I've learned patience.

Shannon Briggs, the warrior of the ring whose fists once thundered like hammers, uttered words that carry the weight of a lifetime: “I’ve learned patience.” Simple though they seem, these words are carved from struggle, from the long road of triumphs and defeats, from the endless nights of training and the quiet endurance of waiting. They are not the boast of a fighter fresh in glory, but the confession of one who has walked through storms, who has tasted both fame and failure, and has emerged with the wisdom that the greatest victories are not won by force alone, but by patience.

In the ancient days, men praised strength and speed, yet the wise among them always honored restraint. For the wild fighter who rushed headlong into battle often fell by his own fury, while the disciplined warrior, who waited for the right moment, struck true. Briggs’s words echo this eternal truth: that to endure, to hold one’s spirit steady, to control the fire within rather than be consumed by it, is the mark of mastery. Patience is not weakness but strength refined, power held in reserve, the art of timing one’s strike when it matters most.

Consider the story of Job from the ancient scriptures, who, though tested by unbearable loss and suffering, refused to abandon faith. His tale is not of swift triumph but of long endurance, of waiting through hardship until restoration came. Like Job, Briggs speaks as one who has endured—through personal struggles, health battles, and the long years of clawing back from obscurity to relevance. His lesson is the same: that true greatness is not in how swiftly one rises, but in how faithfully one waits and perseveres.

In the world of boxing, patience is more than philosophy; it is survival. The fighter who swings wildly is soon exhausted, his strength spent before the final rounds. The master waits—he studies, he conserves, he chooses his blows with precision. Muhammad Ali showed this when he faced George Foreman in the famous “Rumble in the Jungle.” Ali, against a stronger and younger opponent, leaned on patience, allowing Foreman to exhaust himself, then claiming victory with a calm and calculated strike. It was patience, not fury, that won the crown.

Briggs’s statement is also deeply human. Outside the ring, life itself demands patience. Dreams are not fulfilled overnight. Healing does not come at once. Recognition, respect, even love—all of these grow slowly, like a seed beneath the soil. To rush them is to ruin them. Briggs, who faced long years away from the spotlight, learned that patience is not idle waiting, but an active discipline: the daily work of holding steady, of preparing for the moment when fortune turns.

The wisdom here is profound: strength without patience is reckless, and ambition without patience collapses. The world often teaches us to hurry, to crave instant victory, to despise delay. Yet the ancients knew, and Briggs reminds us, that time itself is a training ground. To endure delay without despair, to wait without surrendering, is to forge a spirit unbreakable.

Therefore, let the listener take this teaching to heart: cultivate patience in all things. When life delays your success, do not abandon your path. When hardship endures, do not lose hope. When temptation urges haste, remember that timing is as important as strength. Practice patience in your work, in your relationships, in your dreams. For Briggs has spoken a truth carved from the fire of battle: “I’ve learned patience.” And this learning, more than victory or defeat, is what makes a fighter not only great in the ring, but great in the soul.