What I have realized is that what I am best at is not Tai Chi, and it is not chess—what I am best at is the art of learning.

Since I decided to write this book, I have analyzed myself, taken my knowledge apart, and rigorously investigated my own experience. Speaking to corporate and academic audiences about my learning experience has also challenged me to make my ideas more accessible. Whenever there was a concept or learning technique that I related to in a manner too abstract to convey, I forced myself to break it down into the incremental steps with which I got there. Over time I began to see the principles that have been silently guiding me, and a systematic methodology of learning emerged.

Being at the pinnacle in other people’s eyes has nothing to do with quality of life. This starts searching for inner tranquility.

When he got more skilled, he noticed that in competitions time would slow down for him enough to allow him to methodically take apart opponent’s structure and uncover vulnerabilities. Through pure concentration he derived clear connections between different life experiences through the common muck of consciousness.

After several years of diligence (I think of this fame) he was flying free, completely in love with training.

When you master something, all guiding principles are buried in unconsciousness. Whenever there was a concept of learning that I related to a memory too abstract to convey, I forced myself to break it down into the incremental steps with which I got there. A systematic methodology emerged.

Bruce [his first coach] at the beginning knew that it was more important for us to get to know each other, to establish a genuine camaraderie. Same thing was mentioned by J. Allup?

Whenever I made a fundamental error, Bruce would mention the principle I have violated. Once he won my trust, Bruce taught me by allowing me to express myself.

If I disagreed with him, we would have a discussion, not a lecture.

He made it to coexist the slow mindfull study of chess with exciting, reckless playing in the park. If serious thinking would start to bore him, he would go play some speed-chess. This shows that you need both worlds to excel in each! Some parts of life have to be fast to be able to slow down.

Virtually all situations can be handled as long as the presence of mind is maintained.

Reaching a creative flow can be systematically trained and someone can learn how to reach that at will.

In long games he started being distracted by noises, particularly songs stuck in his head. After some time he realized he can make chess calculations to the beats of the song.

He noticed resemblance in his chess games with his overall feeling in life. If he would feel homesick, he was holding on to positions etc. Chess moves paralleled the life moment.

In Tai Chi you need to learn how to not resist. If a big strong guy comes into martial arts studio and someone pushes him, he wants to resist, push back and prove he is a big guy. The problem is, that he isn’t learning anything by doing this. In order to grow, you need to give up your current mind-set. “Investment in loss”

Usually, growth comes at the expense of previous comfort and safety. -> Do not live in state of static safe mediocrity.

Developmental psychology makes the distinction between entity & incremental theories of intelligence. Entity: intelligence or skill level seen as a fixed entity, a thing that can’t evolve. Incremental: the novice can become a master by learning step by step putting in hard work.

One of the most critical strengths of a superior competitor in any discipline - sports, business, politics - is the ability to dictate the time of the battle.

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

There will be nothing learned from any challenge in which we don’t try our hardest. We learn by pushing ourselves and finding what really lies at the outer reach of our abilities.

His whole idea is - Breaking down the artificial barriers between diverse life experiences so all moments become enriched by a sense of interconnectedness.

This is something I noticed at the beginning at my flow periods when I am motivated to start. Usually after a trip or holidays. It rarely lasts.

When your mind is free to take little breaks, you’ll be delighted by the surges of creativity that will emerge out of unconscious.

To have success in crunch time, you need to integrate certain healthy patterns into day-to-day life, so that they are completely natural to you when the pressure is on.

It is essential to have a diluting incremental approach that allows for times when you are not in a peak performance state.

The key is to understand that my trained mind is not necessarily working faster, it is simply working more effectively.

The secret is, that everything is always on the line. The more present we are at practice, the more present we will be at competition, in the boardroom, at exam… If we have any hope of attaining excellence, let alone showing what we’ve got under pressure, we have to be prepared by a life style of reinforcement. Presence must be like breathing.

If you are really interested in improving as performer, I would suggest incorporating the rhythm cycle of stress and recovery into all aspects of life.

I could spend hours at a chessboard and stand up from the experience on fire with insight about chess, basketball, the ocean, psychology, love, art.

The game was exhilarating and also spiritually calming. It centered me.

Then when I was eighteen years old I stumbled upon a little book called the Tao Te Ching, and my life took a turn. I was moved by the book’s natural wisdom and I started delving into other Buddhist and Taoist philosophical texts. I recognized that being at the pinnacle in other people’s eyes had nothing to do with quality of life, and I was drawn to the potential for inner tranquility.

I started to translate my chess ideas into Tai Chi language, as if the two arts were linked by an essential connecting ground. Every day I noticed more and more similarities, until I began to feel as if I were studying chess when I was studying Tai Chi.

Once I was giving a forty-board simultaneous chess exhibition in Memphis and I realized halfway through that I had been playing all the games as Tai Chi. I wasn’t calculating with chess notation or thinking about opening variations . . . I was feeling flow, filling space left behind, riding waves like I do at sea or in martial arts. This was wild! I was winning chess games without playing chess.

As I struggled for a more precise grasp of my own learning process, I was forced to retrace my steps and remember what had been internalized and forgotten. In both my chess and martial arts lives, there is a method of study that has been critical to my growth. I sometimes refer to it as the study of numbers to leave numbers, or form to leave form. A basic example of this process, which applies to any discipline, can easily be illustrated through chess: A chess student must initially become immersed in the fundamentals in order to have any potential to reach a high level of skill. He or she will learn the principles of endgame, middlegame, and opening play. Initially one or two critical themes will be considered at once, but over time the intuition learns to integrate more and more principles into a sense of flow. Eventually the foundation is so deeply internalized that it is no longer consciously considered, but is lived. This process continuously cycles along as deeper layers of the art are soaked in.

I insisted on some bad habits I had learned in the park—for example, bringing out my queen early. This is a typical beginner’s error: the queen is the most powerful piece on the chessboard so people want to bring her into the action right away.