Intentions | Confidence.

Self-doubt is insidious. We've all seen it sabotage what should be easy. You have that two-foot putt lined up, then, that nagging voice in the back of your head asks, what would happen if you missed? How would that feel? Bet it would feel pretty awful. And the ball cuts wide, rolling downhill off the green and into the rough.

I'm in no way athletic. And I suck at golf. But one of the few things I'm good at is archery. As an archer, I'm at my best when I'm not thinking. The bow is an extension of my left arm, the release and the arrow an extension of my right. Together, we are just a machine that shoots arrows. The world begins at the tip of the broad head. It ends at the target.

I miss often when I get in my own way, when something breaks that contiguous plain of consciousness of arrow, bow and limbs. That voice is there, asking what would happen if I missed. In truth, if I missed, I'd knock  another arrow and shoot again. As simple as that sounds, it took me a while to figure out.

On a recent episode of the Joe Rogan experience, Vinny Shoreman, a mind coach for fighters, talked about how so many of his clients have the same problem. They get in their own way. Shoreman's main objective is to have the fighter's inner confidence trump their self-doubt.

He does not instill them with confidence. He brings what's already there to the surface. 

Book report | 'The Professor In The Cage' by Jonathan Gottschall

“Then a roundhouse kick reminded me of why it’s much better to bite down on the mouthpiece. The kick sank my teeth hard into my lower lip. I struggled as my opponent pushed me into the fence and tried to drag me down. The flavor of the blood pulsing into my mouth was nauseatingly good, and it made everything clear: by nature, men like the salt taste of blood.”

— Jonathan Gottschall, The Professor In The Cage

In its opening pages, Jonathan Gottschall, a struggling college English professor, becomes a willing test subject by immersing himself in the body-breaking world of mixed martial arts -- a blood sport maligned for its brutality and culture of machismo. In the process, he delves into the nature of self-confidence, masculinity and violence. What he learns from the black eyes, stints on crutches and hyper-extended limbs -- as well as a near-scientific analysis of martial arts and careful examination of pugilistic history -- surprises him and likely will offend many.

On the surface, this book seems like a man who has watched Fight Club one too many times living out his fantasy of defeating his own cowardice and cutting closer to the fascia of our nature. In fact, every time he mentions the book, I found myself wincing. But Gottschall is more deft than that. He knows he's traversing well-traveled territory of writers and journalists who have either fought themselves, or written extensively about the subject, such as Joyce Carol Oates, George Plimpton and Norman Mailer. What sets him apart is his willingness to to look closely into the mirror to find out what fighting means for man and mankind.

“The whole project made me think differently about masculinity, about the codes, tendencies and rituals of manhood. It made me feel more compassion for my own sex—locked as we are, pathetically and sometimes tragically, into a lifetime of monkey dancing. Although it is perhaps regrettable that men are so competitive, so dominance obsessed, it’s still a lucky thing that we have our monkey dances. Most of the time, they keep our contests civilized.”

— Jonathan Gottschall, The Professor In The Cage

Will I ever be able to watch an MMA event without a twinge of guilt? Or hear the thwack of leather smashing into a skull without recoiling? Or watch Muhammad Ali nod off during  a live interview without feeling sorrow? No. No. And no. But like Gottschall, I accept why people want to step inside an octagon or a ring and throw bones at each other. And I respect them for it.

Inside the octagon.

I'm reading a book called The Professor in the Cage. It's about a college English professor who, fed up with his stalled career, decides the best way to get himself fired is to join the MMA gym that's just opened across the street from his office, and write about hardening himself to fight inside the octagon.

The book raises a lot of intersting questions about masculinity and violence. Thematically, It also addresses the life unlived.

The author, Jonathan Gottschall, says one of his primary motivations for writing the book was to figure out if he was actually a coward. After a liftime of shying away from physical confrontation, would he panic when the cage gate was bolted shut?

I'm following Gottschall's tale with the same rapt attention of a top-tier MMA bout. Here is somebody who's not content with the live unlived. We all have our octagons. Not all of us step inside.