On a whim, I told myself that on my next attempt, success or failure was irrelevant. “Make one move at a time. That’s all.” I gave myself a pass from whatever would transpire. Case closed.
It worked. I floated to the top with poise, clarity and bewilderment.
That moment got me thinking, and then researching. At some point, I framed this experience for myself in terms of simple arithmetic: When I added (determination, grit, self-confidence, desire), I failed. When I took away (the desire for success), my body moved with greater fluidity and naturalness. I improved. I enjoyed it more as well, which, as an athlete of 30 years, I didn’t think was possible.
I discovered the power of subtraction.
The tactic of subtraction goes against the grain of the so-called mind-set revolution, in which it seems everyone is adding this or that quality to their mental approach. The growth mind-set. The abundance mind-set. The gratitude mind-set. But in this genre of self-optimization, if it can be called that, we are adding more and more duct tape to something that isn’t broken — our mind — until it is so covered we lose sight of the beautifully designed machine underneath it all and it thus becomes, in fact, broken.
This idea — that performing acts with as little interference as possible — is not only applicable in sports. Yes, it can help us hit a bull’s-eye, but it can also help us elegantly play a piano sonata or be more present with our children. As the sports psychologist Ken Ravizza has said, “Perform one moment at a time.” My experience in the years since that climb has taught me, unequivocally, that the body has no sense of concepts like success or failure. Concepts originate in the mind, and it is so with life as it is with sport.
Reading about what top athletes considered the ideal state of mind led me to a few surprising conclusions. First, the power of subtraction had been there all along. Though you can find it in interviews and writings from Olympians, top coaches, sports psychologists and even samurai warriors, it was rarely explicitly articulated. Second, it’s much harder to practice than I realized. Third, you win more when you embody it. And, for the record, there’s nothing wrong with winning.