I didn’t have my uniform, my gi, for my first lesson, nor for my second one. I had to wait until my third lesson, when I was joined the regular class, to receive my own uniform.
I was early for my second lesson so I had to sit on a stool and wait near the front door. While I was waiting, I couldn’t help but turn my head each time the door opened to see a man — it was almost all men — enter the school, walk past me carrying a duffle bag, and disappear behind another door at the back of the school.
Each student would emerge a few minutes later wearing his gi and belt wrapped around his waist, a sight that, to me, felt like watching Superman come out of his phone booth.
I was enthralled.
I wanted to be able to be like them, I wanted to walk behind that door and emerge a changed person, and I wanted my very own “super suit.”
The day I came in for my first group class, my teacher handed me a crisp, clean white uniform and told me to go change into it for class.
It was really happening.
If I could have exploded from sheer excitement, I wouldn’t be here right now.
Since I’ve been a teacher, I have routinely observed parents see their child unable to contain themselves in their first class and not quite grasp how overwhelming the pure excitement can be for a child.
I know it.
I still remember the feeling, I can feel it as I write.
Your child isn’t being difficult, they are literally vibrating with an energy that can barely be contained.
In the locker room, I hurried into my gi pants, tossed on my gi jacket, and proceeded to tie the most convoluted belt knot in the history of the school.
Then, I too emerged from that same door, like a white knight, though I’m sure I looked like a little kid in his pajamas to everyone else.
Which I was.
I went to St. Joseph’s Catholic elementary school, so I was used to wearing a uniform each day for class, but I dreaded changing for school at the weekend’s end.
Donning my martial arts uniform before each class was like preparing to step into a different, fascinating world, one where I left my mundane, daily existence behind and readied my self for some new adventure, and danger on the training floor.
One of the perennial pieces of advice I give my students as they walk in the door, put on their gi, and step on the mat, is this — leave every care, every worry, and every stress behind during class, and get ready for a good time on the mat.
When students seem like they can’t let it go I tell them,“all those worries will be there after class ends, so stop worrying about your worries.”
That usually gets them in the right mindset.
This powerful, affirming ritual of changing my clothing to change my mind and emotional state is another reason why I love martial arts, and so should you.