When people think of a sport or an exercise, they think of “self-improvement.” and self-improvement means taking that basic person which is you and adding to it. But Tai Chi holds an opposite view. Where the athlete strives to increase their skill from day one, the martial artist begins a slow process of shedding habits, preconceptions, even strengths. In the martial arts we invest in loss.

To some this may seem ineffably oriental and mysterious. But Tai Chi, as all martial arts, has embodied this approach for centuries. This is the reason martial arts has always proved so useful: the practice puts individuals right up nose-to-nose against themselves.

Triathlon champion, ballet prima danseur, or certifiable klutz — it doesn’t matter. No one walks into a training hall absolutely “pure,” and without habits. The strategy is radical. Most of us think we want to improve and advance along whatever path we’ve already started. But let’s think differently for a minute; let’s say you’re a carpenter. By definition, you’re really good at hammering. In fact, every move you make has a chopping rhythm to it. But, the same craft that builds your strength is also tearing away at your body. Instead of improving along lines you’ve already established, it might be better to undo those habits.

Remember how children move? When they see mommy leaving they wave “bye-bye” with their whole bodies — everything quivers. Knees wobble, arms shake, head bobs. As adults, we move as though we were cryogenically frozen. We see a friend after 20 years and lift a stiff arm in greeting. Natural motion has become foreign to us.

What we need is a big eraser to eliminate some of those things we’re so proud of: our tight muscles, our fixed posture, our ossifying natures.

When playing push hands in Tai Chi, we find that every time we stiffen and “take a stand,” we get pushed over. In Kung Fu, when we tend to let loose that “home run” strike, the opponent is all over us. Slowly we learn the value of relaxation, not because we read about it in a book, but because the point keeps being brought home with a punch.

And the point is well-learned. Of course, we have to worry about the mortgage, and work, and the jerks that abound. But the real treasure of life is in the moments in between when we put aside the day. Taking a nap, looking at our children, wasting an afternoon. Every “lost” minute is precious because it’s really not lost at all — it’s the way we were meant to be, it’s the water running downhill without help or hindrance.

That Great American Taoist stated it like this when he wrote, “The face of external nature teaches the same lesson. Nature will not have us fret and fume. She does not like our benevolence or our learning much better than she likes our frauds and wars.” What Nature likes, Emerson implies, is less — just a little less.