Wednesday Wonder: Or the Best I Can Do

Hi Everyone

Welcome to your Wednesday Wonder. Or the best I can do. J

My mentor and spiritual teacher says that everyone is doing the best they can, it is just that for some of them, that isn’t a whole lot. Others are Gandhi or MLK, Lincoln or Lao Tzu. But always it is what they are capable of at this time in their development. Everyone does their best. And every thought makes sense, at the level of the thinker (again, this may be high or low, but even the crazy person thinks their thoughts are correct, they are just out of sync with society or “normal”). 

This idea helps a lot with accepting people where they are at, and with accepting where I am at, on those days when that doesn’t seem so great. Or very evolved. 

In these tough times, when fear and anxiety can take over our minds, and make it hard to get back to the moment, and our higher selves, it is important for me to remember the grace and acceptance of that simple, yet deep, idea. 

And of course, our capacity differs from day to day. Some days really are better than others. Some days, some moments, I’m better than others.

And this idea of grace itself, is really quite magical. 

“We may be surprised at the people we find in heaven. God has a soft spot for sinners. His standards are quite low.” – Desmond Tutu.  

And yet there are days where we fall quite short of our Ideals, our beliefs. What is living this life all about?

Especially with death, and the threat of illness knocking on every media door, every dark corner of fear in the recesses of our minds. 

For comfort I have gone back to some of the great wisdom teachings I have read over the course of my life. One of the really great ones was Living, Loving & Learning by Leo Buscaglia. It is filled with so much wisdom, but none greater than, “Death teaches life.” 

Life has a limit, for everyone, so it is important to live. Death is the great reminder to live. Nothing could be truer today, for us all. What is life, what is living? 

There is a famous Zen teaching, perhaps the most famous, that goes:

“Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.”

This is based on the idea that the way a person does one thing, is the way they do everything. Mindfully or not. And that the daily tasks do not change, life does not change, based on our level of development. It is our outlook on life that changes, our attention, not what we do. 

So, in tennis, do you practice like you play? 

In practice, are you working as hard, are you as focused? Some people are all out in matches, but in practice, they kind of goof around, and don’t take it very seriously. Don’t kid yourself, playing at different intensities is learning to play different games. It is like one game is tennis, and the other is something like tennis, but not quite the same. There is some transfer, but not enough. 

This is why you can be in great shape, your strokes fantastic, your tactics sound, but if you are not used to the intensity of playing matches, you often don’t play well when you try to play a match. You have to get in “match shape” too. You have to learn how to be “match tough” again, and the only way to do it is play matches. Practice matches can help, but somewhere deep inside, you know it is just practice. It doesn’t “count.” (There is another an interesting discussion, everything we do is all part of our precious life, so it all counts … we’ll leave that chat for another day).  

So, the intensity of playing “official matches” is different. It can take a whole season of playing league matches, to really get the hang of it again. And we often see a young up and comer do great in a tournament, like Wimbledon, or the US Open, only to reach a round that they are really not used to, perhaps against a player that they have never really faced before. And even though they have been playing so well, they are not ready for that stage, and play flat, and uninspired. Not because they don’t care (which the stupid media sometimes says – drives me crazy), but because they are overwhelmed. The occasion has put the zap on their brains, on their game, on their soul. 

There are numerous players, great players, that have come back from a break, and lost to people far inferior to them, because they just weren’t ready to compete. Not at that level. They have to work their way back into “match fitness.” Not just physically, but mentally, emotionally, spiritually. 

We see Nadal or Federer take time off, sometimes half a year, to recover from an injury, and come back at close the same level. Do you know how crazy that is, how amazing those guys are? This is so unusual, it’s just sick. 

And even then, they know they are not at the same level. I remember Nadal losing a grand slam final after a long layoff and saying he wasn’t back to top form yet. That’s why he didn’t win the tournament. And he just won six matches to get to the final. Beat everyone else, except the elite player waiting for him in the final. These guys are crazy good. 

The great ones are famous for how they practice, how intense, how hard, how focused. A superstar is not the guy with the most talent, it is the guy with great talent, that doesn’t just ride his ability, but recognizes his gift, his rare opportunity, and trains hard too. He trains like the guy who has little talent, but a big heart. These people are rare. 

I grew up watching Willie Mays, what a blessing and an honor that was. As a kid, I remember Willie saying something like, “I always play all out. What if some kid has saved all his nickels so he can come to the ball park one time and see me play? I want to be my best on that day, just like any other day.” The “Say Hey” Kid, he played with the intensity of a kid playing a game he loved, every single day. 

Even the great ones that “hated” practice, found a way. Jimmy Connors would only practice for an hour, but he was legendary for working harder in that hour than most people worked in three hours. John McEnroe was another who hated practice. His singles game was based mostly on serve, return and volley, so what better place to practice that then to play doubles. That was his practice court. And he won 51 titles with Peter Fleming (4 Wimbledon, 3 US Open) in the process of “practicing.” And that solved the “it’s just practice” issue too. Smart guy. 

Do we find the zone in practice? Do we find satori, being one with what we are doing? If that doesn’t happen in practice, it’s not going to happen in a match. You’re not just training your game, you’re training your mind, your heart, your soul. You want to practice like you play. Chop wood, carry water. 

Are you enjoying what you are doing? This is the fundamental question to me. Willie Mays always had a smile on his face, and that great laugh. 

Like many things, I had to learn this one the hard way. It was the great lesson from my junior tennis life, my growing up on the court, a largely painful time. 

It is said that it takes 10,000 hours to really master something complex, like tennis. They used to say when I was a junior, 5 years to be a player, 10 years to be a tournament player, 15 years to be a pro. That’s a huge commitment, and for it to work, it’s a huge commitment from an early age (probably driven by parents, because no kid age 5-10 decides what to play, or to work that hard). 

The problem was, I didn’t really start until I was 10 or 11, so I had to make up time. Double time. I felt I had to practice 5 hours a day, 3 hours a day during the school year, to be a good player. But it doesn’t work that way. You have to be fully engaged to really advance. 

No one can stay fully engaged that many hours a day, day after day. The mind wanders, the energy comes and goes, you shift into “marathon mode.” You down-shift your intensity to be able to stay out there a long time. That’s just physical, mental, emotional, spiritual survival. The problem is, tennis is played as a series of sprints. If you are over training, if you are practicing long distance, it isn’t the same. 

Jim Loehr once did a visualization with a group of teaching pros to illustrate this point. He said,

“Imagine what it looks like at the beginning of a 100-meter sprint. Look at the competitors getting ready. They are pumped, excited, jacked up, ready to rock. They can look down the straightaway to the finish line. 

Now imagine the start of a marathon. The runners are wandering around, heads down, thinking “oh my god, ___ hours to go. How did I get here?" The finish line is far out of sight, 26.2 miles away. "Please God, let me get through this.” They look anything but excited or jacked up. 

Or in other words, the distance runner’s prayer, “God if you pick ‘em up, I’ll put ‘em down.”  

The end result was that I practiced too much, burned out by 20, trying to catch up (and didn’t even know I was so close to what I was to what I trying to achieve). You have to want to be there, be excited about what you are doing. Fully engaged every moment. Each and every day. Learning at that competitive level. 

I learned this in my twenties, playing my second great love in sport, volleyball. There were limited opportunities to play, so I played a lot less, but with much greater intensity, and passion. I couldn’t wait to play, each and every time, so I learned much faster, and got to the same relative level in about half the time. Same was true with skiing, which I could do even less (3-4 months a year, only on the weekends), and learned even faster. Wow. What a lesson. 

So, my advice to you, is that you consider only playing when you really want to be there. I know, this is tough with the commitments we make to teams and partners. But if you are playing when you don’t want to  be there, you are not practicing the way you want to play, you are playing in a lower gear, and losing, not gaining, enthusiasm for something that you totally love, if you just weren’t doing it too much, or at a bad time. 

My great luck and fortune is that tennis gave me a great career of teaching. Which I really love. More than playing, I love to help people learn the game. Love it! And the biggest challenge, with this career I absolutely love, is teaching too much. 

Doing what I love, too much. Too much of a good thing, is too much. 

Same with writing.   

Chop wood, carry water. See the ball, play the ball. This moment is enough, whether we are practicing or playing. Cleaning or dreaming. Trust your inner voice. Your energy, your enthusiasm. And when you are done for today, you are done. Walk away. Come back when you are ready. The game will be there, waiting, with open arms. Only when you are ready. 

Wayne Bryan, the father of the Bryan Brothers, wrote a great little book on parenting, Raising your Child to be a Champion in Athletics, Arts and Academics. There are so many great lessons, but one of the best is, “Always give them a little less than they want. Cut them off just a little early, so they can’t wait to come back.” Smart guy, seemed to work: tennis champions, their own band, and they went to Stanford. 

“When we are able to be in the moment, we no longer feel compelled to watch the clock. Whatever your work might be, bring all of yourself to it. When you are fully present, you may find that your labor is no longer a burden. Wood is chopped. Water is carried. Life happens. “ – Tom Barrett

There are levels of learning, of the sport, of course. And learning life. And we see different things. Different lessons, at different stages. Martial artist Bruce Lee wrote (a slightly different form of chop wood, carry water):

Before I studied the Art

A punch was just a punch, and a kick was just a kick

When I studied the Art

A punch was much more than a punch, a kick much more than a kick

When I mastered the art

A punch was just a punch, and a kick was just a kick.

It is presence in doing what is appropriate now, in the moment, being in the zone, that is performing our best. That is being the best we can be, performing to our potential on this day. 

During a break, on the fourth day of a sesshin at Tassajara I stood on a bridge overlooking the creek. It was a beautiful fall day. The leaves on the trees were all vibrating and alive, and I could see energy coursing through everything.

Suzuki Roshi came by, looked in my eyes and said, “Stay exactly like that.”

--Zen is Right Here, Teaching Stories and Anecdotes of Shunryu Suzuki