イチロー: An Appreciation
I’m not a big baseball fan, but I am a fan of Ichiro Suzuki. He was inducted into Baseball’s Hall of Fame last week.
Ichiro and I are roughly the same age, and we arrived in Seattle around the same time. At first I was first drawn to his style and skill: his batting stance, the way he tracked fly balls, the way he gunned down runners.
As time passed, I came to appreciate his approach not only to baseball, but to life in general. Here are three things I have learned from Ichiro:
Number 1. The importance of preparation. People talk about talent a lot. Too much. And if not talent, skill. And if not skill, environment or context. Many of us were favored with inborn talents and favorable conditions. I consider myself one of those people. Others, less so. But we can’t control any of that.
Ichiro focuses on preparation instead. Perhaps nothing is more important to Ichiro than preparation. This video is one of my favorites.
It’s the small things. “It’s very important to try a little bit harder over and over again.” Preparation is a tool for developing skills and becoming closer to our best selves.
Why does Ichiro prepare? “That’s why I prepare every single day, so when I look back, I don’t regret the day.“ This is revealing. It’s not about achievement or recognition. The purpose of preparation is to avoid the regret that comes from knowing that one could have done more.
This may sound a little bit negative. I don’t think it is.
Ichiro says “it’s the only way in which I can discern my limits.” It’s important to know that one has done the most one can do.
Notice that now we are no longer talking about preparation, or even baseball. The true underlying motivation for preparation is to understand one’s own limits. How far can we go, and how huge are the possibilities beyond what I can attain? Preparation is the door that leads to this insight.
Not coincidentally, Ichiro’s framing of success is quite close to that of John Wooden: “Success is peace of mind which is a direct result of self-satisfaction in knowing you made the effort to become the best of which you are capable." Ichiro says “Success is just a word.”
Number 2. Experiencing the moment. “When you get to the plate you can’t be thinking, you have to feel it.” Ichiro knows the state of flow.
Apparently Ichiro plans his days in five minute increments. Honestly, two things came to mind when I found out about that: 1) that sounds very unappealing, 2) that sounds like the opposite of “being in the moment”.
For Ichiro, preparation and being in the moment go hand-in-hand.
I am egotistical and believe myself to have many strengths. I know I stink at preparation and planning. I like riffing and improvising. What I’ve learned is that routine creates the structure for me to prepare and plan. By declaring “this is a time for preparation” or “this is a time for planning”, and having rituals associated with these times, three things happen. The first is that I actually do the planning and prep. The second is that as the routine becomes habitual, I can fall into those rituals and be in the moment while doing them. They become familiar and soothing.
Most importantly, preparation helps me to be “in the moment" when it is time to step up to the plate. This is a certain kind of freedom.
Number 3. Appreciating your tools. Ichiro is the ultimate craftsman. As Richard Sennet explored, a craftsman appreciates their tools.
Ichiro famously kept his bats in two humidors: one for home games and one for road games. The humidors contained moisture controls. He shrink-wrapped the bats for delivery. He places and cleans his bats in a special way.
He relied on Nobuyoshi Tsubota to make his gloves - Ichiro referred to Tsubota as "a master craftsman." He wore different cleats than any other player.
Tools are useful of course because, well, they’re tools. That’s what they’re for. But something special happens when we become familiar with tools through preparation: they begin to feel like part of us.
Remember when you first learned to drive? Or golf? Or play an instrument? If you’ve stayed with any of those activities long enough, things get to a point where the car, or the club, or the guitar feels like a part of you. And in some sense, your inner self really does feel like those tools are joined with you.
If your tools are going to become a part of you, you should honor them and treat them with care.
Conclusion. I could say more, of course.
Ichiro is funny. Dedicated, serious craftsmen can have a sense of humor. His Hall of Fame speech was irreverent and funny. He gave a profane pep talk at the All Star Game every year.
He’s complex. His upbringing seems to have been painful, though he doesn’t make that his narrative.
Ichiro is easily misunderstood. Perhaps I don't understand him either, though I think I do.