There’s a Māori saying I use as part of my coaching philosophy: “noho hei tauira kia noho koe hei tauira.”
Roughly translated, it means remain a student until you become the example.
What I love most about it is the word tauira itself. It doesn’t just mean student. It also means example. That dual meaning feels like coaching in its purest form - the constant tension between learning and leading, between absorbing and giving, between being shaped and shaping others.
And the more I think about it, the more I believe this: coaching isn’t about what you know, it’s about where you sit in that cycle.
The myth of the “finished coach”
There’s a quiet trap in coaching, especially at the community level, where we start to believe that once we’ve done a course, coached a few seasons, or had some success, we’ve arrived.
We stop being a student.
But the reality is, the moment you stop being a learner is the moment you stop being useful.
Because the game moves. Kids change. Context shifts. What worked last year might not work next Tuesday at 5:40pm with a group of under-12s who’ve just come from school, are half-hungry, and more interested in talking than listening.
The coaches who stay relevant, the ones who impact players, are the ones who stay in that tauira mindset. They’re still curious. Still watching. Still asking better questions. Still willing to be wrong.
Not performatively. Not for show. Genuinely.
I think the Māori idea of tauira becomes even more powerful when you pair it with this structure, that in any pursuit, you need three people around you:
A Tohunga,
A Pia,
And a Tauira.
- The Tohunga - someone ahead of you
Every coach needs someone who is better than them.
Not more experienced but someone who sees the game differently. Someone who notices what you miss. Someone who challenges the things you’ve started to take for granted.
Because if you try to coach in isolation, you don’t just plateau, you drift. And usually in the wrong direction.
There’s that old line: if you teach yourself, you have a fool for a master. It’s harsh, but it’s mostly true. Left unchecked, we all default to what’s comfortable, what’s familiar, what worked once.
A Tohunga disrupts that.
For me, the best “experts” haven’t always been the highest-level coaches. Sometimes it’s been someone who just sees people better. Or someone who can simplify the game in a way that makes it teachable.
The key isn’t status. It’s perspective.
And importantly you have to let them in. You have to be coachable yourself. That means asking for feedback and actually being prepared to hear it. It means letting someone watch your session and tell you what didn’t land.
That’s uncomfortable. But that’s the point.
- The Pia — someone beside you
This one gets overlooked all the time.
Coaching can be strangely isolating. You’re the one “in charge,” the one expected to have answers, the one players and parents look to. And because of that, a lot of coaches operate alone.
But you need a Pia - someone alongside you.
Someone you can test ideas with. Someone you can say, “I tried this today and it completely flopped,” and instead of judgement, you get curiosity.
These are the conversations where real development happens. Not in formal settings, not in perfectly structured courses, but in the messy, honest exchange of what’s actually happening on the ground.
Your Pia sharpens you.
They challenge your thinking without hierarchy getting in the way. They offer different solutions. They see things from another angle. And sometimes, they just reassure you that what you’re experiencing is normal.
In a lot of ways, this is where coaching becomes sustainable. Because you’re not carrying it alone.
- The Tauira - someone behind you
This is the part most people think they understand - but I’m not sure we always do.
Yes, every coach has players. But not every coach has a Tauira in the truest sense.
A Tauira isn’t just someone you instruct. It’s someone you are responsible for developing beyond yourself.
And here’s the shift: teaching isn’t just about passing on what you know - it’s about refining what you know.
Because the moment you try to explain something to someone else, you realise very quickly whether you actually understand it.
Why do we space like this?
What does “good defence” actually mean?
How do you teach decision-making, not just drills?
Your players force clarity. They expose gaps. They ask questions you can’t bluff your way through.
And that’s the point.
Your learning deepens because of them.
But there’s a second layer to this as well - legacy. Not in a grand, ego-driven sense, but in a really practical one.
If your knowledge stops with you, it’s limited.
If it flows through others, it evolves.
That under-12 player you coached who becomes a coach in five years - they won’t copy you exactly. They’ll adapt, reshape, and build on what you gave them. And ideally, they’ll do it better.
That’s how the game improves.
Coaching as a living system
When you step back, this isn’t a hierarchy - it’s a loop.Coaching as a living system
You learn from your Tohunga.
You refine with your Pia.
You solidify through your Tauira.
And then it repeats.
You’re never just one of these roles. You’re all three, all the time.
Some days you’re heavily in “student mode,” trying to figure things out. Other days you’re leading from the front, setting the example. Most of the time, you’re somewhere in between.
That’s what makes coaching dynamic.
What this looks like on a week night in the gym
This isn’t just philosophical - it shows up in really practical ways.
It’s the coach who:
- Watches another session before theirs and picks up one small idea
- Messages another coach after training to debrief what worked
- Adjusts a drill mid-session because the players aren’t getting it
- Asks a player why they made a decision, instead of just correcting it
- Admits, “I’m not sure, let’s figure it out together”
That’s tauira in action.
Not perfect. Not polished. But constantly evolving.
The goal isn’t to stop being a student.
It’s to become the kind of student others can learn from.
That’s the subtlety in the original saying. You don’t graduate from learning into teaching as two separate phases. You carry both. Always.
And over time, if you stay in that space long enough, if you stay curious, stay open, stay connected to people ahead of you, beside you, and behind you, you don’t just improve.
You become the example.
Not because you set out to be.
But because you never stopped being a student.
