My first time downhill skiing began terribly. I could get up the practice hill, albeit awkwardly, hauled by the pulley-cable that lurched up the slope, feeling like my arms were being yanked from their sockets. But when I let go and started sliding down, I found that I couldn't turn. Moving down the slope I realized I was headed for the trees. Unable to change direction I was forced to dive into the snow, tumble aways, and lose both skis—which went sliding the rest of the way down the hill. Needless to say this was frustrating, so I swallowed my 12-year-old pride and enrolled in a lesson.

The first thing the instructor taught us was how to turn. Here is what he said: Don't worry about trying to turn. Just look in the direction you want to go. Putting this advice into practice I was astounded at its effectiveness. Suddenly, armed with a pithy piece of knowledge, I could descend the steep slopes unscathed!

The measure of true knowledge is the degree to which it is true on more than one level. In fact, the more diverse situations that knowledge is applicable to, the truer it is. My instructor's guidance to "look in the direction I wanted to go immediately resounded. I understood that what I had proved on the ski slope is true in everything—we always go in the direction we are looking—whether by accident or design."

I recently exhumed another sports-related teaching memory: I was competing in the first US international rock-climbing competition at a ski resort in Utah. The sculpted climbing wall was affixed to the side of the aptly named Cliff Lodge, a 10-story hotel complex in the middle of a remote canyon. One after another climbers started up the course. They grabbed the composite resin holds as though they were trying to squeeze blood out of them, lunged between stances, and otherwise struggled up the face. One after another we fell off without summiting. That is, until a Frenchman—the famed Patrick Edlinger (pronounced Patreeck Edlanjay)—sauntered up to the wall. At the base he took off his Walkman (this was 20 years ago) and casually tied in, chatting with one of the judges. He started up the climb without any pause in his movement as though shifting from the horizontal to vertical planes was one continuous trajectory; his gestures relaxed, like a cat. His fingers seemed to stick to the bolted-on holds without perceptible effort. The audience was in rapt silence as Edlinger floated past the other climbers' high points, cleared a six-foot roof, paused hanging with one hand over the lip, his feet dangling, as he dipped the other hand into a bag of chalk, did a one-armed pull-up and continued gracefully to the top.

Edlinger was known for soloing (climbing without a rope) long (3,000 foot), difficult climbs. He was considered very "zen" among climbers (though the only translated quote from him I can find goes "Ze women zey come and zey go, but ze rock, it remains," which at least hearkens to the quality of timelessness. Regardless, Edlinger's approach to climbing was eminently instructive to all who had the eyes to see it. He was totally focused on completing his climbs, but he was also totally focused on the move at hand. Instead of allowing the pressure to "succeed" to get in his way, he used the pressure to help focus his efforts in the moment. This approach is vital on a rock face (particularly without a rope) as well as in life, as we move in the direction of our aim; i.e., "what I am looking at."

There is an ease achieved by having an aim. It clears away the confusion of finding direction and overcoming obstacles. With an aim in view, the immediate challenges become incorporated in the process. They are seen as simply part of the path being traversed in the direction of where we are going. They are not to be swept aside or ignored, but embraced as the next step on the journey.

The separation of the goal from the means of achieving it is superlatively expressed in the Buddhist Bodhisattva Vows:
• Sentient beings are numberless; I vow to save them.
• Desires are inexhaustible; I vow to put an end to them.
• The Dharmas (laws of the universe) are boundless; I vow to master them.
• The Buddha Way is unattainable; I vow to attain it.

The impossibility of the goals is no excuse not to believe that they will be achieved, or to strive for their achievement.

The key is looking in the direction we want to go. When we become distracted by the difficulties, we lose our course and crash (or fall, as the case may be). It doesn't matter if the aim is part of a high-level game of self-mastery or a more prosaic, worldly ambition. Success depends on dividing the attention—between where we are going and what is before us. In other words, be where you are, but look where you are going!

—Jason Stern