"Zen in the Art of Archery" - Applied

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

Making it Personal vs. Taking it Personally

On the heels of “The Last Dance” documentary about Michael Jordan and the Chicago Bulls of the 90’s, we were all left with a very distinct sense of Jordan’s motivation and/or his ability to turn almost anything into motivation: it became personal.

Almost laughable at times, (and since made into numerous, hilarious memes), when Jordan was slighted, felt slighted, or decided that he could have possibly been or felt slighted, he went somewhere in his mind that few of us will ever experience. He was able to throw gas on the flames of a fire that was burning on imaginary wood…worst/best case scenario. His depth of competition went to the core of the very existence of himself and those who opposed him. His own personal Thunderdome.

This theme also arose while watching a show about Michigan State’s 2000 Men’s Basketball Championship team. After a Final Four loss in the previous season, there was rioting in East Lansing on the MSU campus. Mateen Cleaves, point guard of both of those teams, said that they felt responsible for the chaos, that, had they won, it never would have happened, and they used it as motivation leading into the following year.

Now, from the outside, this doesn’t seem healthy…at all. It is definitely not a strategy that I will be teaching to young students and athletes, nor do I condone teaching. However, many young, impressionable minds will begin to add this to their approach to competition. Since the docs-series didn’t come with a user’s manual, my goal is to help make a very clear, very necessary distinction:

There is a difference between making it personal and taking it personally.

(Just read that again and let it sink in).

The worst thing that we can do, or allow, for children is let them wander into the next level of development unprepared. Immature athletes, immature people, could easily READ this “making it personal” strategy but ACTIVATE this “taking it personally”.

Anger. Anger is the difference. Pain is the difference. Offense is the difference. All of these things are detractors from performance. How many “angry athletes” have you seen perform well-below their ability? Especially in the ranks of elementary through high school sports, an angry athlete is a useless athlete. Taking something personally taps directly into insecurities, self-doubt, and fear, none of which are a part of the recipe for success.

Making it personal, on the other hand, is a controlled management of emotional response, a catalyst for focused effort, and a contributor to high performance. Watch an action film! As soon as “it’s personal now”, the afflicted character goes into a hyper-focus montage before single-handedly dispatching numerous enemies against all odds, and then, ONLY then, do we really see an emotional outpouring after the job is done.

Whether making it personal or taking it personally, it will reach our emotions, whether we acknowledge that or not. Exhaustion is the constant outcome.

Like anything else, this takes practice, this takes training, and this takes commitment. From a competition or motivational standpoint, it can be an asset. This isn’t the only way to motivate yourself. It won’t work for everyone. Michael Jordan was one of the greatest competitors of all-time, in any arena, and he found what worked for him.

What will work for you is personal, so take it that way and make the most of it.

Competitive Wellness Series - Primal Cues

I’m currently listening to “The Talent Code”, by Daniel Coyle on Audible, and if you’re in the market, even just for a single chapter of a book, Chapter 5 on “primal cues” is an eye opener. The book itself investigates talent: how it develops, why “hotbeds” exist, and what to do to enhance it. With a heavy stress on myelin, and its role in increasing speed of electrical communication between neurons in the brain, Coyle investigates ways to maximize training, acquisition, and performance. 

My knowledge of such things is limited, but my interest is deep. Training is training, coaching is coaching, but understanding where talent, and talented performance, come from essentially sets a neurological goal for each task. It is no longer, “Do this over and over until you get it right,” but “Do this with the intention of mastering this piece of the larger puzzle before we move on.” There are so many layers to each instruction, and then just as many to each execution, evaluation, and effortful change, as Coyle notes with many examples. Chapter 5 explained one of these layers explicitly. 

Coyle discusses his own children, noting their individual abilities in regards to foot speed. This led to an investigation of both 100 meter dash champions and top NFL running backs. A leap from his own kids running in the backyard, exposed was a correlation between birth order and some of the fastest athletes of all time. Typically, these athletes were late in the birth order in their families. The association, the bridge, was that these humans spent the early portion of their lives “keeping up” with the rest of their family. This provided an increased need for quickness, and a greater length of time developing myelin around neurons sending messages of speed. 

In regards to “primal cues”, Coyle refers to those instincts that have been part of human existence since...well human existence. They are the triggers and motivations that have risen with evolution because, those who didn’t possess them or develop them in an appropriate amount of time, didn’t survive. These factors are ones that can produce learning and purposeful practice more naturally. See: the youngest child trying to keep up with his or her older siblings so as not to be left behind. 

As an athlete growing up, I never developed that “killer instinct”. I was much more cognitive than carnal. My old high school coach introduced me to the new coach at my alma mater as “maybe the most intellectual player the program has ever had”. Knowing his intending it as a compliment, I also understood how it is exactly what made me a waste of potential, (and also led me into a profession of helping young athletes avoid the same fate). 

Within a program and community of abundance, we had two freshman teams and a sophomore team before JV and Varsity merged as one. The first true “trigger” of survival came in year two, cutting from two teams to one. From both playing days and coaching, the “B team” players who made the Sophomore team almost always had a different edge to them. That competitive spirit that you rallied the team around came from the “less talented” players. Was this the result of them having worked harder and improved more? Was it the result of them kicking into “survival mode” thinking the deck was stacked against them? I would venture the same is probably true of athletes in an environment with only a JV and Varsity squad. The compression of the learning curve associated with an activity an athlete is passionate about may be the key to quicker and/or greater success. 

All of this is well and good; insight into what may trigger effortful practice and intention of humans for improvement. However, if we aren’t able to apply this to our students, athletes, and ourselves, then we risk being those early humans that didn’t make it, or the younger sibling that wasn’t interested in keeping up...we may simply fall behind. So what do we do? What can we offer? How much can we convince our athletes that Now isn’t the end? How do we hit that trigger for a primal cue in a healthy and supportive way? Listed below are some quick thoughts to reflect upon: 

Create eustress in a controlled environment (a feeling of danger in a safe place)

Ex. Fluctuating lineups, awareness of competition

Provide an abundance of opportunity to fail and correct

Ex. Encouraging independent practice time of concepts

(I hesitate on “provide” because if the athlete is truly triggered, he/she will create that time on their own)

”Your survival is someone else’s survival” (create community of mutual reliance)

Ex. Team goals and consequences based on individual achievement

Most of these concepts come naturally to (good) teachers and coaches: find a way to motivate and expose bit-by-bit to stress that can be overcome. We each have our own ways of forging the steel of the next class or generation, and it always requires fire. The example that continues to play in my head is a childhood terror: the basement. Cognitively, there was no monster lurking, waiting for the light to turn off for its opportunity to attack you in whatever distance there was from the switch to the door. However evolutionary primal cues screamed inside us, “Get up the stairs as fast as humanly possible or you won’t make it out alive!” The footspeed, coordination, and confidence to move quickly that came out of that experience may have created some incredible athletes...if only we can harness that and use it for purposeful improvement. 

Stay scared friends, 

Own Your I

Follow up research: 

“The Talent Code” Daniel Coyle

“The Culture Code” Daniel Coyle

Martin Eisenstadt - clinical psychologist, parental-loss

Eustress