Fighting taught me, I learned from life. It's a school, I'm still

Hear the warrior’s oath, simple as bone and bright as steel: “Fighting taught me, I learned from life. It’s a school, I’m still learning.” In these few words, Amanda Nunes gathers the storms she has walked through and names them teachers. She does not flatter the arena; she bows to it. The cage is a classroom, the bell a summons, the breath between rounds a lesson in humility. What others call punishment, she calls curriculum; what others call fear, she calls feedback. Thus the craft of the body becomes the craft of the soul.

The ancients would nod at this creed. For them, the palaestra and the stoá—gymnasium and porch—were twin wings of wisdom: test your strength, question your mind, braid both into character. To say “Fighting taught me” is to admit that truth arrives with bruises. Timing, distance, patience—these are not theories to be memorized but instincts to be forged. You cannot bargain with a blitz or flatter a jab; you must become a student of reality, quick to adjust, slow to excuse. Life is the head coach; pain, the assistant; joy, the report card.

Mark how her sentence widens beyond the ring: “I learned from life.” The roadwork before dawn, the diet that tells the hand to say no, the sparring partner who exposes your vanity, the long plane rides where doubt asks for a seat—these are lectures in persistence. The door of the gym closes behind you, but the lesson follows you home: guard your energy, keep your promises, repair your weaknesses before they become your fate. In this sense, everyone fights—on factory floors, in hospital halls, at kitchen tables—and life keeps the score with a fairness that cannot be bribed.

Consider a tale from the ledger of champions. There was a night when a renowned striker met a grappler and found herself drowning in unfamiliar waters. In the rematch, she did not pray for a lucky punch; she re-enrolled in a harder school—wrestling drills that humbled, chain submissions that burned the lungs, hours of footwork that taught the feet to think. When victory came, it was not magic; it was a transcript stamped with sweat. So it was with Nunes herself in battles won and lost: hardware held high in triumph, then later set down in order to become a beginner again. To return to white-belt mind at black-belt rank—that is the seal of someone who is still learning.

History echoes the same law. Think of Miyamoto Musashi, who wandered from duel to duel until he wrote that the way of the sword is the way of the brush, the way of the farm, the way of the day. Or of Florence Nightingale, who moved through the carnage of war and learned to wield numbers like scalpels—Fighting of another kind, turning suffering into systems that saved lives. Each found that mastery is not a mountain peak but a pilgrimage; each stayed enrolled in the school that life keeps open sunrise to sunset.

What, then, is the heart of the quote? It is an invitation to apprenticeship without graduation. The belt, the title, the applause—these are mile markers, not endings. The person who says “I am still learning” cannot be cornered by failure or flattered by success. They meet defeat as a syllabus and victory as a quiz—useful, but not final. This stance grants an unbreakable advantage: adaptability. While others defend their image, the learner repairs their game.

Carry this lesson like handwraps into whatever bout awaits you. (1) Name your teachers—not only mentors, but mistakes, fatigue, even rivals; write what each is teaching you now. (2) Run toward feedback—film your work, read your stats, invite hard eyes; treat criticism as road signs, not as stones. (3) Drill the basics—stance, breath, recovery; excellence is advanced fundamentals performed under stress. (4) Cross-train your life—what footwork is to striking, boundaries are to relationships; what conditioning is to the lungs, sleep is to the mind. (5) Begin again, often—after wins, after losses, after ordinary Tuesdays; enroll yourself daily in the school of practice. Do these with a fighter’s calm and a pilgrim’s joy, and you will live the truth of her words: Fighting taught you; life continues to teach you; and you, unafraid and unashamed, are still learning.