Page 6 - The Art of Learning by Josh Waitzkin_Neat plip book

But there were problems. After the movie came out I coul dn’t go to a
tournament without being surrounded by fans aski ng for autogr aphs . Ins tead of

focusing on chess positions, I was pul led int o the image of myself as a celebr ity.
Since childhood I had treasured the subl ime study of ches s, the swim thr ough
ever-deepening layers of complexity. I coul d spen d hour s at a che ssbo ard and
stand up from the experience on fire with insight abo ut ches s, baske tba ll, the

ocean, psychology, love, art. The game was exhi larating and also spi ritua lly
calming. It centered me. Chess was my friend. Then , sudden ly, the ga me
became alien and disquieting.
I recall one tournament in Las Vegas : I was a young Int ernat ional Master in

a field of a thousand competitors incl udi ng twenty-six strong Grandma sters
from around the world. As an up-and- coming pl ayer, I had huge respe ct for the
great sages around me. I had studi ed thei r masterpi eces for hundr eds of ho ur s
and was awed by the artistry of these men. Before fi st-round play be ga n I was

seated at my board, deep in thought abo ut my open ing preparation, whe n the
public address system announced that the subj ect of Searching for Bobby Fischer
was at the event. A tournament di rector pl aced a poster of the movie ne xt to
my table, and immediately a sea of fans surged around the ropes sepa rating the

top boards from the audience. As the gam es progr essed, when I rose to clear my
mind young girls gave me their pho ne num ber s and asked me to aut ogr aph
their stomachs or legs.
This might sound like a dream for a seventeen- year-old boy, and I won’t

deny enjoying the attention, but pr ofessional ly it was a night mare. My ga me
began to unravel. I caught myself thi nki ng abo ut how I looke d thi nki ng
instead of losing myself in thought . The Grandm asters, my elde rs, were
ignored and scowled at me. Some of them treated me like a par iah. I ha d won

eight national championships and had more fans, publ ic suppo rt and
recognition than I could dream of, but none of thi s was helping my search for
excellence, l et alone for happiness.
At a young age I came to know that ther e is somethi ng pr ofoundl y ho llow

about the nature of fame. I had spen t my life devoted to artistic gr owth and
was used to the sweaty-palmed sens e of cont entment one get s after many ho ur s
of intense reflection. This peaceful feeling had no thi ng to do with externa l
adulation, and I yearned for a retur n to that inno cent , fertile time. I missed jus t

being a student of the game, but there was no escaping the spo tlight . I found