I Tried to Be Smart…..

….But then Zhuangzi and Phil Jackson told me to chill

Saccadic refers to the quick, jerky movements of the eyes as they jump from one point of focus to another. It’s our built-in scanning system for navigating a constantly shifting world. In the context of awareness, it’s the body’s reminder that perception is never still; we’re always leaping from moment to moment, trying to stitch together meaning from the blur. Living a “saccadic life” means learning to find stillness within that motion.

I live a saccadic life.

Head on a swivel.

Eyes darting like a caffeinated meerkat at a Vegas buffet of distractions.

My friends say I notice everything. The barista’s new tattoo. The subtle sigh in someone’s tone. The flicker of light that signals a storm is brewing. I call it awareness. My late mother called it nosiness. The Taoist sage Zhuangzi might just call it “being alive.”

These days, awareness feels like a survival skill. Between political chaos, AI revolutions, and whatever the stock market’s doing before lunch, being aware isn’t just a virtue—it’s the new common sense. Or maybe the old one we forgot.

NBA Hall of Fame Coach Phil Jackson (yes, the Zen Master himself ) once wrote in Sacred Hoops that “it is better to be aware than to be smart.” I remember underlining that line so hard that my highlighter almost broke through the page. Awareness, he said, keeps you open to the moment; smartness just tries to control it.

That hit me like a perfectly executed triangle offense.

The Tao of Noticing

Taoist master Zhuangzi would’ve loved Phil Jackson. Both were allergic to control. Both believed in flow. Both knew that life — like basketball—isn’t about forcing the shot, it’s about moving with the play.

Zhuangzi tells a story of a man so absorbed in carving an ox that he no longer saw the ox. His knife, guided by awareness, slid through the natural openings of the animal, never hitting bone. “Perception and understanding have come to a stop,” he said. “Spirit moves where it wants.”

That’s what awareness is.

Not thinking about what you’re doing.

Not strategizing every move.

Just moving as life moves.

When I’m fully aware, time slows down. I hear the hum of the fridge, the rhythm of my breath, the absurd wisdom of a passing squirrel. In those moments, I’m not trying to fix or figure anything out. I’m simply there like Zen with it all.

The problem? Most of us live with our heads bobbing like dashboard figurines. Alert, yes, but never present. We confuse vigilance with awareness. One tightens; the other expands. One lives in fear; the other in flow.

Smartness: The Great Imposter

I believe that being “smart” is overrated.

Smart people overthink. They calculate. They hedge. They stay busy trying to look like they have life figured out.

I used to be that guy who was too much in his head, replete with a color-coded Franklin Planner that could make a monk nervous. But awareness kept whispering: “You can’t outthink the Tao.”

So, I stopped trying to dominate the moment and started letting the moment teach me. Sometimes that meant being still when everyone else was moving. Other times, it means acting before thought even kicks in. Awareness isn’t passive, it’s participatory. It dances with the world instead of dictating to it.

As Phil Jackson learned from his Zen teachers, “awareness” on the court was about sensing energy: the mood of the team, the rhythm of the game, the unspoken pulse beneath the noise. That’s Taoist leadership 101.

When you’re aware, you stop needing to prove yourself smart. The play reveals itself.

The Swivel-Head Paradox

Here’s the funny part: I’m still the guy with my head on a swivel. Awareness doesn’t mean zoning out on a mountaintop. It means noticing everything without getting trapped by it.

The Tao Te Ching says, “The master observes the world but trusts his inner vision.”

That’s the key.

Awareness without attachment.

Vision without fixation.

Zhuangzi might say: “You can watch the fish swimming, but don’t jump in trying to teach them better technique.”

In other words: keep your swivel, but stay centered.

During my long walks, I practice this. I watch dogs sniffing everything like tiny sages in fur coats. I see people speed-walking with headphones blasting news about the end of the world. I nod, breathe, and keep swiveling.

I’m not escaping the chaos. I’m surfing it.

The Uncertain Now

We live in paradoxical times: everything feels urgent, yet nothing is certain. Every scroll, ping, and “breaking news” headline tempts us to react, analyze, and overheat our brains. But awareness—true awareness—invites us to feel instead of flee.

Zhuangzi would tell us to let go of rigid knowing. “Once you know that you do not know,” he said, “you begin to see clearly.”

Phil Jackson’s Bulls and Lakers practiced this. They learned to trust space as it exists in the pause between plays, the silent chemistry of shared breath. It’s what allowed Michael Jordan to enter “the zone,” that mystical state where awareness and action merge into one fluid motion.

We can live like that too.

Even in a world spinning faster than our notifications.

Even with our heads swiveling at 100 mph.

Living Aware

Awareness isn’t some mystical achievement. It’s everyday Taoism.

It’s pausing before replying to that snarky text.

It’s noticing your breath when your to-do list mutinies.

It’s catching the absurdity in your own seriousness and laughing.

Zhuangzi once woke from a dream unsure whether he was a man dreaming he was a butterfly or a butterfly dreaming he was a man. Awareness, he was saying, is the art of not needing to know which one you are. Just fly.

So yes, my life may be saccadic. My head may swivel. But somewhere in that spinning awareness, I glimpse the still point of the turning world.

And when I do, Phil Jackson would nod in approval from the Taoist bleachers of eternity, whispering:

“It’s better to be aware than to be smart.”

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Diamond-Michael Scott, aka The Chocolate Taoist