The Art of Learning: An Inner Journey to Optimal Performance

by Josh Waitzkin

pressure. If I won, it was no big deal, but if I lost it felt like the sky would fall. There

After I beat him, I heard that he sat crying in a corner for hours. Terrible. This was a bitter rivalry between children, and it felt like the end of the earth.

It was as if I was trapped in dark jungle, stuck in the underbrush, starving, bleeding and suddenly there was a little light. I’ll never forget the feeling when I sensed my potential escape. Often in chess, you feel something is there before you find it.

Two questions arise. First, what is the difference that allows some to fit into that narrow window to the top? And second, what is the point?

In my opinion, the answer to both questions lies in a well-thought-out approach that inspires resilience, the ability to make connections between diverse pursuits, and day-to-day enjoyment of the process.

A child with a learning theory of intelligence tends to sense that with hard work, difficult material can be grasped—step by step, incrementally, the novice can become the master.

In fact, some of the brightest kids prove to be the most vulnerable to becoming helpless, because they feel the need to live up to and maintain a perfectionist image that is easily and inevitably shattered.

Entity theorists tend to have been told that they did well when they have succeeded, and that they weren’t any good at something when they have failed. So a kid aces a math test, comes home, and hears “Wow, that’s my boy! As smart as they come!” Then, next week Johnny fails an English test and hears “What’s wrong with you? Can’t you read?” or “Your Mommy never liked reading either—obviously, it’s not your thing.”

Learning theorists, on the other hand, are given feedback that is more process-oriented.

English essay, a little girl might be congratulated by her teacher with “Wow, great job Julie! You’re really becoming a wonderful writer! Keep up the good work!”

Fundamentally. The key to pursuing excellence is to embrace an organic, long-term

learning process, and not to live in a shell of static, safe mediocrity. Usually, growth comes at the expense of previous comfort or safety.

Someone stuck with an entity theory of intelligence is like an anorexic hermit crab, starving itself so it doesn’t grow to have to find a new shell.

In my experience, successful people shoot for the stars, put their hearts on the line in every battle, and ultimately discover that the

lessons learned from the pursuit of excellence mean much more than the immediate trophies and glory. In the long run, painful losses may prove much more valuable than wins—those who are armed with a healthy attitude and are able to draw wisdom from every experience, “good” or “bad,” are the ones who make it down the road. They are also the ones who are happier along the way. Of course the real challenge is to stay in range of this long-term perspective when you ar...

We took on positions of reduced complexity and clear principles. Our first focus was king and pawn against king—just three pieces on the table. Over time, I gained an excellent intuitive feel for the power of the king and the subtlety of the pawn. I learned the principle of opposition, the hidden potency of empty space, the idea of zugzwang (putting your opponent in a position where any move he makes will destroy his position). Layer by layer we built up my knowledge and my understanding of how to transform axioms into fuel for creative insight. Then we turned to rook endings, bishop endings, knight endings, spending hundreds of hours as I turned seven and eight years old, exploring the operating principles behind positions that I might never see again.

I was also gradually internalizing a marvelous methodology of learning—the play between knowledge, intuition, and creativity. From both educational and technical perspectives, I learned from the foundation up.

At first thought, it seems logical for a novice to study positions that he or she will see all the time at the outset of games.

Importance of first principle thinking.

if it leads to instant success? The answer is quicksand. Once you start with openings, there is no way out. Lifetimes can be spent memorizing and keeping up with the evolving Encyclopedia of Chess Openings (ECO). They are an addiction, with perilous psychological effects.

It doesn’t matter how you played or if you concentrated well or if you were brave. These kids talk about the 4 move mate and ask each other, “How many moves did it take you to win”? Chess becomes one-dimensional—winning and winning fast.

On the playground, they use the famous “I wasn’t trying” after missing a shot or striking out.

To his school buddies, this boy was a chess god, but compared to serious chess-playing children around the country, he had a long way to go. He was a big fish in a small pond and he liked it that way. The boy avoided chess throughout my visit. He didn’t want to play in the simultaneous exhibition and was the only child at the event who was resistant to instruction. His winning streak and the constant talk of it had him all locked up—he was terrified of shattering the façade of perfection. This child was paralyzed by an ever-deepening cycle of entity indoctrination.

Losing is always a crisis instead of an opportunity for growth—if they were a winner because they won, this new losing must make them a loser.

When I reflect back on my chess career, I remember the losses, and the lessons learned from defeat.

These moments in my life were wracked with pain, but they were also defining gut-checks packed with potential. The setbacks taught me how to succeed. And what kept me on my path was a love for learning that has its roots in my first chess lessons as a six-year-old boy.

Simuls are an excellent way to demonstrate the understanding and visualization skills of a strong player.

A key ingredient to my success in those

years was that my style on the chessboard was a direct expression of my personality. It is my nature to revel in apparent chaos. I’ve always loved thunderstorms, blizzards, hurricanes, rough seas, sharky waters. Since childhood, inclement conditions have inspired me, and as a young competitor I would guide critical chess games into positions of tremendous complexity with the confidence that I would be able to sort through the mayhem more effectively than my opponents. I often sensed a logical thread to positions that seemed irrational—playing exciting chess felt like discovering hidden harmonies. I was a free-flowing performer, unblocked by psychological issues and hungering for creative leaps.

One of the most critical strengths of a superior competitor in any discipline—whether we are speaking about sports, business negotiations, or even presidential debates—is the ability to dictate the tone of the battle.

Key point

Because of my classical chess education and my love for the endgame as well as crazy middlegames, I was usually able to move the position toward one of my strengths.

Just as muscles get stronger when they are pushed, good competitors tend to rise to the level of the opposition.

Key point

The transition to open tournaments also forced me to take on the issue of endurance.

It was terrible, but a lesson learned. On top of everything else, I had to develop the ability to run a mental marathon.

Chess was a constant challenge. My whole career, my father and I searched out opponents who were a little stronger than me, so even as I dominated the scholastic circuit, losing was part of my regular experience. I believe this was important for maintaining a healthy perspective on the game. While there was a lot of pressure on my shoulders, fear of failure didn’t move me so much as an intense passion for the game. I think the arc of losing a heartbreaker before winning my first big title gave me license to compete on the edge.

This brings up an incipient danger in what may appear to be an incremental approach. I have seen many people in diverse fields take some version of the process-first philosophy and transform it into an excuse for never putting themselves on the line or pretending

not to care about results. They claim to be egoless, to care only about learning, but really this is an excuse to avoid confronting themselves. This issue of process vs. goal is very delicate, and I want to carefully define how I feel the question should be navigated.

never win or lose. I don’t believe this is the case. If that child discovers any ambition to pursue excellence in a given field later in life, he or she may lack the toughness to handle inevitable obstacles. While a fixation on results is certainly unhealthy, short-term goals can be useful developmental tools if they are balanced within a nurturing long-term philosophy. Too much sheltering from results can be stunting. The road to success is not easy or else everyone would be the greatest at what they do—we need to be psychologically prepared to face the unavoidable challenges along

our way, and when it comes down to it, the only way to learn how to swim is by getting in the water.

Yes

Let’s put ourselves in the shoes of the mother of a talented young chess player I know named Danny. This seven-year-old boy just loves chess. He can’t get enough. He studies chess for a half hour every day, plays on the Internet, and takes a lesson from an expert once a week. He has recently started competing in scholastic chess tournaments, and the mother finds herself swept away by the exciting atmosphere. She finds her own sense of well-being fluctuating with Danny’s wins and losses. This woman is a substantial, sensitive, intelligent person and she doesn’t want to put an extra burden on her son’s shoulders. She is aware of the entity/incremental dynamic and so when Danny loses, she wants to tell him it doesn’t matter. But obviously it does matter. He lost and is sad. To tell him it doesn’t matter is almost to insult his intelligence.

Parental training

It is good for Danny to compete, but it is essential that he do so in a healthy manner.

Danny’s mom can help him internalize a process-first approach by making her everyday feedback respond to effort over results. She should praise good concentration, a good day’s work, a lesson learned.

A parent shouldn’t be an automaton, denying the obvious emotional moment to spout platitudes about the long-term learning process when her child is jumping up and down with excitement. When we have worked hard and succeed at something, we should be allowed to smell the roses. The key, in my opinion, is to recognize that the beauty of those roses lies in their transience.

When Danny loses, the stakes will feel a bit higher. Now he comes out of the tournament room a little teary. He put his heart on the line and lost. How should his mom handle this moment? First of all, she shouldn’t say that it

doesn’t matter, because Danny knows better than that and lying about the situation isolates Danny in his pain. If it didn’t matter, then why should he try to win?

Disappointment is a part of the road to greatness. When a few moments pass, in a quiet voice, she can ask Danny if he knows what happened in the game. Hopefully the language between parent and child will already be established so Danny knows his mom is asking about psychology, not chess moves (almost all mistakes have both technical and mental components—the chess lessons should be left for after the tournament, when Danny and his

teacher study the games). Did he lose his concentration? Did he fall into a downward spiral and make a bunch of mistakes in a row? Was he overconfident? Impatient? Did he get psyched out by a trash talker? Was he tired? Danny will have an idea about his psychological slip, and taking on that issue will be a short-term goal in the continuing process—introspective thinking of this nature can be a very healthy coping mechanism. Through these dialogues, Danny will learn that every loss is an opportunity for growth. He will become increasingly astute psychologically and sensitive to bad habits.

that there will be nothing learned from any challenge in which we don’t try our hardest. Growth comes at the point of resistance. We learn by pushing ourselves and finding what really lies at the outer reaches of our abilities.

Try hard! Do not play safe and dismiss as not caring. If you do not care then do not do!

Because of my growth curve, my life was like that hermit crab who never fits into the same shell for more than a few days.

It turns out that I handled the situation pretty well. I took a few deep breaths, made my opening move, and played somewhere between blindfold and looking at the board.

Of course there were plateaus, periods when my results leveled off while I internalized the information necessary for my next growth spurt, but I didn’t mind.