In a World of Experts, Be a Beginner
If the journey is about experience, then being an expert isn’t going to help you.
“Running is life” is a rather boring synopsis for an article, mainly because it is so vague that it could mean anything and also nothing at all. Regardless of its ubiquity, it is true that when I learn some new principle, idea, or philosophy, applying it to long-distance running is the first step in figuring out how it relates to my life. I’ve found that if something aids me in athletic endeavors, it can also help me in other aspects of existence. Cue an article on Zen Buddhism and running.
“Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind”
Last year, I read Shunryu Suzuki’s classic Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind. When I say “last year,” I mean the whole entire year. I started the 136-page book in January of ’22 and didn’t make it to the last page until the end of December. It was deliberate pacing — If I tried more than 2 chapters at a time, which ranged from a few pages to half a page, my mind would tap out. When it comes to most philosophies, I need a slow drip, not a chug. By the end of the year, I would have still claimed that my interest in Zen was passing. Yet, as soon as I finished, I began to reread it.
On the surface, Suzuki’s little book is a trove of Buddhist koans and one-liners. As a whole, it is a beautifully simple enunciation of how a spiritual body can practically exist in a material world. Suzuki was less interested in ascending to the clouds and more interested in how we simply sit on a cushion and endure ourselves. That apparent simplicity is explained as shoshin — or “beginner’s mind.”
“In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities; in the expert’s mind there are few.” (21)
The Innocence of Beginnings
In a world full of “experts,” the argument of shoshin is a cool breeze on a humid day. Suzuki describes the beginner’s mind as neither discriminating, greedy, nor demanding. It does seek to attain. It seeks seeks to experience. It is open and ready. It has no auto-fill on people, places, or ideas. Accordingly, its basic function is sympathy — for itself and for all things.
We intrinsically understand the purity associated with something new. We tend to think that the purest form of anything, whether religious movements or relationships, lies in its origin. When we invoke the original intent of a government document, or the origin of certain religions, or use terms like “the honeymoon phase” or “childhood innocence,” we’re invoking what Suzuki calls the “innocence of first inquiry.”
It’s not always true that beginnings are the purest form of anything, but just true enough that it feels universal. Suzuki doesn’t refute this. Yet, his explanation of the beginner’s mind helps us understand the phenomenon.
Suzuki uses the example of the first time you recite a sutra, but you can replace any routine in the example — your first time in a new city, the first time you read your favorite book, your first crush in high school. You recite a sutra for the first time and realize it was a very good recitation. As you continue to recite, you begin to see it differently. You grow tired of it. You lose interest. You begin to doubt.
Repetition doesn’t always breed complacency and burnout, but there has to be something there besides the thing itself. Reciting for the sake of reciting will not be enough. You must recite it as if you have never recited it before.
So, take the daily run — the closest thing to a recitation of anything that I have. Especially in the off-season, it’s easy to get into a rhythm that feels stale, almost commonplace. I wake up, I run my 4–6 miles, and I come home and continue my day. But, to run every day as if it’s my first? To have an open mind to the possibilities of a hard run feeling easy, or a fast run feeling manageable, is really what gets me up in the morning. Even the possibility that the run will be absurdly difficult can be viewed as a truly Zen mindset.
Beginner’s Mind in the Face of Pain
We like to use the word masochistic when entering a race with the expectation of pain and possible injury. It’s a cool word and probably makes a lot of us sound a little more hardcore than we are. Even though we use this language often in long-distance running, I’d argue that few people actually have this mindset. What allows people to look into something possibly painful with glee, I think, is the beginner’s mind.
“If you discriminate too much, you limit yourself. If you are too demanding or too greedy, your mind is not rich and self-sufficient.” (22)
People don’t undertake difficult things expecting pain in the same way you expect the Jenga tower to fall over when you kick the table. We understand the pain the way we understand strategically pulling a block out of the Jenga tower. A rich and open mind approaches this experience without expectation. It is the beginner’s mind that says, “Whatever comes will come, but I am here for it.” The language of exploration is what we are after.
This is why George Mallory asserting that he climbed Everest “Because it’s there” is absurd and also true. If he was truly climbing Everest for its own sake, he would not have climbed it three times, the last time resulting in his death. The existence of Everest is reason enough to climb it. But that’s because the existence of Everest also denotes endless possibilities, the anything-can-happen circumstances.
Mallory knew that possible pain and possible death awaited him. He knew possible glory and beauty awaited him, too.
Space to Explore
To view the world this way can be terrifying to the “expert” mindset that we’ve all been taught to embody. But, if all the world is a possibility, a chance for experience, then the world (physical and nonphysical) becomes a space to explore, not to defeat.
I am most constant when I am able to view my running endeavors, and increasingly my work and family, through the beginner’s mind. Of course, there is still striving. There are still goals. If I am put in a race, I still want to win. However, it is all in the expectation. It is all mindset.
When a race goes awry, when I don’t reach my goals, or when striving leads to yet another closed door, I am comforted that I am just a beginner. And that’s when the opportunity to grow presents itself.
“When we have no thought of achievement, no thought of self, we are true beginners. Then we can really learn something.” (22)
Suzuki, Shunryu. Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind. edited by Trudy Dixon. Weatherhill. 1992.
