Ten years or ten thousand hours. To become an expert at something requires time, investment, dedication and determination. There is a demand for steadfastness. The persistent application of will. And often this is at the expense of other things. To master something, one must forgo other things. Make sacrifices. One cannot have their cake and eat it, too. When I was merely 13 years old, and already a junior Olympic competitor, my coach informed my mother that unless I did not dedicate myself to swim practice full-time (six days a week as opposed to my unapplied five-days-a-week), I would never achieve greatness in my sport nor receive a swimming scholarship to college. I could never truly succeed. I would be a simple Jack-of-all-trades, mastering nothing. Achieving nothing. Being less. A failure.
It made me angry. Furious. Focused me in a singular way to prove her wrong. She was right about one thing: I quit swimming. But I did get a scholarship to college. Not as an athlete, rather for my intellectual accomplishments. The irony is that I ended up pursuing my scholastic goals with the fervor and single-mindedness that my coach had declared a requirement as an athlete. I was an exceptional student and even received scholarship to medical school. But, I may have missed out on other things: folly and adventure.
I think that is why, now, after so many years, I have felt compelled to learn and explore and attempt new things. People say to me, “You do so many things.” And, “How do you have the time for it all?” And the answer is that I never want to stop learning, trying new things, investigating, being curious.
Why?
Why not!
This life is a straight shot, a linear trajectory. Point A to Point B. Birth to death. And in my belief system, there are no Do Overs. A life should never be squandered.
But, it also is not necessary to always be DOING SOMETHING. I love the little cliche: we are human BEINGS not human DOINGS. To be. Just be. Be in this moment. Typing. Thinking. Editing. Listening to the Stellar’s jay outside on the Douglas fir.
It is a bird I did not know. A call I have never heard. So, I look it up on Merlin and read about its habitat and migratory pattern. And now I know this and no one can remove that knowledge. It’s mine. Knowledge may be the only possession that cannot be stolen. Once I have it, it is irrevocably mine. And I cannot unknow something – although there have been times I have wished that possible. There is a security in learning. I can accumulate knowledge and skills and they are safely guarded in my mind.
While my husband has been skiiing, I have learned new things. I learned to make soap and I learned how to throw clay and use a potter’s wheel. I did not know how to do these things. What a pleasure to learn for someone who is an expert, who has spent their “10 years and 10 thousand hours” at their artisan craft. I get to absorb and learn something fundamentally new. And I now know about the Stellar’s jay. I am just thrilled.
