How can you compete with that?

28 Mar 2024

For one week in the Fall of 2023, all of New York City wondered if he might pull it off.

Novak Djokovic was set to play in the U.S. Open Finals on Sunday.

This match had been the talk of the town because (a) This win would extend Novak’s record for the most Grand Slams to 24 (ahead of Nadal at 22 and Federer at 20), and (b) At 36, nearly a decade older than his opponent (Daniil Medvedev, 27), Novak would be the oldest man to win the U.S. Open.¹ Both would strengthen his case for being the greatest men’s tennis player ever.

As I watched him win in straight sets, I asked myself the question I think we all ask when we witness such an improbable human achievement:

“How does he do it?”

There are of course the standard answers—talent, hard work, luck, the will to win—but I think one non-obvious answer lies in this 2015 interview. Then 28-year-old Novak was already a star. 10 Gram Slam wins put him tied seventh in the all-time list, with only two contemporary players (Federer & Nadal) left to chase.

When the interviewer asked how he keeps himself motivated, Djokovic replies:

“I can carry on playing at this level because I like hitting the tennis ball,” he says simply.

Are there players who don’t, I ask?

“Oh yes. There are people out there who don’t have the right motivation. You don’t need to talk to them. I can see it.”

He couldn’t have given a more mundane answer, but I believe it secretly reveals a deeper truth about sustaining excellence.

He likes hitting the tennis ball.

That means he’s going to like playing tennis.

That also means he’s going to like practising tennis, even if—no, especially if—it involves him hitting the tennis ball repeatedly.

If I keep on doing it, I figure I’ll get somewhere with my writing. And most other people don’t find it that fun, so it’s a competitive advantage to be choosing things [to write about] you’re intrinsically interested in.

— Tyler Cowen, interview on How I Write

I. In the long run, you can’t outwork someone having more fun than you

Let’s take natural aptitude and the correct strategy as given, becoming the best at tennis, or any pursuit for that matter, is still going to require an ungodly number of hours practising. Assuming our brains are wired “correctly,” those are gruelling hours!

Then there’s Novak Djokovic.

If practice means hitting the tennis ball (it does), and he likes doing that, it follows he’ll be inclined to do more of it than someone who doesn’t like hitting the tennis ball. At the risk of stating the obvious: It’s impossible to outwork Novak.

He has a further unfair advantage—He says he can see when professional players don’t enjoy their practice. For them, practice is something to be endured, a price to pay. How reassuring it must be for him to know that about his opponent before stepping on the court.

“Do what you love” is for amateurs. “Love what you do” is the mantra for professionals.

— Seth Godin, The Practice: Shipping Creative Work

II. The increasing returns to loving the work

We could be forgiven for writing off enjoying practice as something reserved for amateurs. After all, we’re told as kids to “have fun with it,” but as we grow up, we stop hearing this. The implicit message is clear: “Kids play, adults work.”

Counterintuitively, I think that a love of the game, epitomised by Novak, matters more at the highest levels. Michael Mauboussin writes about “the paradox of skill”—As the overall level of skill in a competitive activity (e.g. sports, investing, etc.) increases, luck becomes more important in determining the outcome. In other words, as the field of competitors get stronger, it's harder to gain an edge through skill alone, thus luck can play a greater role in success or failure.

Perhaps we find a variant of this paradox when we substitute “luck” for “fun,” or more accurately, how much one actually enjoys the cognitive and tactile sensations of engaging in their craft. When there’s a large discrepancy in skill, this might not matter as much. But as the skill gap shrinks, as it does when world no. 1 faces world no. 2, the advantage from enjoying the practice is accentuated.

In the opening page of his memoir, Open, Andre Agassi writes: “I play tennis for a living, even though I hate tennis, hate it with a dark and secret passion, and always have.”

Agassi was a great tennis player. He was even the best for some time.² Agassi and Novak shared many similarities—both had ample talent and determination—but one retired at 36 while the other won the U.S. Open at that age.³

As one ascends the levels of the game, whether they like hitting the tennis ball becomes what separates the best for a time from the best ever.

You feel as if you’re an animal in its natural habitat, doing what you were meant to do—not always happy, maybe, but awake and alive.

– Paul Graham, A Project of One’s Own

III. Finding your version of hitting the tennis ball

It’s a safe bet that Novak likes tennis, but that wasn’t his answer to what keeps him going.

He knew that was too vague. One might like professional tennis because they fancy the lifestyle, or being famous, or winning. Liking hitting the tennis ball, on the other hand, is specifically what he believes gives him the edge.

Every craft has its equivalent of hitting the tennis ball. We ought to know what that is and honestly ask ourselves whether we actually like it for its own sake.

A good razor for this is to distinguish between the inputs vs. outputs to what you do. Many people would love having run a marathon, or written a book, or taken a company public. But these are the outputs from putting in the work. How many people have an equal desire for the corresponding inputs required to achieve these things?

We must also not confuse the accoutrements of work with the work itself. When you ask a management consultant if they like their job, you’ll be amused to hear every conceivable answer except what their job actually is. Strip away the money, influence, prestige your work confers and you’re left facing the core, in all its splendid monotony.

Would you keep on doing it if no one knew?

Would you keep on doing it after you’re “successful”?

Would you keep on hitting the tennis ball?

Thanks to Graham Duncan for first bringing this Novak Djokovic interview & quote to my attention. I highly recommend reading his letter.

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