My shooting buddy S called me up yesterday morning, wanted to know if I felt like getting out to do a little plinking. Since we had a warm front move through the night before, it was forecast to be in the upper 50s - not your typical January weather for Missouri. A chance to get out and do some shooting was most welcome.
He said that his Brother-In-Law was in town. I knew that S and T (the BIL) had hunted together for years, and that S trusted T not to be an idiot with a weapon, but I didn’t know much about him beyond that. S wanted to know whether it was OK for T to come along, try out some of our pistols. “Sure!”
So we set it up and went out to the range. As is my preference, informal shooting on private land - just tin cans at about a dozen yards for pistols, somewhat further for a little 9mm carbine of mine. Relaxed, laid-back, but still sufficient to keep my skills sharp and my mind off of being a full-time care provider for a few precious hours.
Since I didn’t know T, I wasn’t sure of his proficiency with handguns. And as we were talking about the guns we brought, getting them out and getting them ready, it was clear that he hadn’t ever shot a number of them. This isn’t too surprising, since several of them are somewhat uncommon.
My buddy S and I went first - our guns, make sure everything is working OK. When it was T’s turn, with a casual concentration he outshot us both, with our own guns. Turns out he has a law enforcement background, and still is involved in firearms training. As I noted to a friend in an email last night:
Nice to be shooting with someone that good, who wasn’t trying to be a dick about it. I’m a pretty decent shot, and can be quite good if I push myself into a ‘competition’ mindset. But I would really rather just relax and shoot without having something to prove. S is the same way. But trust me when I say that is somewhat rare - too often the competition bug gets in the way.
T was a state level competitor, but that was some years back. So now he’s relaxed - and good. Probably no where near where he was when he was competing, but that’s OK. Shooting cans at 15 yards was perfectly fine.
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OK, I’m going to brag a bit. Though it is all true.
When I was heavily involved in the SCA I was *heavily* involved. For a period of maybe about ten years I was known throughout the world-wide organization, in no small amount because of my ability as a fighter in the SCA style of martial arts. I had achieved the highest awards and rankings, acted as the chief officer in charge of all the fighting rules and safety criteria, and had literally written the definitive instruction manual for one particular sub-set of the martial art (greatsword use, if you want to know). I was, simply, one of the best there was. Given that there were tens of thousands of people engaged in this martial art around the world at the time, this was no small accomplishment, though of course in the ‘real’ world it doesn’t amount to anything of note.
But one thing which you might find a bit curious: in an organization where the basic measurement of skill is winning within the context of a tournament (patterned somewhat loosely on chivalric tourneys of the Middle Ages), I only won exactly four tournaments in my entire SCA career. Two of those were ‘Crown Tourney’, in which the ‘ruler’ for a six month period is chosen, and two others were other somewhat prestigious tournaments. But that’s it.
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Eric Zorn of the Chicago Tribune posted a piece last week titled “50 things I’ve learned in 50 years, a partial list in no particular order.” It’s kind of fun, and while I disagree on a few points, as I approach my own 50th birthday later this year I find it’s a list I pretty much could have come up with myself. In particular, he notes this:
38. In crisis or conflict, always think and act strategically. Take time to figure out what the “winning” outcome is for you, then work toward it.
I learned this long ago as applied to all of life, phrased simply as “define your victory conditions”. It has meant a somewhat less conventional life for me, mostly free of the trappings of “success.” And I’m OK with that.
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My friend responded to my email about shooting yesterday with this:
Nice to be shooting with someone that good, who wasn’t trying to be a dick about it. I’m a pretty decent shot, and can be quite good if I push myself into a ‘competition’ mindset. But I would really rather just relax and shoot without having something to prove. S is the same way. But trust me when I say that is somewhat rare - too often the competition bug gets in the way.
You are men.
Men have testosterone.
It’s very simple math.
My reply:
Over-simplified, actually. It’s more of a mindset.
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I won four tournaments in my entire SCA career. Crown twice, Valour, and a memorial tourney in Des Moines. That’s it. Yet I had a world-wide reputation, and it was justified. By almost any measure you could devise, I would have been considered an ‘alpha male’ in terms of the prevailing testosterone pop-psych.
Why? For the same reason that I didn’t want to get all competitive with T and S when shooting yesterday: winning things like that just isn’t that important to me. Some guys with *plenty* of testosterone are perfectly happy to define their lives in ways different from the prevailing pop-psych.
My friend’s insightful response:
Although I have noticed that at some level of competence, whatever the subject, people don’t seem to have quite the need to compete that they would otherwise. I’ve run into it myself in some areas. I think that with T and S and you, all of you knew that you’re competent shots and the idea was not to plink off the most cans, but to have fun trying weapons. And that’s what you did. I guess a better way to say it is that when people are comfortable enough in their own skin, their own level of ability in whatever they are doing, they don’t need to compete and can just enjoy participating in the activity.
Is that what you mean?
Exactly.
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After shooting, we got back to my place, and hung out a while back in my bindery (where I have a large working table where we could set out some guns and whatnot to look at and talk about.) In the course of the conversation, S mentioned to T that I had written Communion of Dreams, and that it was up on the web for anyone to download.
“Doesn’t that make it kinda tough to make any money off of it?” asked T.
“That’s not the point,” I answered.
Because, while I wouldn’t mind selling the book to a publisher, and think that eventually having the book online will help in doing so, that’s not what my ‘victory condition’ is. My victory condition is to have people read the book, find it an engaging and thought-provoking story. Sure, lots of money from having a best-seller would be nice, but in all honesty I can earn a decent income from my book conservation work. My real goal is to be respected as a writer. And if I have to do that in an unconventional way, well, that’s a path I’m used to walking.
Jim Downey