In his book, Mastery, aikido instructor, George Leonard describes how the path to mastery can help attain a higher level of excellence and a deeper sense of fulfillment in a person’s life. The master’s journey begins with a special pursuit or skill. But, as the journey progresses, the discipline and lessons learned on the journey spill over into the other areas of a person’s life. On the path to mastery, life itself can become the practice.
In his book, Leonard says: “Learning any new skill involves relatively brief spurts of progress, each of which is followed by a slight decline to a plateau somewhat higher … than that which preceded it.” (p. 14). “To take the master’s journey, you have to practice diligently, striving to hone your skills, to attain new levels of competence. But while doing so—and this is the inexorable fact of the journey—you also have to be willing to spend most of your time on a plateau, to keep practicing even when you seem to be getting nowhere.” (p. 15). “Rather than be frustrated while on the plateau, you learn to appreciate and enjoy it just as much as you do the upward surges.” (p. 17). You learn to LOVE the PLATEAU. “And despite our society’s urgent and effective war against mastery, there are still millions of people who, while achieving great things in their work, are dedicated to the process as well as to the product—people who love the plateau. Life for these people is especially vivid and satisfying.” (p. 44)
There was once a Zen archery instructor, a master in his craft, who came to the United States from Japan to teach. If you know much about Zen archery (and I know just a little) you might know that the purpose of the pursuit is perfect practice. The point is to develop the perfect stance, technique and rhythm, so that hitting the target is a product of perfect form.
He had been teaching here for 10 years or so when a reporter came to interview him. When the interviewer asked, “How is your instruction going here in the U.S?”, the master answered, “It’s terrible! These Americans will NEVER understand the concept of not aiming for the target. You see, Zen archery is about best practice, without attachment to the result; it’s about discipline and repetition until a bulls-eye is just a byproduct of the perfect preparation. Americans just do not GET this.” The reporter asked, “What will you do? Will you abandon your teaching to go back to Japan?” The old man replied, “Of course not—this is my PRACTICE.”
So, why is this story important to me? Well, for one, it reminds me that when I am learning a skill--whether the skill is riding horses, playing music, yoga or teaching children--the important thing is to get up every day and PRACTICE—do my scales, my warm-ups, my strengthening exercises, learn new skills and struggle with them—not only so I can win a prize (although most of us enjoy winning) but so I can just get better.
Secondly, this story helps me when I’m frustrated or angry, when I stop loving the plateau. Things don’t always go the way I wish they would. Practice isn’t always easy. When I wish that something would just hurry up and get better, already, I become impatient and I lose focus. If remind myself of the Zen instructor, those difficult situations aren’t frustrations anymore, THEY are the practice. And like the instructor, I have to get up every day and do it.
The pursuit in my life that became a spiritual path is training horses, specifically in the discipline of dressage. Dressage was developed during ancient times as a way to ready horses for hand-to-hand combat, but it quickly became an art form, especially during the Baroque period. Great masters are able to dance with their horses, to effortlessly move with the horse forwards, sideways, trotting in place, and even performing great choreographed leaps, called “airs above the ground”. The study of dressage can be compared to ballet, martial arts, or music. Serious dressage riders are very serious about their sport, indeed. As a matter of fact, when I’m asked if I play golf, I usually reply, “I have one impossible pursuit of perfection in my life—dressage—and that is enough for me.”
I studied dressage with single-minded passion; my undergraduate degree was in Equestrian Science (yes there really is such a thing), and I worked for several years as an apprentice just for the chance to ride with experienced trainers. During my twenties, I sacrificed my time, effort and money on the altar of classical horsemanship. There have been many lessons on this path, but if I had to describe a time when I truly learned to love the plateau, it would be while I was working with a horse named Chloe.
Chloe was a project horse assigned to me in college. She wasn’t particularly pretty or athletic. She wasn’t what we call “a good mover”. The only thing very special about her was her stubborn nature. She met nearly every request with an argument, kicking at my leg, bucking, rearing, and just having temper tantrums whenever given the chance. Although she wasn’t really dangerous, because she didn’t put too much effort into her fits, she certainly was frustrating. Most budding professionals would not have wasted their time with her, but she was MY PROJECT.
Every day, I would “gird my loins” to go and ride Chloe. With her, I had to put away all grand ideas of competition, accolades, or even just looking good to my peers. I had to deal with the moment, exactly as it arose, with my entire mind, body and determination. I had to focus on the process, of helping this contrary mare become a useful citizen of horse society, of finding just the right amount of pressure to apply, so she didn’t react explosively, but she didn’t ignore me, either. It was really fun!
Because there wasn’t much chance of winning anything with her, I could focus on the small successes—the PRACTICE. Any time I got ahead of myself, she would remind me to take a step back—remind me pretty forcefully sometimes! Before long, I began to love the practice and the horse. I even tried to buy her when the school put her up for sale. My dad came up to take a look at her, and just shook his head. He said, “Linda, I could walk into any barn and pick out the most over-sensitive, fractious, reactive, stubborn horse there and that one would be the one YOU want to take home.” I replied, “Of course, because that one needs me the most.” Dad wasn’t surprised 10 years later, when I told him I was going to become a special education teacher. I guess I had always been doing it.
Through ten years of making my living with horses, most of them were quite a bit easier than Chloe. Most of them were willing partners, giving their strength, agility and grace over to my aids and requests. Through the years, I’ve collected a few pieces of wisdom, proverbs if you will, that have served me both in the saddle and in my daily life. Allow me to share a few of them with you.
(I did not write these—I just collected them from masters I met along the way.)
1. Ask for much, be happy with little, reward often. It’s important to have high expectations, but just as important to notice any movement towards your goal. When starting a young colt under saddle for the first time, any ride that ends with the rider on top should be counted a success. When teaching 7th graders with disabilities, any lesson that spurs thinking, discussion and questions (even of a surprising variety), should be counted as a success. And the horse or the students need to feel that success, too. Also, I try to go easy on myself, too, when I’m starting something new. That is sometimes the most difficult thing to do.
2. "You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, but you can make a pretty good sow’s ear purse." (this is a quote from the great Ray Hunt, I believe.) Maybe that horse will not win a national competition, but he can be a great partner for someone. Maybe that struggling reader will never be a literature professor, but he could be a great graphic artist. Maybe my husband won’t take me for a romantic dinner, but he’ll build me a new bathroom. Maybe my vision of what things should be isn’t so important, after all. Sometimes, it’s better to help (or to just allow) things to be the best version of themselves that they possibly could be, regardless of what I think they might become. And, if I can truly VALUE that best, then I can see the beauty and purpose in all the pieces that make up the whole.
3. Perspective IS reality. It doesn’t matter that I understand that the plastic bag in the tree is not a horse-eating monster—my horse is terrified and won’t go anywhere near it. It doesn’t matter that my student has practiced his part in the play 3 times and I know he can read all the words—he’s still terrified to read aloud to the class. It doesn’t matter that I can see my friend is in a dead-end relationship and needs to make a change—she believes she cannot live without her partner. When faced with a different perspective, I have to meet others where THEY are, not where I wish they were. I have to honor their view and support them before any change can happen.
4. Leave your ego at the door—it’s not about you, anyway. Horses don’t care who you think you are, they don’t care who you need to impress or how famous the judge is who’s judging the competition today. They care that you treat them with respect and fairness and do not put your agenda above their needs that day. It’s similar with young people, they don’t care how hard you worked on that lesson, or that your boss is observing you today. They only care how respectful you are to them, how meaningful the lesson is, and how patiently you teach it. The more I try to push an agenda, the harder it becomes, no matter what it is. When I can remember that it is NEVER about me (no matter what it is—it’s really NEVER about me), then I can put pride on the shelf and get to work.
5. Sometimes you’ve got to get better at what you can already do. On a good day, I’m energetic, full of ideas, ready to make change and take charge. I face challenges with enthusiasm and determination. But, not all days are good days. Some days, it’s enough to get up, go to work and do the best I can. Some days, it’s my practice to just get better at what I can already do. And that is ENOUGH.
Lastly, I leave you with a thought from my beloved father, who was a great horseman in his own right. “To have any REAL success with horses, everything you do must have a REAL MEANING to the horse.” I would add that, in order to have success in life, everything you do must have a REAL meaning to yourself.
No comments:
Post a Comment