My college, Hampshire, was known for having odd sports offerings. Our only official sports team was Red Scare, the ultimate frisbee team. The rest of our sports were entirely intramural organizations, run by students, professors, or some combination thereof, and as a result there were some rather unique options available to curious students. While perusing the course listings during my first semester, one of these caught my eye: Kyudo, the Japanese art of zen archery.
I took Kyudo for three semesters. I quit Kyudo when I started having some personal stuff come up that I felt needed attention, and I wish I hadn’t quit because I later discovered that my three hours a week of quiet, focused time with a bow and arrow was in fact one of the few things keeping me sane. In retrospect, I learned a lot more than just archery from those classes, but like all good lessons, I didn’t come to that realization until much, much later.
Since I’m all about offering unsolicited advice to folks, I figured that I would share some of the lessons I learned during my time studying this very slow, very focused martial art. Some of the advice is very zen-focused, but that is to be expected, given how I learned these lessons. I hope you enjoy them.
Focus on the process and the result will come naturally.
This is one of the central tenets of Kyudo. In my year and a half of instruction in the art, I can probably count on one hand the number of times that the teacher actually focused on where our arrows were striking the target. Ninety-nine percent of our instruction was about the process, the set of movements that make Kyudo what it is. The idea behind kyudo is that if you go through these motions perfectly, the shot will land where it should land. Therefore, the focus is on the process, not the result, because if the result is not good, that means that there’s something wrong with the process. “Ignore the target,” my sensei used to say, “you are the only thing affecting this arrow.”
In life, if you are too focused on the end result, you will miss out on the process that can get you there. Focus too much on an upcoming trip and your work may suffer to the extent that you lose the job that is funding the trip. A rider focused on winning the race may not notice that his horse is lame. Not only does focusing on the process improve your chances of reaching your goal, but it also forces you to slow down. Life is a journey, not a race to the finish line. Slow down and focus on the process of living and you will likely find your goals right in front of you.
Doing something once requires nothing. Doing the same thing over and over again requires true mastery.
In Kyudo, an archer typically takes three shots, one after the other. The idea is that if everything is perfect and everything is done exactly the same each time, all three arrows should hit the same spot. Unlike western archery, which puts an almost singular focus on the aiming of the arrow, kyudo focuses almost entirely on the motions of preparing the shot and drawing the bow, with only minor thought given to the aiming of the shot. The idea is that if you do the motions exactly the same each time, you should not have to aim; the arrow will go to the same place the last shot did (environmental conditions notwithstanding). Skill in Kyudo is not measured by how well one shot is executed, but by how well the whole set of three is. Shooting perfectly once could well be a fluke, but doing it three times requires true skill.
In life, I apply this to my definition of success. A single success is nice, but it does not necessarily indicate mastery. As a writer, being published once doesn’t really matter unless you can get yourself published consistently. An amateur photographer who is in the right place at the right time can take an incredible photo, but what separates him from a professional is the ability to take an incredible photo every time, no matter what time or place. True success isn’t doing something once, it’s doing it every day.
Mastering only part of a process is not mastery. One perfect moment does not mean perfection of the whole.
In Kyudo, there is a proper way to do everything. A proper way to string your bow, a proper way to walk, even a proper way to breathe. If you do not do everything properly, at best your shot will not be with the rest of the arrows, and at worst you won’t hit the target at all. Kyudo competition judges focus on the process: everything from posture to hand position to the steadiness of motion is scrutinized under the belief that failure at one part of the process hints at a larger problem.
In life, this can apply to almost anything. Being excellent at a particular dish does not make one a cook, nor does a kiss after a fight mean that your relationship is back to normal. Be careful about taking success in one area to mean that you have been successful at your whole enterprise. Often, success at one part is merely the first step of many you will need to take.
If you can’t hit the target, it’s too far away. Move it.
Archers in kyudo typically start with the target about ten feet away (three steps). If the shots still aren’t all clustered in the same area, the archer moves closer. Only when the shots are consistently all in the same area does the archer move back. In this manner, the archer slowly moves from shooting at a target ten feet away to shooting at one that is one hundred feet away.
In life, I apply this to goals. It’s tempting to say “I want to lose forty pounds!”. It sounds like much more of an accomplishment than “I want to lose ten pounds!”, doesn’t it? In reality, you are much less likely to hit your goal of forty pounds than your goal of ten pounds. By moving the target closer, you build up not only your confidence but also your mastery. Start small, move slowly, and eventually you will reach your goal.