Have you ever spent half an hour meticulously scouring Amazon, filled up your cart, and ended up buying absolutely nothing?
Or a worse version: spending 20 minutes flipping through a restaurant menu, the waiter has come by three times to ask “Are you ready to order?”, and you are still agonizing over the existential choice between Kung Pao Chicken and Garlic Sauce Pork.
Don’t laugh. Take this paralyzing state of “wanting everything but afraid to choose anything,” multiply it by ten thousand, and you have the exact picture of Google at the end of 2022.
In December of that year, the most terrifying thing in Silicon Valley wasn’t the weather—it was a secret memo circulating wildly inside Google.
Google had issued a “Code Red”.
What cards did this trillion-dollar behemoth, which had ruled the internet for two decades, hold in its hand? The original paper on the Transformer architecture (they literally drew the “nuclear blueprints” for AI themselves), the highest density of AI geniuses on the planet, and computational power rivaling a nation’s wealth…
And the result?
Faced with ChatGPT, this giant fell into a suffocating dead silence for months.
Bluntly speaking, Google didn’t fall behind in technology. Google was paralyzed by fear.
Founders Larry Page and Sergey Brin were urgently summoned from retirement. They grinded through back-to-back meetings in the conference rooms of Zurich and Mountain View.
And then?
Then—more meetings. More evaluations. More “let’s think about it.”
Why couldn’t they move? Because Google was trapped in the classic “Innovator’s Dilemma”:
“If I release a chatbot that gives direct answers, where do I put my hundred-billion-dollar search ads—those neatly arranged blue links?”
It was bleeding from internal friction: “What if the model says the wrong thing? Can the brand survive it?” “Will regulators use this as an excuse to break us up?” “Should we merge the three AI teams first before doing anything?”
Amidst this endless cycle of “prudent discussion,” a small OpenAI team of just a few hundred people took technology that rightfully belonged to Google and pulled the trigger on a new era.
It is the equivalent of inventing the gun, only to have the kid next door pick it up and fire the first shot.
Let the absurdity of that sink in.
Having spent years training in the dojo, I am entirely too familiar with this state where “the body still has strength, but the mind is frozen.”
There is a specific term for it: The Four Sicknesses (Shikai).
In the eyes of a Kendo master, what destroys an expert is not the opponent’s sword, but the four poisons within their own mind: Surprise, Fear, Doubt, and Confusion.
Interestingly, inside Google’s “Code Red,” you can watch this chain reaction detonate one by one, like a textbook case study:
The First: Surprise (Kyo). The heartbeat falters.
When ChatGPT launched its ambush, Google’s first reaction wasn’t calm analysis—it was organizational arrhythmia. In the dojo, if an opponent suddenly lets out an explosive shout (Kiai), no matter how flawless your technique is, if your mind skips a beat for even a fraction of a second, your muscles will lock up. Masters strike precisely at that fraction-of-a-second void.
The Second: Fear (Ku). “Surprise” ignites “Fear.”
Google dared to go all-in on technology, but it didn’t dare to sacrifice its business model. It was too afraid to lose. Afraid of a stock crash, afraid of shrinking ad revenue, afraid of antitrust investigations. The more accustomed someone is to winning, the more they fear taking a hit. It is like a novice desperately raising their hands to protect their head—leaving their chest completely exposed. The more you fear death, the faster you die.
The Third: Doubt (Gi). Fear breeds self-doubt.
At the time, three factions inside Google—DeepMind, Google Brain, and the Research department—were locked in a power struggle. Strategic objectives changed daily. This indecision turned what should have been clear judgment into a pool of muddy water. Just like your 15th minute agonizing over the menu: any choice would actually be fine, but you have been hijacked by your own hesitation.
The Fourth: Confusion (Waku). Complete loss of focus.
The hastily launched Bard chatbot ended up getting a basic fact wrong in front of the world during its live demo. Alphabet’s market cap evaporated by $100 billion in a single day. That wasn’t a technical glitch—that was a loss of form caused by a mental collapse. In a match, every strike thrown by a fighter who has lost their nerve lands off-target.
You see, these four poisons don’t just act up in Google’s boardrooms. They run on an endless loop in our daily lives.
When changing jobs: “What if the new company is a mess?” (Surprise) → “My current salary is decent, I shouldn’t rock the boat.” (Fear) → “What industry am I actually suited for?” (Doubt) → You end up continuing to drift aimlessly in your old role (Confusion).
When choosing a school for your child: You read 20 different guides (Surprise) → With every guide, the fear of making the wrong choice grows (Fear) → You start questioning your own judgment (Doubt) → You finally listen to Aunt Wang next door and pick a school you know absolutely nothing about (Confusion).
Even when ordering takeout—why are you laughing? Can you honestly say you haven’t agonized on UberEats for 15 minutes?
The antidote offered by Kendo is called Suigetsu (Water and Moon).
It does not mean becoming cold and ruthless. It means making your mind like still water, capable of reflecting the true nature of things without distortion.
If your mind is turbulent, everything you see is warped. You will mistake an opponent’s feint for a fatal blow; you will magnify a minor issue into an apocalyptic disaster. If your mind is as still as a mirror, every stirring of your opponent’s intent appears to you as clearly as ripples on the water’s surface.
“Prudence” is often just “Fear” wearing a respectable suit.
The next time your subconscious reflex is to say “Let’s think about it,” “Let’s wait and see,” or “Let’s hold off for now”—
Close your eyes first, and look at the mirror in your mind. Only when the water is still can you see the moon clearly. And only then can you see exactly where to swing your sword.
