Athletes and rappers are my favorite teachers

Passing through the smokescreens of self-humiliation.

Art inspired by MF Doom’s album MM FOOD by Jason Jägel

No. 116: Athletes and rappers are my favorite teachers

Two kinds of people have always inspired me. 

Athletes and rappers. 

In many ways, they’re similar. Both are passionately in love with their craft. Both want to be the best at what they do. Both go through rough patches, run up against gatekeepers, and have to believe in themselves relentlessly to get where they’re trying to go. 

I admire those traits, in part, because I view myself as both athlete and artist. The first half of my life was dominated by competition, mostly as a swimmer. And the creative thing? If you’re reading this, you know the deal.

Having experienced life in both of these realms, I love listening to champion athletes and skilled artists describe what they’ve done, what they do, and what they’re still doing. I especially love taking lessons from the many docuseries on great athletes, people like the G.O.A.T. basketballer Michael Jordan in The Last Dance, and the all-star Yankees shortstop Derek Jeter in The Captain, which I watched this week. 

But as I watched an episode in which Jeter recalled an incident in which a player on the Oakland Athletics taunted him and the Yankees, I realized a fundamental difference between athlete and artist. 

“Competition kills complacency,” Jeter said, referring to the shit talker. 

And thinking back to my past-life as a competitor, I agreed. 

Even in a friendly game, whatever it may be — billiards, a bike race, a ping pong match — as soon as your opponent makes it clear they’re playing to win, things get serious. It’s time to summon your best, or lose.

And I realized. 

That’s not at all what it feels like to be an artist.

It’s easier to get complacent when it comes to art-making, because I don’t feel the threat of competition as much — if at all.

As a writer, or as any kind of creative person, I don’t view other artists in my field as competition. Our work is so uniquely different that competition is impossible. At least, that’s how I see it. Some might do their thing better than I’m currently doing mine, but each of us are on our own playing fields, moving forward fast, slow, or not at all. In the infinity of creativity, there’s room enough for everyone, which eliminates elimination tactics. 

For artists, the only competition is ourselves.

Which, actually, kind of sucks. 

The threat of someone outdoing me is easier to account for and act upon than self-sabotage is to avoid. In the setting of athletics, I can see my competition right in front of me a.k.a. the obstacle between me and my goal, and I can attack without reservation. In the realm art, however, my competition is that ever-elusive, always shape-shifting, constantly excuse-producing self. 

And that’s rough.

The self is the toughest opponent of all. 

Beating an opponent is one thing. But beating yourself?

Godspeed.  

Of course, some of the successful athlete’s characteristics can still transfer to the artist, and vice versa. There’s the artistry of sport, and the discipline of artistry. Time is still the greatest asset — practice makes perfect — and talent can still be outmatched by the less-talented but harder-working. In almost every way, the challenges facing artist and athlete are the same. 

That is, every way except one. 

For the athlete, self-doubt is part of the game. 

For the artist, self-doubt is the game. 

Which probably explains why I’m constantly saying to myself that art-making is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. 

And I mean, ever.

As I said, I’ve competed. I’ve gotten up at five in the morning for swim practice (which entailed jumping in a cold pool at six). I’ve experienced extreme physical suffering by pushing myself past the stopping point. In general, I’ve done some hard stuff, I think. 

But most things in life have a direct correlation between input and output, whereas, when it comes to writing a great story, making a song, putting on an award-winning performance? Not the case. You just kind of have to . . . go for it. Practice is of course important; and dedication; and all those good things. But there is no standard measure of good or bad like there is with most things — no binary like win or lose.

Perhaps that’s why I’m so inspired by rappers (and, really, artists of any type) in addition to athletes. To see an artist overcome self-doubt and achieve their full potential is better than any athlete success story, better than Michael Jordan’s even. To witness a person finally shed self-doubt and hit their creative stride is perhaps the most beautiful thing there is — and the most worth celebrating, even though you’ll rarely find any expertly directed documentary covering that feat. It’s a miracle to me to hear Q-Tip drop the line, 

Lyrically I’m like Mario Andretti on the MOMO
Ludicrously speedy or infectious with the slow-mo 

Or to hear Kendrick Lamar rhyme, 

And don't call me lyrical
'Cause really I'm just a n***** that's evil and spiritual
I know some rappers using big words
To make their similes curve
My simplest shit be more pivotal

And these are miracles confirmed by statements like one I heard recently from Kanye West when he appeared on Joe Rogan a while back.

Though I know he has fallen out of favor recently (and for good reason, although, I worry he may be struggling with his mental health, and I wish him well) it was both surprising and encouraging to hear one of the most successful hip-hop artists of all time talk about overcoming the “smokescreens of self-humiliation” and how the greatest “kryptonite” for himself and for every artist is “fear and self-doubt.” 

Whereas athletes tend to talk about discipline, consistency, and proving people wrong, artists are usually talking about battling the belief that they, of all people, should be the ones to go where none have gone before. 

So when they do, I celebrate. 

I also take note, just like I took note of the fact that Derek Jeter, coming up in the 90s, was a major hip-hop head, blasting tracks by Nas and A Tribe Called Quest in the locker room before and after games. 

Which made me remember. 

Back in my competitive swimming days, I also jammed to hip-hop before my races, waiting near the starting block with my headphones in and Gang Starr blasting into my cranium to get me pumped.

That confidence, that X factor, that energy I looked for then? The energy I’m looking for while watching documentaries about athletic greats? Athletes, I think, are looking for the same thing when they interact with their favorite artists. In fact, it doesn’t matter if you’re athlete, artist, or accountant: people want to feel good, strong, healthy, smart, invincible, on top of the world. As Kanye said, our greatest kryptonite is fear. It’s true. It’s toxic. And by and large, we’re plagued with it. 

I starting to see, then, that those that can overcome fear and self-doubt have the world in their hands. To them, all good things come. Not only are they raised to a higher plane — athletically, creatively, or in whatever pursuit they choose — they also become a fountain of fearlessness, positivity, and love for all that encounter their presence, their work, their state of mind.

With all this bouncing around my head, I happened to stumble into a quote by American painter Robert Henri that served as the cherry on top of my thoughts. I found it while previewing Rick Rubin’s new book. 

“The object isn't to make art, it's to be in that wonderful state which makes art inevitable.” 

That wonderful state, I think, is the one where we believe we can do no wrong, so long as we come to our work with the right intentions. 

Whether that’s true or not?

That, I think, is entirely besides the point. ♦

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Weekly Three

HEAR: “Mass Appeal” by Gang Starr, one of my go-to pre-race songs back in the day.

READ: Rick Rubin’s new book, The Creative Act: A Way of Being. Disclosure: I haven’t read past the preview. Not sure if I will. But I thought about buying it and still might. It seems interesting and Rubin is a prolific and storied creator.

VIEW: Michael Jordan’s Basketball Hall of Fame enshrinement speech. It’s long, but I highly recommend. It’s 1) great and 2) gives a sense of how competitors tend to think.