.

If you find yourself in even one of these stories, I’ve done my job.

That’s why I’m not going to give you frameworks or hand you a model and call it a day. I’m going to share people’s stories. Real ones. The interviews I’ve conducted are filled with the kind of wisdom that sticks with you long after you’ve closed the tab.

The first series of articles centers on The Master’s Path, the deep work and teachings that emerged from years of study and practice of Kung Fu San Soo as taught by Master Andre Salvage. This series is rich, it is real, and I can’t wait for you to experience it.

More is coming. Much more.

For now — subscribe, settle in, and enjoy the first set of articles. This journey is just beginning.

— Master Sally

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And if you are working on learning to move through fear and reach big goals, let’s hop on a call to learn more about me and how you too can master what life throws at you.

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Sally Carlile is an intuition guide, manifestation coach, and strategist who helps dynamic individuals reconnect with their inner wisdom to manifest big ass goals. She brings a rare combination of spiritual depth and grounded business acumen to everything she does. At 28 years old, she founded Ideas Unlimited International Group to partner with global companies to increase worldwide sales, applying out-of-the-box thinking learned while working in international sales at Patagonia. MBA, Master Certification in Intuition Medicine, bilingual in English and Spanish.

If you passed me on the street, you’d think: housewife. Maybe PTA. Possibly book club.

You would not think: 8th degree black belt. Kung Fu Master. Students have to stop their workouts and bow when she enters the studio. The woman who knocked her instructor clean off his feet the very first time she stepped onto a mat.

And yet. Here we are.

How It Started

It was 1993. I was working in a downtown San Francisco office building with one notable design flaw: no lock on the front door. No pass key to enter the elevator. Anyone could walk in. And anyone did, including on more than one occasion, thieves using my eighth-floor landing as a personal drop zone for stolen wallets and purses. They even took showers in the unlocked bathroom. I lived in fear that I might encounter these scary people when arriving at work in the morning. Glancing up from spreadsheets and client memos every time the elevator doors creaked open, I was terrified at my own place of business.

The police had a suggestion: take an assault prevention class. They recommended Andre Salvage’s self-defense training.

I showed up to a class at Fort Mason not knowing who Andre was, not knowing what Kung Fu San Soo was, and — crucially — not knowing that I was about to floor a man who had spent his life mastering the art of not being floored.

Everyone tells women it’s a good idea to take an assault prevention class, and they aren’t wrong. But I was completely unprepared for the practical training section, when you practice fighting back while a trained assailant comes at you. You are supposed to use your new skills right then and there.

Andre came at me in full padded gear. Dark blue construction suit. Big mask. The whole big fat scary enchilada. What happened next was less technique and more pure, unfiltered reckoning. For context, I grew up as the only girl with three brothers all over 6’5”. I grew up in a house where no one was coming to protect me, up to and including being sexually assaulted by a family member. I carried years of trauma and fear in my body.

And all of that I loaded into one right hook.

I knocked him off his feet.

I didn’t know at the time that Andre was an incredible street fighter and Kung Fu San Soo teacher. All I knew was that somebody was coming after me. And everything I’d been carrying my whole life came out in that moment.

When the class was over, to my surprise I didn’t want to leave the studio. Not because of the fighting (which I actually found both fun and cathartic). I didn’t want to leave because of how he spoke. About intuition. About trusting yourself. About learning how to be safe.

By the end of the class, I found out he taught martial arts, and my response was immediate and right from my gut. I found myself announcing, “I don’t know what fighting style you teach. But I want to learn from you.”

The Master’s Path

What I didn’t know was that I had just walked into the ground floor of something Andre was quietly building called the Master’s Path. He was going to take only 20 students and teach them everything he knew. A journey from white belt all the way to 8th degree black belt known as Master, that would take most students roughly 13 years.

It took me 23.

In between: a career, identical twin boys, and what I can only describe as layer after layer after layer of fear, peeled back and replaced with something better.

From white belt to black belt, for me the Master’s Path was about releasing fear and replacing it with confidence, curiosity, compassion for myself and others, and — maybe most importantly — a sense of humor. From 1st degree to 8th degree, a lot of it was technique. But running through the whole thing was something quieter. I was honing my intuition.

I learned that my intuition is actually my best martial arts tool. A slight sour stomach signals to me when something’s wrong. It tells me when someone’s intentions are hidden, and whispers what they actually are. I instinctively know which knee someone has an old injury in and aim for that. It also shows me how to win a fight without ever throwing a punch.

Super cool Kung Fu Master secrets. I’m not giving them away.

What I Found at the End

When I finally earned my master’s belt, something shifted that I didn’t expect.

You kind of start all over again, but everything just seems funny and easy and sweet, and you love everybody. There was a lightness I don’t think I’d ever experienced in my entire life. After 23 years of trying hard and being earnest and working toward something, stepping onto the mat to work out just became joyful.

This from someone who, by her own admission, genuinely loves violent street fighting.

I know. I look like a housewife.

But what I found, to my own great surprise, is that I had deep courage. I loved the physical challenge. And what my Kung Fu San Soo practice gave me — what I didn’t expect — was that I stopped moving through the world from fear.

When you’re not afraid, you move differently. More relaxed. More present. The rooms you’re in get to feel safe. Not because you’re armed, but because you’re settled. People can feel that. They don’t know why, but they just feel better when you are in the room. My Italian clients told me as much, my kids’ teachers mentioned it, and I could see people relax their shoulders and breathe more easily when I participated in contract negotiations as a global marketing consultant.

I became someone who could defend not only myself, but keep every room I walked into a little safer just by being in it.

What I’m Most Proud Of

It’s not the belt. It’s not that students have to stop their workout and salute me when I come into the studio. It’s our boys.

My husband and I have identical twin sons who were born just after I got my black belt. We raised them in a household where men don’t have to rely on their ego to be tough. Once you know you’re tough and can handle even padded attackers, you get to be the nicest person in the world.

I think that was a beautiful foundation for raising men in this world today.

I’ll also admit, with the benefit of hindsight, that I was a jerk on the mat sometimes. Not mean, exactly. Scared. There’s a difference, and it took me years to see it.

Now, when I see people being mean, I know what it is and what it isn’t. There’s something underneath it that they’re worried about. Scared about. Dealing with past trauma or trust issues. I’ll try to help bring that out into the open. Because once you deal with the fear, you can manage or resolve almost anything.

The Master’s Path, in Three Steps

If someone asks me to define the Master’s Path, I keep it short.

• Breathe.

• Be present.

• Stay curious and objective - so that you can see what’s actually going on below the surface.

• Make the right move to take somebody down or keep myself and someone else safe.

• Don’t fight at all. Go home at the end of the day with a clean conscience.

Simple. Obvious. And, for most of us, a lifelong project.

I trained with Andre Salvage from 1993 to 2023. Thirty years. I started training as a white belt with stored trauma and a massive chip on my shoulder, and left as a Kung Fu San Soo Master.

I still look like a housewife.

Don’t let that fool you.

This is the first post in a first-person interview series, written by Sally Carlile, about becoming a Kung Fu Master. If you liked this and want more, please consider subscribing to receive the next story about someone who spent years earning their 8th degree black belt in the Kung Fu San Soo Masters Path, as taught by Master Andre Salvage.

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And if you are working on learning to move through fear and want support, let’s hop on a call to learn more about me and how you too can master what life throws at you.

Book a complimentary call

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