A Belt is Just the Cloth to Keep Your Uniform in Place

The octagon was silent except for the controlled breathing of two elite fighters.

For 21 minutes of a 25-minute bout, Khamzat Chimaev dominated Dricus Du Plessis with textbook wrestling control.

Yet when the final bell rang, something felt incomplete. Despite the overwhelming positional dominance, there was no finish.

No submission.

No knockout.

Just three judges' scorecards confirming what everyone already knew.

In the aftermath, social media erupted with the inevitable debate: Had Chimaev truly "earned" his black belt with this performance?

The question reveals everything wrong with how we think about mastery, credentials, and what it means to be truly skilled at anything.

The Great Belt Delusion

Here's the uncomfortable truth: the belt around your waist is just a piece of cloth designed to keep your gi-jacket closed.

That's it.

Everything else we've attached to it—the status, the reverence, the identity—is pure human construction.

Yet we've turned these fabric strips into modern-day religious artifacts, complete with their own mythologies, hierarchies, and tribal signaling systems.

When I trained under Grandmaster Bong Soo Han, the approach to rank was pragmatic, almost dismissive.

I was pressured by some instructors that I was taking too long between exams, they wanted me to get my black belt sooner than the pace I set for myself.

One of my fourth-degree instructors put it bluntly:

Compare this to Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, where earning a black belt typically takes 10+ years of dedicated training.

In BJJ culture, a black belt earns the title "Professor"—as if the rank carries the same gravitas as a Ph.D.

The belt isn't just the beginning; it's treated as the culmination of near-doctoral level expertise.

Then there's Taekwondo, sometimes mocked in martial arts circles because some schools award black belts in just two years.

Critics joke that it's the equivalent of getting a GED instead of graduating high school.

But here's the question that cuts through all the noise: Who's right?

The Finger Pointing at the Moon

There's a classic Zen story about a master pointing at the moon to show his student its beauty. The student becomes so fixated on the finger doing the pointing that he completely misses the moon's brilliance.

The belt is the finger. Mastery is the moon.

When we obsess over rank, credentials, and position, we're staring at the finger while the magnificent moon of actual skill development passes us by completely unnoticed.

This is why so many "black belts" quit training shortly after achieving their rank.

They reached their imagined destination and discovered it was just another mile marker on an infinite road.

The belt was never the point—the journey was.

But nobody told them that, or if they did, they weren't listening.

The Credential Trap

This same delusion extends far beyond the dojo.

Walk into any office building and you'll see it displayed on walls everywhere: diplomas, certificates, awards, professional credentials.

The marketing of expertise.

We've created a culture that worships the symbol of competence rather than competence itself. We hire based on degrees rather than demonstrated ability. We trust the letters after someone's name more than the quality of their work. We mistake the map for the territory.

But true expertise isn't what you wear around your waist or hang on your wall.

True expertise is showing up every day and working on your craft, regardless of whether anyone is watching or keeping score.

What Mastery Actually Looks Like

Real mastery is boring. It's unglamorous. It doesn't photograph well for Instagram.

Real mastery is:

• Consistency over intensity — Showing up when you don't feel like it
• Process over outcome — Focusing on the work, not the recognition
• Questions over answers — The deeper you go, the more you realize you don't know
• Humility over hubris — Understanding that every expert was once a beginner
• Service over status — Using your skills to elevate others, not yourself

Watch a true master at work—whether it's a chef, a carpenter, a programmer, or yes, a martial artist—and you'll notice something striking: they're not thinking about their rank or credentials.

They're completely absorbed in the work itself.

The black belt sitting quietly in the corner of the dojo, helping white belts with basic techniques, embodies mastery far more than the flashy competitor obsessing over their next promotion.

The Chimaev Paradox

This brings us back to Chimaev's performance.

Here was a fighter who controlled his opponent for 84% of the fight, showcasing elite-level wrestling, positioning, and game planning.

Yet the internet questioned whether this "counted" as black belt-worthy because there was no finish.

This reaction reveals our fundamental misunderstanding of what skill actually means.

We want spectacular results, dramatic finishes, and highlight-reel moments.

But real mastery often looks like controlled, methodical dominance.

It's not always exciting, but it's effective.

Chimaev demonstrated something far more valuable than a flashy submission: the ability to impose his will on an elite opponent for 25 minutes straight.

That's not just technical skill—that's mental mastery, physical conditioning, and strategic superiority all working in harmony.

But because it didn't end with a dramatic finish, keyboard warriors questioned its legitimacy. They missed the moon while critiquing the finger.

The Beginning Disguised as an End

Perhaps the most insidious aspect of credential obsession is how it tricks us into thinking we've arrived somewhere when we've barely started the journey.

The fourth-degree instructor who told me that black belt was "just the beginning" understood something profound: rank is a mile marker, not a destination.

It indicates you've developed enough basic competency to start learning the really interesting stuff.

This is why so many people plateau after achieving their desired credential. They mistake the symbol for the substance, the map for the territory, the belt for the skill it's supposed to represent.

In martial arts, we have a saying:

It's not about reaching some predetermined level of expertise—it's about continuing to show up long after the initial excitement has worn off.

Beyond the Mat

This lesson extends into every area of life:

• In business, the CEO title doesn't make you a leader—your daily actions do
• In writing, the published book doesn't make you a writer—the daily practice does
• In relationships, the wedding ring doesn't make you a good partner—the daily choice to show up does
• In any craft, the credential doesn't make you an expert—the obsessive dedication to improvement does

We live in a culture obsessed with outcomes, achievements, and external validation. But mastery happens in the space between outcomes, in the unglamorous daily practice that nobody sees or celebrates.

The Paradox of Not Caring

Here's where it gets interesting.

The moment you stop caring about the belt is the moment you start earning it in the way that actually matters.

When you're no longer training for the next stripe or promotion, you start training for the pure joy of improvement.

When you're not worried about impressing anyone with your rank, you start focusing on actually getting better.

This creates a beautiful paradox.

The people who deserve rank the most are often the least concerned with getting it.

They're too busy falling in love with the process to worry about the product.

Redefining Success

So what does it actually mean to be a "black belt" in anything?

It means:

• You've developed enough basic competency to recognize how much you still don't know
• You've fallen in love with the process of improvement itself
• You measure success by your consistency, not your achievements
• You understand that mastery is a practice, not a destination
• You use your skills to elevate others, not to elevate yourself

The belt—whether literal or metaphorical—becomes irrelevant. It's just something you happen to wear while doing the work you love.

The Daily Practice

Real mastery isn't achieved in dramatic moments of breakthrough.

It's built in thousands of unremarkable training sessions, boring repetitions, and unglamorous fundamentals.

• It's showing up on Thursday when you're tired.
• It's drilling the same basic technique for the hundredth time.
• It's helping a beginner with something you learned years ago and discovering something new in the process.

It's choosing process over outcome, consistency over intensity, and humility over ego—every single day.

The Moon, Not the Finger

The next time you find yourself obsessing over rank, credentials, or position—whether yours or someone else's—remember the Zen master's teaching. Look past the finger. Find the moon.

The belt is just cloth. The diploma is just paper. The title is just words.

The mastery is in the work itself, in the daily choice to show up and pursue excellence for its own sake. That's what it really means to be a black belt.

And that's a practice that lasts a lifetime.

Are you sicked and tired of being surrounded by losers, lemmings and Luddites who are more concerned with rank and titles?

Then join the Leader's Dojo, where you not only discover how badass you are but you're surrounded by other badass warriors and leaders who will help you to be even better, regardless of your belt rank.

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