The Beginner, the Hobbyist, the Amateur, and the Pro

The thirteen years I spent kickboxing were fundamental to my entire personality. It taught me confidence, how to control my ego, how to be humble, how to pivot, how to improve. But most of all, it taught me the difference between Beginners, Hobbyists, Amateurs, and Pros.

BEGINNERS

Beginners have taken a big first step: they walked into the class. Every one of them are terrified, because humans are fundamentally afraid of getting hit. How their terror manifests is different, but it’s never not present. Some accept their terror by paying careful attention, asking a lot of questions, and taking it slow. Others have a super badass idea of what it’ll be like in their heads; these are always men, and they’re still terrified.

When they walk in the gym the first time, Beginners are sometimes ignored. The others have seen many beginners come, and almost as many go.

Beginner writers and artists are much the same. They feel the urge to express themselves, and they are inspired, but they don’t have the skills yet. They have been told that a profession in art or writing is nearly impossible to snag, and even harder to keep. Or, they’ve been told nothing, and they’re stepping into a dark nothingness. They are terrified, whether they handle it with study, timidity, or bravado. Other writers and artists don’t pay much attention to beginners. There are too many beginners, and 99% of them disappear after their first critique.

HOBBYISTS

Because I never competed past in-class sparring, I did not progress past the Hobbyist stage of kickboxing. For a Hobbyist, for whom kickboxing was the training, I was good. I knew all the moves, I practiced the art, I maintained a physicality that promoted the sport, and I tested my skills with partners. I found what skills worked best for me. I had a style that got results. I hit others, but pulled my attacks back so as not to injure anyone. I did get hit, a lot. Enough to conquer my ego. Enough to cry. Enough to be humiliated. Enough that I knew I never wanted to be an Amateur.

I’ve belonged to cosmetic sorts of kickboxing gyms and serious MMA fight gyms. Even in the most competitive schools, 90% of the members were hobbyists, just there to be fit, learn stuff, and enjoy themselves.

The hobbyist life is wonderful. More aspiring artists and writers should relax at the hobbyist level. You get good, you enjoy the work, you share it with others, you create and grow! And you also never get really hurt.

AMATEURS

Amateurs have taken a step past sparring, to multiple competitions. They know what it’s like to hit someone. They know what it’s like to get hit. They have worked through injuries and defeats. They have structured diets around competition time. They train to build their strength and endurance outside of class.

The step from Hobbyist to Amateur is not a big one. Stick around a fight school for awhile, and the instructors will encourage most students to compete. Many will give it a try, with some idea of how they’ll perform, and most will step back into being a Hobbyist, because the rest of life gets in the way. Again, this is fine!

Same with writers and artists. Amateurs have published some stories, made a game, promoted their work online, or tried out for awards. Maybe they’ve made a little money at it, but nothing they can live on. This is also a cool place to be, but it requires a bigger time commitment, and you’re gonna get rejected, and your heart’s gonna break, and this is where you’re gonna want to secure a therapist. There is some personal or familial cost to becoming an amateur. Buckle up, because when you step up to Amateur, the gods and the demons take notice of you.

PROS

In the more serious schools I attended, there were a few grizzled pros. They fought for money, and some of them lived on it. The ones who didn’t make enough to live on worked for the school, teaching and cleaning up. They trained multiple times a day. They watched endless fights. They studied their opponents. They traveled to fight and suffered from poverty most of the time. Their cutting diet was painful. They were on many supplements, including way too much caffeine, and sometimes other things at various stages of legality.

Mostly they were grumpy and very funny. Their noses were wonky from being broken. They had cauliflower ears. Their joints were taped up and scarred over from surgeries. They had migraines and depression from all the head injuries. They knew their pro days were numbered, but none of them retired and became accountants. They taught fight classes and told stories.

I once knew a very good Amateur grappler. He dominated everyone in the gym with ease – except for the pros. The pros handled him like a toddler. He never even came close to winning against them. He told me that the space between Amateur and Pro is not a step, but an enormous chasm.

Bad judging aside, fighting is objective. The strike lands or it doesn’t. You get hit or you don’t. This breaks my metaphor apart, because art and writing is more subjective. Still, there are basic rules that you don’t get to break unless you know why you’re breaking them. You don’t get to write and draw just for yourself anymore; even if you’re a solo pro, your audience is now a part of what you do. If you work on a team, you have to expand your skill set constantly.

And you’ll have to bump up your therapy appointments. The Pro is on a first-name basis with gods and demons. The road to Pro is hard and lonely, and it’s often harder and lonelier when you arrive. The Pros do understand! But every once in awhile, the Amateurs get frustrated, because it seems like all the Pro would have to do is extend a paw and lift them up. If only they had the right coach, or boxing gloves, or fight promoter, they’d be Pro!

But the Pros know that’s not how it works. They know that Amateur would get pulverized in the ring with another Pro. But when a Pro writer or artist says that, it sounds shitty, especially to the Amateurs who are dominating all of the Amateurs around them. Even worse, if they take the time to give the Amateur professional advice, and the Amateur responds in anger (or worse, violence), now the Pro knows that the Amateur doesn’t pivot, doesn’t want to learn, and will be horrible on a team. They’ll be happier as a forever Amateur.

It’s brave to be a Beginner. It’s wonderful to be a Hobbyist. It can be quite fulfilling to be an Amateur. There is nothing wrong with being any of these! But having been these does not guarantee Pro status. Even the Pros are not owed stability. Rather, those of us working in the arts spend our lives learning, staring into the void, and paying our audience back.