The Art of Learning: An Inner Journey to Optimal Performance

Your Trigger into your process. Once you are no longer swept away by your
emotions and can sit with them even when under pressure, you will probably
notice that certain states of mind inspire you more than others. For some it
may be happiness, for others it may be fear. To each his own. Petrosian was very
flexible. Miller, Hernandez, and Robinson worked well with anger. Kasparov
and Jordan were intimidators: they inspired themselves by wilting opponents.

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Once you understand where you lie on this spectrum, the next step is to
become self-sufficient by creating your own inspiring conditions. Kasparov
triggered his zone by acting confident and then creating the conditions on the
chessboard and a dynamic with his opponent in which he played his best.
Miller talked with Spike Lee until he got fired up. When Spike wasn’t around,
Reggie still liked to play the bad guy. In fact he was at his very best in the
playoffs on the road, competing in a stadium filled with hostile fans. If the fans
weren’t hostile, he might goad them into hating him. Reggie thrived as the
villain and triggered these conditions whenever he needed a boost.
But how do you play your best when there is no one around to provide
motivation? There is no cookie-cutter mold to inspiration. There is, however, a
process we can follow to discover our unique path. First, we cultivate The Soft
Zone, we sit with our emotions, observe them, work with them, learn how to
let them float away if they are rocking our boat, and how to use them when
they are fueling our creativity. Then we turn our weaknesses into strengths
until there is no denial of our natural eruptions and nerves sharpen our game,
fear alerts us, anger funnels into focus. Next we discover what emotional states
trigger our greatest performances. This is truly a personal question. Some of us
will be most creative when ebullient, others when morose. To each his own.
Introspect. Then Make Sandals, become your own earthquake, Spike Lee, or
tailing fastball. Discover what states work best for you and, like Kasparov,
build condensed triggers so you can pull from your deepest reservoirs of
creative inspiration at will.

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CHAPTER 19
B
RINGING
I
T
A
LL
T
OGETHER
Learners and performers come in all shapes and sizes. Some people are
aggressive, others are cautious. Some of us like questions, others prefer answers.
Some bubble with confidence, always hungering for a challenge, while others
break into a sweat at the notion of taking on something new. Most of us are a
complicated mix of greys. We have areas of stability and others in which we are
wobbly. In my experience the greatest of artists and competitors are masters of
navigating their own psychologies, playing on their strengths, controlling the
tone of battle so that it fits with their personalities. While in this book I have
conveyed my vision of a life of learning, it is my hope that you will take these
ideas and make them your own. Make them fit with your natural disposition. I
have found that in the intricate endeavors of competition, learning, and
performance, there is more than one solution to virtually every meaningful
problem. We are unique individuals who should put our own flair into
everything we do.
The question is: How do we do this? Let’s say we have become very good at
something, and we are capable of performing reliably under pressure. How do
we become exceptional? How do we make that leap from technical virtuosity to
unique creativity? The real art in learning takes place as we move beyond
proficiency, when our work becomes an expression of our essence. This was the
challenge at the center of my preparation for the 2004 Chung Hwa Cup, the
World Championships of Tai Chi Chuan Push Hands. What was it inside that
could take me to the top?
When I think back on the arc of my competitive Tai Chi life, Taiwan was
always the reality check. It was the true measure of my growth. The skill level
in U.S. Push Hands events, including our championships, doesn’t compare to

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such competitions in Taiwan, where Push Hands is the national sport.
Mediocrity can be self-nurturing, and frankly, many U.S. Push Hands players
delude themselves about their level of proficiency. The top Taiwanese fighters
train for many hours a day from childhood, constantly competing in brutal
regional and national tournaments. For the summer before the biannual Chung
Hwa Cup, the elite schools have training camps where fighters up the intensity
of their preparation, working six or eight hours a day, combining intense
conditioning with technical sharpening. The stakes are very high for these
competitors, and they are well-oiled machines when they step in the ring.
Foreigners traveling to the Chung Hwa Cup are entering the den of the lion.
Win in Taiwan and then we can talk about greatness.
The first time I traveled to Taiwan, in 2000, I was fresh off winning my first
Push Hands National Championship. In more ways than one, I had no idea
what I was getting myself into. I described in Building Your Trigger how I got
blindsided by the scheduling of the event. I was told my first match would be
early in the morning but I was faced with hours of waiting. I got increasingly
hungry and had nothing to eat. When the lunch break was announced at noon,
I devoured a greasy platter and was immediately called to the ring. I got blown
out of the water by the guy who went on to win the tournament. While I
certainly needed to take on the psychological side of what happened to have
any chance to compete under these conditions, the truth of the matter is that it
was not the decisive factor. My opponent was much better than me. If I had
been perfectly poised, he would have beaten me. I had a lot to learn.
In the two years following my first experience in Taiwan, I really buckled
down in my training. I’ve described much of that work in the early chapters of