Lessons

Sometimes lessons come along when we aren't consciously trying to learn

I would write this differently today because I recognize that, even if a rant contains valuable lessons or ideas, the tone can easily prevent reception. If a reader feels seen or triggered or thinks the writer is a condescending ass the material is easy to dismiss. I acknowledge that this was during a period when I believed the audience expected me to lecture, and sermonize, which wouldn't happen today. And since I have explored the main points in this essay in later, better written pieces, I won't rewrite this one but I will comment.

After re-reading it the other day I wondered who the educators/experts were that I was referring to. I think I remember but maybe not, and damn, it was rude to call them out, however tangential the reference.

Similarly, while I was certain of my assessment of the bike racer at the time, I understand now that he may have known himself and the circumstances very well and based his prediction of how far he could go on that self-knowledge.

When I wrote in 2010, "it makes me try harder," the phrase meant one thing, then something different five years later, and now I've shifted focus again, or perhaps time has done that for and to me.

Sometimes lessons come along when we aren't consciously trying to learn. This makes a good argument for being open and aware all of the time. Brian Enos once told me that, "understanding is the opposite of learning," and that, "to be open to fresh knowledge or better yet, experience" is more important to understanding than the accumulation of a bunch of so-called lessons. Today some words rang the bell loudly enough that I understood something a lot of learning hadn't yet taught me.

I am constantly aware that I do not know enough. It keeps me seeking. I am always conscious that I could be experiencing and understanding more. It keeps my eyes open. I recognize in every waking minute that I could be doing more. It makes me try harder. And all of this keeps me up late, dedicated, striving. I know what it took to reach this point. I know it will take more and different to progress beyond it.

Self-awareness invites comparison and, while I recognize my own place and path, I am keenly aware of others, of how much they know and most importantly, how they express it. When the first NFL players came to the gym I was a nervous wreck, "what if I don't know enough, and haven't done enough?" When the fighters first came to the gym I wondered the same thing. When any new person starts training here I ask myself if we can offer him or her what is needed, if some place or someone else would be better. Inquisitiveness and constant interrogation are my condition. I expect it of myself. I expect the results that come from it. I often place those expectations on others.

Recently some university-degreed, sought-after educators with a busy consulting practice focused on health and fitness began training here. I was appalled at how poorly they expressed what they knew. Not in terms of teaching the material - I don't know about that - but at movement, plain old coordination, mechanics, and body composition. I chalked this up to a lack of awareness because being conscious of deficiencies leads to corrective measures, right? And it's a lack of awareness that allows false perceptions to develop, especially concerning oneself and one's position in a hierarchy of competence. They executed simple movements carelessly. They had difficulty handling standard loads and, based on their position in the marketplace, that performance should have been embarrassing. But it wasn't because having been convinced of their competence blinded them to their actual condition. And truthful awareness of one's condition is a prerequisite to improving it.

I expected more but I shouldn't have. We always fulfill self-image and if we hear "great" dubbed over the unconscious certainty of our actual capacity it's easy to mistake what we can do as being adequate, or better. And having arrived, there is no need for continued work or examination. When we fulfill someone else's expectations - according to their values and hierarchy - we can only be as good as they are or as they can imagine. If they suck we will too. When they give praise it's worth asking how high their bar is, and what is the standard? Perhaps it is low enough that their opinion shouldn't matter to us.

A good friend who shot through the road cycling ranks to a very high level once told me that he knew he would "never be the best", and that he might not ever "even be good on the national level." While he won't be the best, he could be quite competitive nationally if he was willing to put in more time and more effort, with greater awareness. But he set a barrier to that by claiming he had, "spilled more tears, piss and blood on a bicycle over the last three years than most people could ever imagine." Consciously or not, he convinced himself that he has done enough to produce the results expected by his self-image — because he has worked so much harder than he believes others can comprehend. In a previous conversation he admitted he wouldn't seek a Pro Continental team to ride for, which I took as evidence of already having decided how far he would go. He built a cage with a ceiling on it.

We all live within certain limitations, some immutable and some self-imposed. We can change or overcome many of these limitations after having decided it would be worth it to do so. Or we can reinforce the limits, and make them even more confining by accepting them, and by asking others to help us justify them. The higher we build the walls, the more we grow accustomed to how they block out light and potential, the more we are restrained by them, and the harder it is to break free. Once we have the habit of our limitations we constantly refine them until it seems perfectly normal to say "I can't, and here is why" before listing the many restrictions we accept as normal.

I tried to imagine what he meant, to see the road ahead through his eyes. I listen to what others say. I like to observe what they do. Combining their words and actions allows me to understand how they define words and concepts. I am no longer surprised that my definitions are not theirs, and vice-versa. I try to preface all meaningful conversation by first agreeing to definitions but sometimes forget. I try to understand what people mean when they discuss commitment, of having sacrificed something, or made great changes to fulfill their passion or to improve performance of some kind. I can only weigh the words against my own definitions and my own experience, which hasn't helped me understand. The commitment and harsh cuts I made to climb as I did inform my definition. Simply training hard, then harder is not the same thing.

So what's the lesson? This: most people don’t understand what it takes to perform at the highest level. Of anything. And what they cannot imagine they cannot see. What they can’t see they can’t do.

So open your mind. Open your eyes.