The Art of Learning: An Inner Journey to Optimal Performance

parts of the form, and suddenly everything would start flowing at a higher
level. The key was to recognize that the principles making one simple
technique tick were the same fundamentals that fueled the whole expansive
system of Tai Chi Chuan.
This method is similar to my early study of chess, where I explored
endgame positions of reduced complexity—for example king and pawn against
king, only three pieces on the board—in order to touch high-level principles
such as the power of empty space, zugzwang (where any move of the opponent
will destroy his position), tempo, or structural planning. Once I experienced
these principles, I could apply them to complex positions because they were in
my mental framework. However, if you study complicated chess openings and
middlegames right off the bat, it is difficult to think in an abstract axiomatic
language because all your energies are preoccupied with not blundering. It
would be absurd to try to teach a new figure skater the principle of relaxation
on the ice by launching straight into triple axels. She should begin with the
fundamentals of gliding along the ice, turning, and skating backwards with
deepening relaxation. Then, step by step, more and more complicated
maneuvers can be absorbed, while she maintains the sense of ease that was
initially experienced within the simplest skill set.
So, in my Tai Chi work I savored the nuance of small morsels. The lone form
I studied was William Chen’s, and I took it on piece by piece, gradually
soaking its principles into my skin. Every day I did this subtle work at home
and then tested it in class at night. It was easy to see whether something
worked or not, because training with advanced players like Evan usually
involved one of us getting smashed into the wall. In these intense sparring
sessions, showy moves didn’t work. There was no margin for idealized
fanciness. Things happened too quickly. It soon became clear that the next step

---

of my growth would involve making my existing repertoire more potent. It
was time to take my new feeling and put it to action.
* * *
When skilled martial artists face off, it is very different from choreographed
Hollywood fight scenes. High-level practitioners rarely overextend, and they
know how to read incoming attacks. Large fancy movements like cinematic
spinning back-kicks usually don’t work. They are too telegraphed and take too
long to reach the target. A boxing jab is much more effective because it covers
little distance, it’s quick, and it’s fundamentally sound.
A critical challenge for all practical martial artists is to make their diverse
techniques take on the efficiency of the jab. When I watched William Chen
spar, he was incredibly understated and exuded shocking power. While some
are content to call such abilities chi and stand in awe, I wanted to understand
what was going on. The next phase of my martial growth would involve
turning the large into the small. My understanding of this process, in the spirit
of my numbers to leave numbers method of chess study, is to touch the essence (for
example, highly refined and deeply internalized body mechanics or feeling) of a
technique, and then to incrementally condense the external manifestation of
the technique while keeping true to its essence. Over time expansiveness
decreases while potency increases. I call this method “Making Smaller Circles.”
Let’s combine Pirsig’s Brick with my concept of Making Smaller Circles and
see how they work. Let’s say that I am cultivating a certain martial technique
—for a simple example, a classic straight punch. I stand with my left leg
forward, my hands up by my head to protect my face. The jab is a short punch
coming from the left, forward hand. The straight is the power punch coming
from the ground, generating through my left foot, and moving through my left
leg, torso, diagonally across and up to the right side of my back, through the
shoulder, tricep, and finally delivered by the second and third knuckles of my
right hand. First, I practice the motion over and over in slow motion. We have
to be able to do something slowly before we can have any hope of doing it
correctly with speed. I release my left hip, wind up, and spring the right hand
into motion as my left foot and hip joint spin my waist and upper body into
action.

---

Initially I’ll have tension in my shoulder or back, but then I’ll sooth it away,
slowly repeating the movement until the correct body mechanics are in my
skin. Over time, I’m not thinking about the path from foot to fist, I’m just
feeling the ground connecting to my fingertips, as if my body is a conduit for
the electrical impulse of a punch. Then I start speeding things up, winding up
and delivering, over and over. Eventually I start using a heavy bag, practicing
these body mechanics with increasing power, building resistance in my body so
I can deliver more and more force without hurting myself. My coiling gets
stronger and sometimes I hit the bag with a surprising pop. A dangerous
moment. When hitting something instead of moving through empty space, I
might start to get excited and throw my shoulder into the punch. This is a
classic error. It breaks my structure and destroys the connection from foot to
fingertip—many boxers make this mistake and come away with shoulder
injuries. I want to punch without punching. No intention. My teacher William
Chen sometimes teaches punching by telling students to pour a cup of tea. It’s
a beautiful thing. Pouring tea creates the perfect punch, because people’s minds
don’t get in the way.
Okay, so now weeks and months (maybe years) pass with the cultivation of
the right straight punch. I know how to wind up properly. When I hit the bag,
nothing hurts, there are no breaks in my structure. It feels as if the ground is
smashing the bag through my fist, and my body mechanics are smooth and
relaxed. I’ve also built up quite a bit of power from all the work with winding
up, coiling, and releasing the body into motion. When throwing my right, I
don’t think about anything technical anymore, my body just knows the right
feeling and does it. No mind. It’s in the blood. I’ve learned how to throw a
straight right. But not really.
The thing is, unless they are flustered or caught in an awkward moment, a
good fighter is rarely going to get caught with a big ol’ long wound-up
straight punch. It’s just too obvious. This is where Making Smaller Circles comes
into play. By now the body mechanics of the punch have been condensed in my
mind to a feeling. I don’t need to hear or see any effect—my body knows when
it is operating correctly by an internal sense of harmony. A parallel would be a
trained singer who, through years of practice, knows what the notes feel like
vibrating inside. Then she is giving a concert in a big venue and the sound
system is a nightmare. From onstage, she can’t hear herself at all—a
surprisingly common occurrence. The great performer can deliver a virtuoso

---

performance without hearing a thing, because she knows how the notes should
feel coming out, even if her primary monitor—her ears—are temporarily
unavailable.
So I know what a properly delivered straight right feels like. Now I begin to
slowly, incrementally, condense my movements while maintaining that feeling.
Instead of a big wind-up in the hips, I coil a little less, and then I release the
punch. While initially I may have thrown my straight from next to my ear,
now I gradually inch my hand out, starting the punch from closer and closer to
the target—and I don’t lose power! The key is to take small steps, so the body
can barely feel the condensing practice. Each little refinement is monitored by
the feeling of the punch, which I gained from months or years of training with
the large, traditional motion. Slowly but surely, my body mechanics get more
and more potent. My waist needs little movement to generate speed. My hand
can barely move and still deliver a powerful blow. Eventually I can deliver a
straight punch that looks nothing like a straight punch. If you’ve ever watched
some of the most explosive hitters in the boxing world, for instance Mike
Tyson or Muhammad Ali, you’ve seen fights where knockouts look completely
unrealistic. Sometimes you have to watch in slow motion, over and over, to see
any punch at all. They have condensed large circles into very small ones, and
made their skills virtually invisible to the untrained eye.
The chessic manifestations of this phenomenon are quite interesting. For
example, arguably the most fundamental chess principle is central control. At
all levels of play, the competitor who dominates the middle of the chessboard
will usually have an advantage because from this placement his or her pieces
can influence the entire battle. Curiously, if you study the games of some very
strong Grandmasters, they seem to completely disregard this principle. The
British star Michael Adams might be the clearest case in point. His pieces are
often on the flanks and he appears to casually give opponents central
dominance—and yet he wins. The secret behind this style of play is a profound
internalization of the principles behind central domination. Michael Adams
knows how to control the center without appearing to have anything to do
with the center. He has made the circles so small, even Grandmasters cannot
see them.
* * *

---

This concept of Making Smaller Circles has been a critical component of my
learning process in chess and the martial arts. In both fields, players tend to get
attached to fancy techniques and fail to recognize that subtle internalization
and refinement is much more important than the quantity of what is learned. I
think it was this understanding that won me my first Push Hands National
Championship in November 2000, after just two years of Tai Chi study. Surely
many of my opponents knew more about Tai Chi than I did, but I was very
good at what I did know. I had condensed my body mechanics into a potent
state, while most of my opponents had large, elegant, and relatively impractical
repertoires. The fact is that when there is intense competition, those who
succeed have slightly more honed skills than the rest. It is rarely a mysterious
technique that drives us to the top, but rather a profound mastery of what may
well be a basic skill set. Depth beats breadth any day of the week, because it
opens a channel for the intangible, unconscious, creative components of our
hidden potential.
I
. For example: shifting weight by releasing the hip joints; ever-deepening relaxation; the coordination of
mind, breath, and body; awareness of internal energies; winding up to deliver a strike; coiling incoming
force down into the ground; rooting; emptying one part of the body while energizing another.

---

CHAPTER 12
U
SING
A
DVERSITY