Background
In this age of technological abundance, we are constantly inundated with information, opinions, and informative opinions…or…opinionated information. As a coach, as someone working in the field of education, whether it be my teaching career or personal/physical/sport training side-hustle, I am not only part of the flood, but guilty of frequently being one of the many fish in this new, murky sea, who thinks I may have some answers that someone needs to hear. I will never claim expertise, I am not sure that is a thing. Varying degrees of experience, insight, and synthesis are what establish the somewhat convoluted tiers of the Educators and the Educated.
In understanding and appreciating my own shortcomings and/or being realistic about my coaching marketability, from an early age I was determined to supplement my intellectual mind with the minds of intellects in order to provide a differentiated product for my athletes. My Master’s thesis involved incorporating ancient texts into modern day athletic coaching. Minds like Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius, Sun-tzu, Wei Liao-tzu, and Miyamoto Musashi all offered knowledge into finding success whether the battlefield was literal or figurative. Why could we not expose our young athletes to these philosophies for the betterment of their performance on and off the court?
Zen in the Art of Archery
This summer, I revisited that literary stage of my life. I can’t remember from where the recommendation came - whether I stumbled upon it while searching for archery focus training literature or heard it mentioned in a podcast is neither here nor there. But I ended up ordering Zen in the Art of Archery by Eugen Herrigel.
Here’s the Wikipedia entry on the text:
Zen in the Art of Archery is a book by German philosophy professor Eugen Herrigel, published in 1948, about his experiences studying Kyūdō, a form of Japanese archery, when he lived in Japan in the 1920s. It is credited with introducing Zen to Western audiences in the late 1940s and 1950s.
My goal at the outset was to explore another avenue for athlete-connection, or in the tagline case of MCCWT, competitive wellness. The book provided more than I expected, both toward my goal to be better for my athletes and toward me being better myself. Herrigel recounts his thoughts along his way to mastery and the demeanor and tactics of his teacher. To have such a philosophical mind reflecting upon being a student added value.
As Herrigel continued to struggle with the particular aspect of the “release” of his bowstring, that is, the bowstring releasing itself from his hold naturally, his Master responded to his difficulty.
“You have described only too well where the difficulty lies. Do you know why you cannot wait for the shot and why you get out of breath before it has come? The right shot at the right moment does not come because you do not let go of yourself. You do not wait for fulfillment, but brace yourself for failure. So long as that is so, you have no choice but to call forth something yourself that out to happen independently of you, and so long as you call it forth your hand will not open in the right way - like the hand of a child. Your hand does not burst open like the skin of a ripe fruit.”
After Herrigel remarks his confusion, his Master continued.
The right art is purposeless, aimless! The more obstinately you try to learn how to shoot the arrow for the sake of hitting the goal, the less you will succeed in the one and the further the other will recede. What stands in your way is that you have a much too willful will. You think that what you do not do yourself does not happen.” (pg 30-31)
Part of the appeal of this book was sharing initial confusion with Herrigel as his Master seemingly spoke in cryptic codes of unobtainable realities. But with further time dedicated to thinking about the message, and ultimately the results, it becomes a viable option for performance in any arena, especially athletics.
Being basketball-minded, that was where my mind went. The application of this ancient archer’s zen to a jump shot seemed reasonable enough. Greater obstacle would exist in the training required to calm the mind with all the surrounding chaos in a game of basketball versus the individual act of archery, even with an audience.
Art Applied
Quick disclaimer: I am by no means a good golfer. I have the physical tools to someday get there. I have not committed the resource of time and money into a dedicated practice toward improvement. I enjoy the game because it is time with friends, and I love/loathe the game for its demands on me mentally and emotionally. When I discuss improvement, it is only marginally by metric. Yes, I shot the best round I ever have, but that is secondary or tertiary to the message coming.
So I went out to golf with a couple of old friends. I hadn’t swung a club with the exception of chipping whiffle balls in the backyard with my son a couple weeks prior. I hadn’t played a full round in a year. I was excited to see them, to play, to get out and enjoy summer in a more traditional way. I was also nervous. This is the mental/emotional side of golf that I have a very complex and conflicting relationship with. Its demands upon my ego, my confidence, and my expectations of performance in any field are taxing. I want to be good, I want to be in control, and I know that if I practiced I could be and, since I don’t, I shouldn’t expect much, but I still do.
Before we started the round, (ok, the night before, because I’m a bit of a head case sometimes), I decided to reflect upon Zen in the Art of Archery and test its application. This seemed reasonable and within reach philosophically seeing as it was an action that I alone was in control of in order to perform. But, alas, an action that I needed to realize I was in no way in control of in order to be successful.
If you have read older blog posts here, I did one on mantras. Again, making sure the non-expertise I’m sharing at least isn’t complete dogma, I decided to bring these concepts together.
Prior to each swing my routine included a loosening of the hands for a regripping with less tension, and reminding myself, “I am simply a vessel for the science of this sport”. Now there were multiple iterations, but you get the idea. A few years earlier, one of the friends I was golfing with on this occasion reassured me that the club was designed to do what it needed to do. So this new approach came out of understanding, accepting, and forfeiting myself to that theory.
I removed myself, as much as I could, from the equation of the success and, more importantly, the failure of each swing. I allowed all pressure to lift, so long as I did what I was needed for.
Now, granted, there were some awful shots, but far less frequently than in the past. There were a couple where I knew I was in trouble mid-backswing because my attention shifted, or my thoughts shifted, and I just had to play out the rest and hope I didn’t lose the ball.
An interesting note: This didn’t work for putting. My reasoning frames this as the amount of human involvement necessary. Prior to the greens, my presence was only needed to aim and allow everything to do what it was made to do. Putters are not made to read greens or judge speeds. Hence, my putting was still fairly atrocious.
Takeaway
Golf is cruel. It always will be. Likewise, one good shot the entire round could be enough to bring you back for more. Both statements are typically the norm for me. However, there were more of the latter this round and I am sure it is not a coincidence. Obviously the next time out could be another disaster, but the practice of removing the self and allowing the natural processes to take place is a starting point.
I cannot think of an athletic discipline nor athlete that would not benefit from adding this type of training to their regiment. Beginning with reading Zen in the Art of Archery and investigating the personal application and interpretation of both Herrigel and his Master.
Especially in a time where we are all so exposed. Looking back at that resource of reach and technology, every mistake and every triumph may be captured and shared with complete strangers. Young athletes are growing up in a time where personal pride is clouding the purpose of the game. If you’d like to try to convince me that an adolescent athlete isn’t facing even greater pressures today than previously in history you’d have to bring a strong case. Specialization at an early age, travel teams, national rankings through numerous media…that’s a lot of children and young adults, especially ones still navigating daily personal development, school, and LIFE at the same time.
I leave you with one last bit from Zen in the Art of Archery. In further confusion about the nature of practice, Herrigel asks his Master for further guidance:
“What must I do, then?” I asked thoughtfully.
“You must learn to wait properly.”
“And how does on learn that?”
“By letting go of yourself, leaving yourself and everything yours behind you so decisively that nothing more is left of you but a purposeless tension.”
“So I must become purposeless - on purpose?” I heard myself say.
“No pupil has ever asked me that, so I don’t know the right answer.”
“And when do we begin these new exercises?”
“Wait until it is time.” (pg 31-32)
Own Your I
