I’ve missed an all-time high of 50 shots in a row when the medicine comes. I hone in on the sound of my pump-action shotgun chambering a round, then watch the clay dispersing into a fine mist. It almost seems to happen without me.
This is the state I must achieve to shoot accurately—a cool-handed, laser-focused sort of transcendence that has as much to do with where I point my mind as where I swing my gun.
Mark hucks another clay, and I repeat.
Like other aspects of my life, my shooting has been improved by meditation and yoga. Accurate shooting is not unlike holding a handstand—it demands strength in the body and the ability to soften one’s inner focus and find a point of stillness. I practice over and over again until my mind is out of the picture. When that happens, I can stand on my hands forever or I can hit the clay almost every time.
Everything falls apart when my troubled monkey mind enters the game. It tries micromanage what my body can do just fine without the extra help. Maybe that goes for the rest of life, too. Don’t overthink it. The mind is for refinement, not management.