To build enduring expertise, take it slowly
"She wants to lose weight, so she's decided to do a marathon!"
A few months ago, my mom shared how excited her friend was about this big, ambitious goal, and how she believed it would help her achieve her dream. That got me thinking about what it takes to bring goals to life.
I have also had my share of oversized goals. When I finished by undergraduate degree in classical music, I gave myself only two options: either (1) land an orchestra job, or (2) be accepted to graduate school ... as soon as humanly possible. There is only so much ramen a person can eat, so I did everything I could to make either of these goals happen. Surprisingly, I found plenty of work as a performing musician and was accepted to my dream graduate school within two years of graduation.
But it was exhausting. Focusing on getting a gig so quickly meant spending all my free time practicing, rehearsing, or auditioning. That meant no socializing, unless I was hanging out with fellow musicians backstage. Exercise was limited to schlepping my instrument and music stand to and from performance halls. The price I paid over the next few years was burnout—physical exhaustion from lack of sleep, nutrition, and exercise; the loss of mental focus and motivation; and finally losing a belief in my ability or worthiness to make music. Since then, I've learned how to pace myself while still achieving the impossible. The key is to take it slowly.
I've also learned that taking it slowly applies to smaller things, like learning new skills. Recently, I've tested my theory on learning a variety of things, including how to:
Facilitate large groups through design exercises
Adopt an exclusively plant-based diet
Build databases for financial modeling
Return to running after 10 years
In 1949, Neuropsychologist Donald Hebb famously observed that the "neurons that fire together, wire together." Our brains literally build new neural connections based on our repeated activities. Each time I complete an action, the neural pathway is reinforced. That's the very mechanism that enables me to perform under pressure. However, if I am seduced by speed, I will definitely make mistakes. And if I'm not careful, those mistakes will become encoded into my brain—the same way that I mix up the letters T and H constantly when typing, because that muscle memory was built when I was trying to type quickly. Practice doesn't make perfect; practice makes permanent.
Practice doesn’t make perfect; practice makes permanent.
To achieve big goals and develop flawless new skills, I've developed a three-part approach:
Understand the structure
Focus on accuracy
Go slower than I think I should
Understanding the structure means to examine the logic of a goal and break down the component elements. The mistake I made early in my musical career was to focus on gaining a position—a short term achievement. I was so desperate to prove myself and be a working musician that I failed to care for myself in a way that could have sustained a musical career indefinitely. After experiencing that burnout, I left music as a profession and now seek creative outlets in more measured and healthy doses. The antidote is to shift the horizon: to look for the long-term efforts that will result in achieving short-term goals, making them almost feel like a happy accident.
Accuracy is a much greater predictor of success than speed is. Whether the goal is to cook the perfect meal, perform a piano sonata, or complete a marathon, accuracy allows me to repeat my accomplishment. Speed, on the other hand, can seduce me to cut corners.
A few years ago, I worked with a young designer determined to prove herself. She was filled with unbounded enthusiasm and I had no doubt she would design many good things in her career. However, speed was driving her down blind alleys. When given an assignment, she completed it as quickly as possible, using a combination of screen captures to give the appearance of having designed a new interface. That worked until we needed her to make adjustments to the interface because of changing business requirements. Then, the short cut she'd taken to be fast (instead of slowing down to create the individual elements), brought the project to a screeching halt so we could effectively start from the beginning.
I don't blame her. In fact, I often think of her as a personal mentor in my memory, inviting me to consider whether a short-term strategy is truly aligned with my long-term goals. This leads to the third component of my approach: going slowly.
When due dates press in, I deliberately slow down—even when I think I should go fast. As hard as it can be, asking for more time to complete a project well can prevent weeks of re-work resulting from mistakes made by rushing. But that's not the only benefit from slowing down. When I practice something slowly, I can also practice the sensation of ease instead of tension. No one wants to look strained or always worry whether their efforts will work. Experts are defined by their confidence and how effortless their performance looks. Ease, effortlessness, and confidence can be developed, like anything else. How? By going slowly and accurately.
Instead of hoping to get lucky, I can follow the simple parts of my approach with confidence. By slowing down to understand the structure and then emphasize accuracy, I'll be able to deliver when adrenaline kicks in. Speed is an outcome, resulting from understanding which skills to use when, and then performing them flawlessly.
I used to think, "slow down to go fast." But now I think it might be better said as, "slow down to go far."