How the Dojo Makes Me Feel

by Mutton Chop

To me, the dojo is both a place of comfort and challenge. Saturday class has been a mainstay of my life for as long as I can remember. Though clouded by childhood memory, I don't think very much has changed. Except for the odd new poster or painting, it's the same four walls, wood panelling, and green mats I've always known. Before class begins, I already know more or less how it's going to feel, based on how my back cracks, or how difficult it is to reach my toes, or how loudly I roll. The dojo stays the same, so I can feel myself change.

Despite my familiarity with the dojo, in classes there are always things I don't anticipate. Maybe Sensei will introduce a new technique, or I'll inexplicably make the same mistake ten consecutive times on a technique I've known for years. I always like the feeling of exploration, and the moment when I realise that something is worse or better. I always leave the dojo with a feeling of fullness, like I've eaten a hearty meal.

The dojo used to feel a lot bigger, a lot scarier to me. The other kids in the class knew how to play tag, and more or less how to behave, but I'd never really known them. I can remember faces, but seldom names. To some degree we were there to have fun, but even then there was pressure to improve. With passing years I learned to want to improve. I was terrified when the time came for an exam, judges sitting on either side of Sensei behind a long wooden table. We were asked to demonstrate what we knew. I realize now that I judged myself far harsher than the judges. It was difficult to accept my mistakes, and I almost always passed exams believing I had failed.

Things were different after the pandemic. I changed, but so did the dojo, fewer exams, fewer students. Overall, the place felt emptier, but it felt more focused too. We went back to basics. The dojo became a kind of escape for me as the rest of my life became complicated with adolescence. For the first time I have real strength. I learned how to control it in the dojo.

Outside the dojo, I rarely get to use my body. I spend all day at home sitting in front of a computer, or at school, sitting in front of a teacher. Sometimes I need to express myself physically, and Ottawa/Gatineau is not a good environment for that. Here everything is built for us, made for us. We use our minds but not our bodies. It's a waste of potential, tendons, and muscle fibres. I like knowing how to fall, and get up again.