Exit the Cave / 走出洞穴

There’s something romantic about the Cave. About grinding away at something in private. About training with headphones on in our own little world. About stepping away for six months to emerge “unrecognizable” to all those people we imagine thinking about us.

“洞穴”有一种浪漫色彩。那种在私下里默默耕耘的感觉，那种戴着耳机在属于自己的小世界里训练的状态，那种闭关六个月，再次出现时让所有我们以为在关注我们的人感到“判若两人”的期待。

This masculine urge to “grind” seems to be gaining popularity. It reminds me of an incredible Under Armour ad for Michael Phelps’s iconic return to the 2016 Olympics which ended with the quote: “It’s what you do in the dark that puts you in the light.”

这种男性渴望“磨砺”的冲动似乎正变得越来越流行。这让我想起安德玛（Under Armour）为迈克尔·菲尔普斯（Michael Phelps）2016年奥运会标志性回归所拍摄的一则精彩广告，广告结尾引用了一句话：“你在黑暗中所做的一切，终将让你在聚光灯下闪耀。”

Yet the Cave, despite its darkness of solitude and dampness from sweat and suffer-porn, is comfortable. It lets us tinker with our own delusions. If we spend too much time in the Cave, our pupils dilate, and our assumptions start to look like reality. That somehow this training regimen will unlock athletic prowess, or that our perfectly polished product will be loved by millions of users around the globe. I find Paramore playing in my head. “See, it’s easy to ignore trouble, when you’re living in a bubble.”

然而，尽管洞穴里充满了孤独的黑暗，以及汗水和苦行带来的潮湿，它却是舒适的。它让我们沉溺于自己的幻想中。如果我们花太多时间待在洞穴里，瞳孔会放大，我们的假设开始看起来像现实——仿佛这套训练方案就能解锁运动天赋，或者我们精心打磨的产品就能受到全球数百万用户的喜爱。我的脑海里不禁响起了 Paramore 的歌声：“看吧，当你活在泡沫里时，忽视麻烦是多么容易。”

Culture has created a cozy Cave. Smart devices reward private fitness. Recommendation algorithms propagate our preexisting philosophy through personalized programming. AI tells us what we want to hear and bolsters our assumptions instead of challenging them. We grow so comfortable curating our Cave that we forget the vast, interesting, beautiful, and brutal world beyond its walls.

文化创造了一个舒适的洞穴。智能设备奖励私下的健身行为。推荐算法通过个性化编程传播我们既有的理念。人工智能只告诉我们想听的话，并强化而非挑战我们的假设。我们变得如此安于经营自己的洞穴，以至于忘记了墙外那个广阔、有趣、美丽却又残酷的世界。

I say all this because I’ve spent years mistaking effort for progress. I learned this lesson nearly twenty years ago on a wrestling mat. “So, what are you gonna do, when the world don’t orbit around you?”

我之所以这么说，是因为我曾多年将“努力”误认为是“进步”。近二十年前，我在摔跤垫上学到了这一课。“那么，当世界不再围着你转时，你该怎么办？”

As the cold winds off Lake Michigan blew snow over Kenowa Hills High School, two dozen young men grappled in a sweaty, windowless room. For four winters, I wrestled. I’d start the season in November, feeling strong and fit. Five months later, after hundreds of hours training in sweatsuits on an empty stomach and a dozen Saturdays spent in gyms across West Michigan, I’d enter April pale, malnourished, and occasionally plagued by a skin disease like impetigo. At one point, I cut seven pounds a week to make the 119-pound weight class. Despite all that, I loved wrestling more than any other sport and miss it dearly.

当来自密歇根湖的寒风将雪吹过基诺瓦山高中（Kenowa Hills High School）时，二十几个年轻人挤在一间闷热、没有窗户的房间里扭打。我摔跤了四个冬天。每年十一月赛季开始时，我感觉自己强壮且健康。五个月后，在经历了数百小时空腹穿着运动服的训练，以及在西密歇根各地的体育馆度过的十几个周六之后，到了四月，我变得面色苍白、营养不良，有时还会受到脓疱疮等皮肤病的困扰。有一次，为了达到119磅的体重级别，我一周减掉了七磅。尽管如此，我依然比任何运动都热爱摔跤，并深深地怀念它。

Not because I was good. In fact, I was terrible. I got pinned more often than I pinned and lost more often than I won. But those few times my arm was raised were sweeter than almost anything. There is something undeniably beautiful in wrestling’s brutality.

不是因为我厉害。事实上，我糟糕透了。我被压制（输掉比赛）的次数远多于我压制对手的次数，输的次数也远多于赢的次数。但那几次裁判举起我的手臂宣布获胜的时刻，比任何事情都更甜美。摔跤的残酷中有一种不可否认的美感。

There’s no gear to give an advantage—no special cleats, rackets, or pads. There are no conditions to create excuses—no weather, no nets, no sun in the eyes. And there’s nothing to hide behind. Just you and your opponent for six minutes of utter exhaustion. When you win, you win. When you lose, you lose. Because we cannot guarantee that outcome, we obsess over the inputs. “Don’t go cryin’ to your mama, ‘cause you’re on your own in the real world.”

没有装备能提供优势——没有特殊的钉鞋、球拍或护具。没有条件可以作为借口——没有天气影响，没有球网阻碍，也没有阳光刺眼。而且，你无处可藏。只有你和你的对手，在六分钟的精疲力竭中对峙。赢了就是赢了，输了就是输了。因为我们无法保证结果，所以我们沉迷于投入的过程。“别去向你妈妈哭诉，因为在现实世界里，你只能靠自己。”

When we want something, we often want our concept of how to achieve it to be true. Sure, I wanted to pin my opponent on the mat. But I also wanted my approach to yield success. Freshman year, I figured my biggest gap was technique—once I learned the right movements, I would win. Sophomore year, I figured my biggest gap was conditioning. If I pushed myself hard, running stairs faster and doing more pushups than my teammates, I would win.

当我们想要某样东西时，我们往往希望自己实现目标的构想是正确的。当然，我想在垫子上压制对手。但我也希望我的方法能带来成功。大一时，我觉得我最大的差距是技术——只要学会了正确的动作，我就能赢。大二时，我觉得我最大的差距是体能。如果我逼自己一把，比队友跑楼梯更快、做更多的俯卧撑，我就能赢。

Yet year after year, when I stepped onto the mat, I didn’t qualify for regional or state tournaments. I didn’t secure the championships I imagined. The mat was the cold, unrelenting reality that all my toiling in the Cave had failed to overcome. Technique mattered. Conditioning mattered. But I had made the comfortable mistake of believing that because I could measure and control them, they must determine the outcome.

然而年复一年，当我踏上垫子时，我依然没能获得地区或州锦标赛的资格。我没能赢得我所想象的冠军。垫子是冷酷无情的现实，我所有在洞穴里的苦练都无法逾越它。技术很重要，体能也很重要。但我犯了一个舒适的错误：认为因为我可以衡量和控制这些因素，它们就一定能决定结果。

Dan Gable, Olympic gold medalist, legendary Iowa coach, and one of the greatest wrestlers of all time, summed up wrestling like this: “The first period is won by the guy with the best technique, the second period is won by the guy with the best conditioning, and the third period is won by the guy with the biggest heart.”

奥运金牌得主、传奇的爱荷华州教练、史上最伟大的摔跤手之一丹·盖布尔（Dan Gable）曾这样总结摔跤：“第一局由技术最好的人获胜，第二局由体能最好的人获胜，而第三局则由意志最坚定的人获胜。”

This is not a pithy oversimplification. The desire to win is simple but not obvious. Sure, I thought I wanted to win. But really, I wanted my team to not lose. That might sound noble and unselfish, but it was far from it. Yes, I cared about my team, but my motivations weren’t noble. I didn’t want to miss weight and disappoint them because I would then feel shame. I was avoiding negative feelings, not seeking victory. The mat had exposed a more uncomfortable truth than my lack of talent: I did not want what I thought I wanted.

这并非一句简短的过度简化。获胜的渴望看似简单，实则不然。当然，我以为我想赢。但实际上，我只是不想让我的团队输。这听起来可能很高尚、无私，但事实远非如此。是的，我在乎我的团队，但我的动机并不高尚。我只是不想因为体重超标而让他们失望，因为那样我会感到羞愧。我是在逃避负面情绪，而不是在追求胜利。垫子揭露了一个比我缺乏天赋更令人不安的真相：我想要的并不是我以为我想要的。

Ironically, this misplaced desire ended up hurting my team. I showed up, trained hard, and made weight, but when I didn’t subdue my opponent, it cost us points. I had to want victory enough to let reality teach me what it required. Truly pursuing victory would benefit the team far more than grinding away in the Cave. I needed to stop wrestling not to lose and learn to wrestle to win.

讽刺的是，这种错位的渴望最终伤害了我的团队。我按时出现、刻苦训练、控制体重，但当我没能制服对手时，我们还是丢了分。我必须足够渴望胜利，才能让现实教会我实现它需要什么。真正追求胜利对团队的贡献，远比在洞穴里默默苦练要大得多。我需要停止“为了不输而摔跤”，学会“为了赢而摔跤”。

I’m not here to self-flagellate. I say all this to remember a truth I’ve let gather dust. There is a kind of cowardice that looks a lot like discipline. A writer needs readers. An entrepreneur needs customers. An athlete needs competition. A lover needs someone free to reject him. Any worthy pursuit needs a mat. “Ain’t it fun, livin’ in the real world?”

我不是在这里自我鞭笞。我说这些是为了重拾一个被我尘封的真理。有一种懦弱看起来非常像自律。作家需要读者，创业者需要客户，运动员需要竞争，爱人需要一个有权拒绝他的人。任何值得追求的事业都需要一个“垫子”。“活在现实世界里，难道不有趣吗？”

Better to be pinned in public with courage than to train endlessly in private like a coward. Ship that product, share that story, step into the ring, take the risk of love. Even if you end up on your back, you did it in the real world.

与其像个懦夫一样在私下里无休止地训练，不如勇敢地在公众面前被压制。发布那个产品，分享那个故事，走进竞技场，承担去爱的风险。即使最终你被击倒在地，至少你是在现实世界中完成了这一切。