Titles Are Earned – Not Given or Taken

AKA – No, You Are Not Lord High Master Sparkly Britches

I’m sorry.   This one has been coming for a while, and I keep taking it down to tame it.   To clean it up.   To get some of the ranty taste out of it.  Because I don’t want this to be a curse-filled rant (which it was), ripping new people a new orifice (which it did) for not knowing any better (which they don’t – mostly.)

But seriously?    A 21-year-old who identifies as a Master, and identifies himself as Master <NAME>, and speaks to others as a Master in casual conversation?   Or a “teacher” with an ad for a student, who has never had a teacher himself?   How about a 23-year-old “mentor”, or a 25-year-old Mistress who claims to have 10 years of experience?  

Dear God in Heaven.   Please.   Pleeease.   Shoot me now.   Just…just shoot me.    (Or clear the room of witnesses and let Me shoot Them.)  

Say it with me.   Titles.   Are.   Earned.  

Not just leather titles.   Or community award titles.   All titles.   Doctor, Esquire, Master, Mistress, Master Chief, and Master Plumber.    Titles.  Are.  Earned.  

When I was just a wee lad, wandering around the dojo floor, dusting off my spanking new and shiny white gi, I never once dreamed of calling myself “Master”.   I never daydreamed about teaching or being bowed to.   Who was I?   I was a little bugger who couldn’t even control his breathing yet.   When I hit the floor, I got back up.   When I bled, I used a tissue.   And when I was being stupid, I tried to make it right.   And I never, ever received a bow without bowing deeper in return.  

You see, I knew what a Master was.   And I knew that I wasn’t it.

Master was the guy I kneeled to, bowed to, and showed honor and respect to.   Because, after 30+ years of teaching and training, he had earned it.   Not with the stripes on his belt, the gray in his hair, or the piece of paper on his wall.   He earned his title in sweat and blood.   He was the guy who put me down on the canvas before I saw his hands move.   He was the guy who helped me back up and left me eager to hit the ground again.   He was the guy who had training uniforms older than I was – and never once had to point it out.  

And you know what?   While we called him Master?   He never once used the word himself.

He didn’t have to.   It wasn’t printed on his cards.   It wasn’t typed out on his driver’s license or sewn on his uniform.   I don’t think I ever heard him use any honorific before his own name.   He would say, “I’m a teacher”.    Or “I run a school.”   “I’m helping with classes today,” or “I’ll be leading your lessons.”    Once he even said to us he was a “sinner doing penance with you lot.”   (We never asked him what the Sin was that got him stuck with us.  It must have been Bad.)

Whether he wore the full black belt with wide red stripes, or jeans and a t-shirt, he was the Master.  

Because we honored him.  Because he never had to use the word himself.

It took years for me to find myself teaching black belts of my own, telling kids not to call me Sir or Master, before I understood that little logic train above.   And I swear to God, I wish there was a process in our lifestyle that instilled that same kind of self-learning to newbies in a leather shop who think they’re Dominants because they have a “Master Card”.  

I’m not saying that a Master can’t be young.   It’s the miles on the car, not the age of the tires, right?   But it’s also how the car is driven – and to be honest, there aren’t a lot of mature mid-twenties.   There isn’t a plethora of taught and trained teens, either.   There are a few very exceptional younger people who have dedicated themselves to achieving a great depth of training.

A Master must have experience, humility, and self-control. If he’s the first to call himself “Master,” he’s not one. Sorry. Nope.

In our lifestyle, we often use items once meant as weapons: floggers, canes, whips, and knives. We bind people with rope to stress joints unnaturally, play with choking and smothering, and use knives and scalpels. For what we do, we should know anatomy as well as a martial artist or physical therapist. So I find these comparisons apt:

• It takes 5 years to be considered proficient with a knife in some schools of kali.  Becoming an instructor can take 10-15 years.  

• It takes a Master’s degree (6-7 years of full-time education) to be considered competent as a solo physical therapist.  

•  It takes 6 months to master a traditional Gung Fu stance.   (A stance, not even a strike.)   Becoming a Sifu takes a lifetime and requires constant re-education with others.  

• It can take up to 8 years to earn a black belt in Judo or Jujitsu.   To become a Master can take decades.

• It takes 2–3 years to become 'good' with a whip. Mastery takes daily practice for a decade or more. Most experts are in their forties and have practiced since childhood.

• In a “traditional” Karate school, you are considered a beginner for the first several years, and you won’t be considered “expert” until your second or third decade.  

And it takes ten minutes to buy a “be your lover’s new Master” kit at the local sex shop.  

So no.   You aren’t a Master.   Stop using the title.   You haven’t earned it.  

Neither have I.