"I am a cowardly lion. Hear me roar."
Beneath his shy, awkward exterior lies a fierce fighter, a fighter who gathers the courage to defend his friends and family when the need arises. This "memoir" details the trials by fire Luigi endured in 2001...
For as long as I can remember, I've always been skittish, cautious, shy, choosing my words and actions carefully. And for as long as I can remember, people have mistaken that for weakness. But over the years, I've demonstrated that being cautious or shy is far from being weak.
Yes, I've been known to blush and mumble. But the same voice that mumbles can also shout. The same voice can rise above the chatter, clearer than a bell, and echo to the ends of the earth. The quiet, nervous murmur can rise to a passionate, spirited yell, and it will be heard.
On the outside, I'm quiet and a little awkward, the one who's most likely to retreat. On the inside, I'm a fighter, and I fight hard.
Do you want to know why I fight hard despite sometimes lacking in the courage department?
The answer to that question isn't for the faint of heart.
And if someone said that it was a straightforward answer, an answer that could be written in a single paragraph, then someone lied.
The answer to that question focuses on three of the most important years of my life. I'll first transport you back in time to 2001, when the world was still reeling from a devastating attack on American soil, when a letter bearing an announcement too good to be true led to me acquiring a mentor, a surprising new set of skills and a broad range of confidence I could only dream about. Then, we'll flash-forward to 2013, when social media was firing on all cylinders, when a threat to my mentor's safety culminated in me opening my mind to what used to send me hiding under the bed. The last stop of our journey will be the year 2019, when the promise of a relaxing vacation warped into an intense fight for survival which truly tested my body, my spirit and my soul. It's only after examining those three years that you'll truly know why I fight in spite of my fears.
The easiest option is to retreat, to surrender, to bow, to avoid a fight or an escalation of conflict. But for me, retreating isn't an option. Surrender isn't an option. Bowing isn't an option. And in extreme circumstances, avoiding a fight isn't an option. While I try not to instigate fights, you can be d—n sure I'll finish one, even if my opponent is a psychotic ruler Hell-bent on world domination. Make no mistake, turning tail, running away and never looking back is the first thing that crosses my mind. But once I start running, my enemies won't let me stop, and I'll have let down so many people depending on me. I have to stand up and push back with the courage I know I have, locked away inside my heart.
Courage.
Many don't think I have it, but I do.
The story I'm about to tell, like any story worth telling, is about those who give me that courage. It's about the ones who stick up for me, who believe in me, who love me no matter what. It's about those who enable me to drag myself out of bed every morning and to press on when the going gets tough.
This story isn't just about me.
It's also about my friends.
It's also about my family.
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