People who are really good at what they do make it look easy–but usually, it’s not. Becoming truly expert at something, or even good, takes years of practice.
Wasn’t it Malcolm Gladwell who wrote that to become expert in ANYTHING requires at least 10,000 hours of purposeful practice? That’s more than one full year of doing NOTHING else–no sleeping, eating, or stretching one’s legs. And of course, that’s impossible.
The singer who can make her voice float lightly above the staff has learned how to control her voice, her breathing, and her volume. The photographer who catches the perfect shot has taken thousands of mediocre pictures. The home-run hitter has struck out more times than he can count. And the writer who spins a story that capitvates a reader has spent months editing thousands of paragraphs and pages.
Whenever you undertake the task of learning something new, you pass through four stages, the first of which is unconscious incompetence. You have a camera, and occasionally you snap a really good shot. You delight in that one picture and ignore those that aren’t so great. You don’t know what you don’t know–about the camera, composition, lighting, field of distance, and bokeh. You’re blissfully unaware of your limitations.
But if you want to master a task, you have to enter the next phase: conscious incompetence. You have to learn about the things you don’t know, and once you do, you’ll see how and why your previous efforts were either lucky accidents or off the mark. I remember when I went through a baking phase, and became determined to master the art of baking macarons–not macroons, the coconut cookies, but the French macaron, which is a bite of heaven on earth. My early efforts–before I learned how to slam the pans, not to overbeat the batter by even a single stroke, and open the oven door exactly once during the baking–were pitiful: lopsided, over or under done, flat, and freakish.
The next stage is conscious competence. You have learned what to do, and you set about doing it. If you fail the first time, you try it again. You practice purposefully, learning from your mistakes. You retake photos, you edit those paragraphs, you mix up a fresh batch of macarons, you head back out to the batting cage. You know what to do, but you have to think in order to do it properly.
After spending hours and days and weeks in the conscious competence phase, you finally enter the final stage: unconscious competence. You’re an expert. You know what to do, and you do it automatically. You can play the piano without wondering where your hands are. You can sing and release your vibrato at exactly the right moment. You can hit a fastball with your eyes closed. Your macaroons come out of the oven looking just as they should. And your paragraphs require a lot less work to whip into shape.
Even in this final stage, your work is not perfect–expert writers still need editors, ovens can still fail, and home run hitters can have “off” days. Expert photographers can forget to put their camera settings back to where they should be. But those situations become rarer and rarer.
So if you want to learn something–to write, paint, sing, play a sport, build things, run a business, do public speaking–be aware that there’s always a learning curve. You will never become expert at a thing unless you put in the practice time. You may have to rest in the stage of conscious competence (that’s where I am with my photography), but you’ve learned a skill and enriched your life . . . and, hopefully, the lives of others.
I love learning. In eternity, when we’ll have heaven and a new earth to explore, I hope to become expert in foreign languages, sailing, ballet, and ice skating–just a few of the skills I know I won’t have time to master on earth. But all I need is time, and, praise the Lord, that’s what eternity offers.
What would you love to master either now or later? Whatever it is, you can do it!
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Great post, Angie, and I love the thought that I might be able to master those things I haven’t yet mastered here, in eternity. Like you, I’d love to be bilingual or multilingual. (And no, Pig Latin doesn’t count as a second language, though I AM fluent!)
I’d love to be a great dancer (I’m not!) and I’d love to be able to paint, something I haven’t even dabbled in.
LOL! I’d be happy to learn Pig Latin! I have never gotten the hang of it. And that’s the blessing of eternity–all the time on the new earth to do all the things we didn’t have the time or situation to do in our mortal lives. What fun!
Angie, I’ll join Deb in teaching you Pig Latin. It’s the only foreign language I’m any good at although I have a smattering of Spanish. Although I’m not bad at painting, it is something set aside due to not enough time, so I would love to become an expert at that, painting the new earth. And if my new body allows, I would so love to be able to sing with a beautiful voice.
I remember the first time I became aware that we will keep learning in eternity. How boring if we either learned nothing new or suddenly knew everything and it was over. I keep thinking of amazing people who have gone before and the questions I want to ask them.
Great thoughts, Robin. I hear people say that all we will do is worship in heaven, and, well, creative arts are a form of worship, no? And why did God give us the joy of creating and learning if He didn’t intend for us to use it for His glory? So I’ll set up my easel next to yours and we’ll have plenty of time to paint together. 🙂
Playing the keyboard. I love music, but my version of Silent Night is so very sad. 🤣🤣🤣
Good to know that in heaven, you’ll have lots of time for practice! :-).