The Language of Grappling
Backpacking started as a study on intuition. In January 2025 I sold my car, ended my lease, and quit my job. Then, I waited... and waited... and waited... for the wind to push me in the right direction. Then One day, a friend text me: "Hey, would you drive a dinosaur fossil from Colorado to New York?" That's how this story begins.
I drove across the U.S. in a UHaul, dinosaur buckled into the passenger seat. I dropped into Daisy Fresh in Illinois, the platoon whose YouTube docuseries sparked my interest in jiu jitsu years ago. I dropped into Westside Barbell in Ohio and learned about their own grappling team and the Smithsonian-level gym. I found myself in New York, at Marcelo Garcia's gym, whose style I love most, and down in Unity's basement where Friday-night scraps live. Before I knew it, grappling was my throughline.
I exchanged that delivery service for a flight to Zurich, Switzerland. Then one foggy Friday night I stumbled into a steamed-window open mat downtown, EDM pulsing inside. The rolls were electric. Alive. A month later I was in Florence, Italy, where a solid Saturday morning open mat exists near the airport. A few weeks after that I was in Paris, lined up with judo players at MKTeam, then down to the western coast in Hossegor flow-rolling with surfers. In Munich, Germany, I found heavy smash pressure and the original guy to introduce jiu jitsu to Berlin 30 years ago! Crazy.
Every language was different, every mat and team culture unique... but underneath it all was the same: practice, presence, respect - the language of grappling.
When you step onto the mat, your job, your status, your background... none of it matters. When you touch hands, it's you in front of another: action speaks. You can say OSSS and smile anywhere in the world and the message is clear.
You learn who someone is by how they move, pressure, and react. Winning isn't the point. Expression is. Style. Who are you when you roll? You have your own story, your own language, your own need to express yourself. Jiu jitsu is how you do so.
Living out of my backpack during this traveling taught me that weight adds up fast. If it wasn't essential, it was left behind. I carried my passport, a few shirts, shorts, briefs, socks, my white belt, a new blue belt from Hossegor after the coach learned I rolled under Danaher for a bit, one my dad's old ties, a coin from my sister, some writings from my mom, a photo of my grandma... my toiletry bag... laptop... that's it. Cities changed every few days. Jiu jitsu didn't. I searched for open mats wherever I went because it grounded and connected me with wherever and whoever I was.
The key was the will to show up again and again - to places I wasn't familiar. In India, I found an martial arts gym in Rishikesh, which is practically a new sport in this area. But if you talk to locals, you learn that Indian wrestling goes back thousands of years. By luck, I was invited to Hanuman's akhara in Delhi, India, where students plow mud floors mixed with turmeric and ghee for skin protection. I wrestled with someone 20 lbs less than me, and got worked. No worries - once again, I learned that regardless of what you call your sport or where in the world you live, the language of practice, presence, respect is all the same.