(Approx 2 minute 25 second read)
Well done. You’ve got your black belt, you’ve reached one of your major goals. It feels great, doesn’t it? You can finally tell everyone you’re a black belt. For some it may have taken years, for others perhaps not so.
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For a moment there’s euphoria, maybe a celebration afterwards. But then… now what?
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The day after, when the partying stops, you come to a disturbing realization: Nothing changes.
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You may have a few more bruises, maybe a black eye or sore rib. Your wallet is probably slimmer from that hefty grading fee (I know some don’t pay). But you are still the same.
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You still forget details in kata. Your bunkai needs work. You still make mistakes in kihon. You still get your butt kicked in sparring. You’re still overweight, still covered in acne. In short… you’re not suddenly special.
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Rank has only as much significance as you give it. On one hand, earning a new belt is an achievement worth pride. On the other, it’s just a marker.
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Some dismiss colored belts beyond black, especially those tied to the ‘shogo’ (titles) system, as less worthy, almost being ridiculed for the award. For some recipients, perhaps that’s true. For others, it means far more.
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When I was awarded the red belt, I was humbled to be considered worthy. Yet as grateful as I am for that award, it remains in its presentation box. Not from fear of ridicule, but because I prefer wearing the black belt, which for me represents the start, not the finish, of my journey.
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Advanced ‘dan’ grades are further milestones acknowledging sustained commitment, and deeper understanding. But the focus should always remain on the practice. The higher ranks were never meant to elevate ego, but to signify a foundation strong enough to truly continue learning.
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Wearing the black belt signals basic competency. You’ve absorbed the curriculum. Now you can move beyond mechanics, and begin the decades-long process of applying fundamentals with dedicated proficiency. It’s the key to the door, the license to learn.
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Many see the belt as an end-state, a certificate of completion. That view devalues the effort. For the dedicated, it signifies years of hard work, practice, and growth acknowledged by your sensei.
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Still, humility matters. It’s just a belt, an indicator of level within your dojo or association. It can suggest skill, but it doesn’t guarantee it.
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Earning a black belt should be deeply meaningful. Many remember their first test as a pivotal moment. I certainly recall mine, five decades ago, as if it were yesterday.
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By contrast, simply owning one, paying a fee or ordering online, is meaningless. You’ll have a black belt, but you won’t be a Black Belt. I’m sure you’ve heard that before.
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The cloth itself may be worthless, but the journey transforms the wearer.
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So when the euphoria fades and you realize nothing has changed, take a deep breath. You’re right, nothing has changed on the outside. Your errors remain, your weaknesses persist, and your training must continue. The change that matters happens inside, forged through years of relentless practice.
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Hold onto humility. Remember: the highest-ranked practitioner in the room is not the one with the darkest belt, but the one who trains with the intensity and honesty of a beginner.
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Some say it’s just a belt to hold up your pants. Truth is… it doesn’t even do that.
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Written by Adam Carter – Shuri Dojo