The Lost Art of Mastery

On my 40th birthday, I caught about 30 fish in the shadow of a master. (That was borrowed talent, not earned - but what a difference to learn from someone like this.)

Here's how I got there.

Once upon a time, I met a man who plays the violin with incredible skill and passion. He is one of the best musicians I have seen play live. A real musician. It's beautiful to see how a deep feeling can be evoked in music when the technical limitations are mastered. It's magical.

Little did I know, this man would become Godfather to my kids, but also teach me an important secret.

He was born in the Sichuan province of China. His father made a bold move and brought his family to Colorado in the 80's when my friend was about 14. Coincidentally, we were born three days apart in May.

We were also at the same junior high school when he arrived in the mid-80's, but didn't meet.

Until, 25 years later, my sister happened to see him giving a concert and asked if he taught kids. Teaching kids violin turned out to be his main profession and specialty. (He is also a Concert Master in a professional symphony).

Somehow, my three year old daughter at the time, knew she wanted to play the violin. And so the man became my daughter's violin teacher.

For about a year, we didn't really know each other, other than in the way that you know your kid's music teacher, but my wife had a hunch I should get to know him better. We found out we had close birthdays, and to celebrate turning 40, he was going to go fly fishing. He spontaneously invited me to go along.

Learning to fly fish was on my bucket list - I figured it would be fun when I was old - so a couple of days later, two pretty-much-strangers hopped in a car for a long drive on a Friday night to the Frying Pan River near Aspen, Colorado. We were both exhausted, working dads with new babies, but we clearly needed this guys' weekend.

We immediately settled in, appreciating the chance to escape, and connected through nonstop conversation about life, work, music, politics. He could talk about anything with incredible depth.

I was driving about 75 mph on I-70 in the mountains, when I accidentally inhaled a full chunk of kabob that lodged in my windpipe while laughing. I couldn't breath.

Somehow, everything slowed down, I got calm, and started to pull over. Not much of a shoulder available, though, and it's pitch black, in the middle of the interstate. Hmm. What to do?

He noticed me get suddenly quiet, of course, and in his mind, started flipping through options in that ominous split second before you might die. How does one do the Heimlich maneuver at 75 mph on the adjacent driver from the passenger's seat?

Fortunately, I had about half a cup of cold coffee sitting in the cup holder. It was the only clear option and I slammed the liquid down my throat, in hopes of lubricating the situation. Luckily, it went down. It was like swallowing a golf ball. Painful, but fortunately just enough liquid to dislodge the mass.

But I could breath.

And then we laughed nonstop for about ten minutes, like junior high boys who just got away with something. Nothing like a near death experience on your 40th birthday to bond two men.

But that was just the ice breaker. I had no idea what was in store for me.

We arrived at midnight after a long day. I went to sleep, exhausted from the drive. I had never gone fly-fishing before, and I was excited for a relaxing Brad Pitt-like experience (you know, from the movie "A River Run's Through It," full of calm trickling water and beautiful scenery). 

He stayed up all night, however, tying a mess of perfect tiny flies-- little white shrimp called Mysis.

At 4:00 am, he wakes me up. Time to fish. Brutal. It's freezing outside - still Spring in the mountains. And dark. We arrived at the foot of a massive concrete dam. Not at all what I expected. Hmmm.

For the next three days, the man fished nonstop for about 12 hours a day. It was a marathon. He only paused to help untangle my line on occasion. He did not even pause to eat or drink until after dark. We barely talked until the end of the day.

I took plenty of breaks. This was a bit mad and highly uncomfortable. But strangely intriguing to slow down and patiently push through the experience. I actually started to appreciate what was going on when I wasn't shivering.

Cast after perfect cast, he landed over 120 massive trout, all within about a 50 foot stretch of river. The next best fisherman there caught only three fish.

Apparently, you can learn a lot about a man from the way he fishes. Is he patient. Is he focused. Does he listen. 

Details matter. Everything is really slowed down. I didn't realize I was watching a master until later. New appreciation for mastery. I had forgotten that I really loved this idea, lost in the busy hustle of trying to make a living - having given up on most of my artistic endeavors and passions.

This fishing mastery he developed came from 20 years of showing up and paying attention. It was also playful. A game. He was a fishing guide in college and pretty much took any moment he could to go fishing. He became a student of the subtle patterns of nature to understand exactly where the fish are, and what they're eating, what the perfect conditions are with the water. He experimented, iterated, learned.

The other guys just show up and basically practice casting a lot, by comparison. They don't take the time to learn the nuances and align with what's happening below the surface. They might get lucky once in awhile.

This man, however, catches fish EVERY TIME and in every condition. And not just one or two. Usually lots of fish.

We have a unique and often untapped capacity for mastery as human beings. I think this art has been lost a bit by a culture of instant gratification. I have certainly fallen victim to this in many passion areas - like in pursuit of being a musician, or sports - where I have given up too early, taken it too seriously, tried to take short cuts, or not put in the mileage to slow down and master the details.

Very few of us use this full potential that we have to follow through and go into the zone, and respect the learning curve. It's from a calm mind where we really see things, really learn, and really enjoy things moment to moment.

It's a natural way of life for him. And really for every human. But most of us have forgotten about this inate ability. We're actually wired to create and master.

I always loved the stories of masters, but I always thought they were just stories - like Yoda in Star Wars. What a treat to really witness mastery first hand and remember it's a possibility for all of us. Since then, I've been able to meet some other masters, and now I know them when I see them. It's beautiful.

I've never quite seen anything like it. For example, when my friend loves something, he drops into a zone of focus and can stay there for longer than most. It's not a problem. It's just a natural thing. He gets lost in time and is just really present. And from that space, he creates incredible music, art, food... and catches many fish.

By the way, he also mastered wrestling, kickboxing, cooking, teaching, mushroom hunting, and pretty much everything else he sets his mind to do. Yep - he's that guy.

A master persists. Drives through discomfort with intense focus. Slows down to correct little nuanced mistakes that add up to make the big difference. But it's fun. It's play.

Hours pass by as minutes. Masters can stay in the zone longer than you and perfect things.

It has been a very satisfying experience, as a father, who wanted to be a musician, but didn't quite follow through, to watch my daughter practice violin nearly every day. She progressed from a one-note Suzuki song called "I'm a little monkey" at age three, to now playing complex concertos at age 10.

Magic powers develop one note at a time.

What luck to find a teacher and friend like this. Now, my daughter is pretty self-motivated most of the time, and mostly practices on her own. Recently, she completed a 100-day in a row practice challenge through her own initiative.

On my 40th birthday, I caught about 30 fish in the shadow of the master. (That was borrowed talent, not earned - but what a difference to learn from someone like this.)

The 50 other guys who came and went over that weekend, with fancy gear, who had fished a lot more than I had, were not happy with us. One even snagged my line to see what fly I was using. Pretty amusing to watch the jealousy from some of the more aggressive fellows who showed up.

When my friend invited me to visit his homeland later that year, to visit China with him, of course I said yes.

But I think the master only invited me to China because I am good with logistics. 

He loses his wallet all the time. (One of the other masters I know missed his flight on the way to a training he had been planning for over a year).

And maybe I got a little credit that I didn't give up fishing at his pace that weekend, or somehow had the skill to not die from choking at 75 mph.