I'm not really interested in sports psychology. It makes me feel

Michelle Wie, the prodigy of golf who carried both the weight of expectation and the brilliance of raw talent, once said: “I’m not really interested in sports psychology. It makes me feel like a crazy person.” At first, her words may seem dismissive, even rebellious. Yet beneath them lies a cry of the human heart: the desire to remain natural, unbroken by overthinking, to trust instinct and the simplicity of one’s own spirit rather than becoming entangled in the endless knots of the mind.

For the athlete’s battle is not only against opponents, but also against the self. The body may be strong, the skill may be sharp, but the mind can become a prison if one feeds it too many rules, doubts, and philosophies. Wie’s words remind us that sometimes, in the search for perfect control, one loses the very freedom that makes performance great. To her, sports psychology threatened to make her question every swing, every step, until the game became burden rather than joy.

The ancients knew this danger well. The great Stoic Marcus Aurelius wrote endlessly about discipline of the mind, yet he also warned against the mind drowning in its own thoughts. The warrior who hesitates, who second-guesses in battle, is already defeated. The archer who overanalyzes his release will never strike the target. Likewise, Wie saw the peril of too much inward analysis, the danger that it might cloud her natural gift, that it might make her feel—as she said—like a “crazy person,” forever fighting with her own thoughts instead of the game itself.

History offers us many examples of those who thrived on instinct and simplicity. Consider George Best, the great footballer, whose genius flowed like water when he played freely. Coaches and analysts tried to tame his style, but his magic came from spontaneity, from trusting himself in the moment. His greatness was not born from overthinking, but from daring. Like Wie, he embodied the truth that sometimes mastery lies not in more control, but in less.

Yet there is also wisdom in balance. While some find strength in deep mental discipline, others must guard the purity of instinct. What Wie expresses is not hatred for the mind, but a warning: that each soul must know its own way of approaching the struggle. For some, sports psychology is a sword that cuts through doubt; for others, it is a weight that drags them down. The wise competitor learns to choose, to keep what strengthens them, and to cast off what weakens them, even if it is praised by others.

The lesson for us is clear: do not let the noise of others’ methods drown out your own voice. Whether in sport, work, or life, know yourself. If analysis and structure help you, embrace them. If they stifle you, step away. There is no single road to greatness—there is only the road that allows your spirit to shine most brightly. What matters is not whether you follow the prescribed path, but whether you remain true to the nature within you.

Therefore, let this teaching be carried forward: simplicity is often the key to freedom. Do not overburden your heart with unnecessary chains. Trust the gifts you have, honor the instincts that rise in you, and let your actions flow with the clarity of water. For when the mind grows too loud, the spirit grows weak; but when the spirit leads, even the hardest battles can be won.

And so, Michelle Wie’s words, though spoken with humor and defiance, carry a timeless truth: greatness is not always born from analysis, but from authenticity. Do not fear being different, do not fear rejecting what does not serve you. For the true champion is not the one who copies every method, but the one who knows themselves—and dares to be free.