AS A KID, I used to string up a stout stick
bent to the hilt, and practised archery. Taking
to archery was a decision driven by the
stories I heard growing up.
The tales of heroic Gods and warriors
who were well known for hitting the bullseye.
Tales of Lord Rama, who strung a bow
no one could lift. Tales of Arjuna, who shot
the eye of a revolving fish while looking
only at its reflection in oil below. Tales of
William Tell, who, without flinching once,
split an apple balanced on his own son’s
head. These were stand-out moments that
showcased heroic mastery.
As a young man, I was enamoured by these tales.
They fuelled my love for archery. I kept going back
to my bent stick and my chalk-marked wall, missing
more than I hit.
THE FRAYED STRING
The remnants of the hours of playing
in my garden were symbols of failure:
a frayed string on a worn-out bow,
and a target-board in shambles. But
you can’t fault me for not trying! This
thought takes me back to another story.
Adhiyamaan Nedumaan Anji, a
Velir chieftain from the Sangam era,
once sent poet saint Avvaiyar as his
envoy to the court of the neighbouring
king, Thondaimaan. Avvaiyar
was no ordinary messenger. At the royal armoury, she
employed sly praise remarking on how gleaming and
untouched the weapons looked. The implication was
clear. Adhiyamaan’s arms, by contrast,
were worn, dull, and battle-hardened.
A MISS IS NEVER JUST A MISS
What lessons does hitting the
bullseye teach someone learning archery?
Only that their aim was true.
But those who miss it learn many
more lessons. Every missed shot
carries a debrief. The arrow that
fell short tells you about the pullback
— the further you draw the bowstring
behind you, the further the arrow travels forward.
The one that dipped too early reminds
you to aim slightly higher than where you
want to reach, because gravity does not make
exceptions for effort. The one that drifted
sideways introduces you to the crosswind,
one of many factors you have no control over.
‘Missing’ is a remarkably thorough teacher!
There is a question every archer quietly
wrestles with, and it turns out to be more
interesting than it first appears. Look at the
illustration showing four different target
boards. The one that should worry you most
is not the cluster that sits away from the
bullseye. Your form is repeatable, your muscle memory
is working, and all you need is a small correction
in aim. The board that offers nothing to work with is
the one where arrows are scattered
everywhere. You cannot fix what has
no pattern. Consistency is the thing
worth building first. Accuracy, nearly
inevitably, follows.
TRUST THE PROCESS
I will let you in on a secret. Many of
the corporate success stories that go
viral today are almost always told in
reverse. The failures get edited out.
They are too unglamorous, too messy,
and too hard to fit into a keynote slide.
What remains is the bullseye, and the
impression that it was always the plan. This is what
critical thinkers call the Texas Sharpshooter Fallacy. It
is the habit of firing at a barn wall first and then drawing
the target around the bullet holes. Every shot, in
hindsight, looks deliberate. Every miss disappears.
Think about it. The bent stick, the frayed string,
and the arrows that missed. They were never signs of
failure. They were the education. Perhaps the wisest
archers say nothing about where they are aiming until
the arrow has landed. Not out of fear. But out of the quiet
understanding that the work was always real, and
that the result, when it comes, will be well worth it.
Ready, Shoot, Aim — as they say!