A master does not teach life by following a manual; he has no recipe to show you how to live. He inspires you through his being, through the depth of his experiences. He doesn’t need to speak extensively; often, it is in silence that one learns the most. What radiates from him illuminates your path, encouraging you to write your own story, to build your own identity.
Our education, focused on words, has rarely relied on the genuine inspiration of those who teach. Knowledge has often been conveyed verbally, giving us the illusion of understanding life. Thus, when we are told that bridging theory and practice is a difficult art, it seems obvious. But is it really so difficult, or is it the method that limits us?
Since my childhood, I have seen my father, in his wheelchair, radiate a constant joy for life. I could see many people complain, but never him. His strength, his presence, almost make one forget that he is physically disabled. The projects he has built are impressive, numerous, and testify to the vastness of his being. But is it simply "a force of nature"? No, it is his convictions that have transformed the rules of his life. His view of disability challenges the one taught to us: for him, the true handicap is not physical but mental, fueled by beliefs that limit our minds.
Our Western society has imbued us with false beliefs, which often conflict with our true nature and can create in us a deep discomfort, difficult to understand. Who hasn’t heard: “Why are you complaining? You have everything you need. Look, others live far worse than you.” These words, meant to “wake us up” and make us put things in perspective, actually produce guilt and leave our pains intact. The state of mind that allows us to achieve true happiness comes from a perception shaped by experience and is passed on through inspiration rather than theory.
The most powerful teachings I have received come from my father. What moved me most was seeing him embody what he says; every word he speaks has weight because it aligns with his being. He didn’t need a sophisticated method to pass something on to me: his life itself was a lesson.
His story has always inspired me, and not simply because he is my father. It speaks for itself. Witnessing his journey, I learned that going beyond the limits imposed by the ordinary leads to achieving the unexpected.
As a child, I was very shy, not very agile, in words as in movement. My father, who taught gymnastics from his wheelchair, introduced me to this sport as soon as I arrived from Romania. But it took time for me to learn the movements; I was not at the level of other students my age. Yet the stories of his gymnastic feats when he was young inspired me deeply. Through his words, I began to imagine what I could achieve in turn, as if a world was unfolding before me, inviting me to project myself into it.
I began to visualize what my father told me about his gymnastic feats, starting to see myself performing them, fantasizing about one day accomplishing those acrobatics. It was in my room, at the age of ten, that I began to walk on my hands, and little by little, I began walking for several meters.
This was the beginning of a transformation. For the first time, a new self-image emerged, unexpected: the ability to create something unique, to accomplish moves that few dared to attempt. Then came the day I achieved what I had thought impossible. In the garden, I gathered momentum and executed a full backflip. The moment suspended, just before landing, was a moment of personal triumph, where one feels the singular sensation of victory over oneself, of an invisible threshold crossed.
My father’s inspiration had taken shape, embodied within my own body. This heritage goes far beyond mere transmission; it infuses a conviction that imagination can become tangible, that what once seemed distant can be realized.
It is this gymnastics of freedom that I was taught, quite different from traditional gymnastics with its perfect, codified postures. It was no longer about reaching a predefined perfection but about creating one’s own style, one’s own rotations, one’s own rules. This type of gymnastics, fluid and personal, awakened a deep inspiration within me. It allowed me to shape myself, to explore, to grow through discovering the power of the human body, where movement becomes an extension of oneself, where each gesture is an affirmation of one’s identity.
An inspired mentor embodies this freedom, becoming a guide and a profound source of inspiration, especially in a context of identity quest where the need to forge a unique path becomes apparent. Particularly for us, adopted children, this search can be complex, with biology distinct and parental heritage sometimes feeling inaccessible. Yet, with time, this inspiration can instill the confidence needed to claim this heritage and enrich it with one’s own vision.
His inspiration offered me a solid foundation, a base upon which I could build, free to explore what, little by little, became my own vision.
Learning through inspiration is a powerful path: it is not simply about imitating or following a skill but about adding a personal touch, an invitation to recreate, to infuse this heritage with something of oneself, to transform it into an authentic expression.
Today, that seed, planted so many years ago, has blossomed. It has led me to pursue university studies at the age of 33, a dream I once thought beyond reach. This precious heritage teaches that with a vibrant desire to create and achieve, any path can one day be carved, even the most improbable one.
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