Overhearing Yourself (on Practicing, pt 4)

July 29

When the novice first begins a new skill, all surprises are bad surprises.

You may sit down to write a poem, play a chord, or really try to listen to your coworkers, only to find that somewhere in between your intention and your action everything derailed.

You go to paint a straight line and your hand crooks over to the side. You sit down to read a chapter and find yourself staring at your phone. You try to make an omelet and well—looks like takeout is back on the menu. 

The first order of practicing is often to iron out all of these surprises. Shortening the distance between intent and result until you can reliably perform the basic task.

Then you turn a corner—and you begin to realize that, while you’ve learned the basics, you’re no longer thrilled at the prospect of just getting to do something the way everyone else does. 

The fourth rule of practicing is to start looking for surprises. Welcoming them with a smile, or a laugh, or a pat on the back. 

In this regard, practicing doesn’t just become a way of getting better. It becomes a way of excavating the true self—what is uniquely you about your way of doing things. What is it about the way that you play, cook, talk, write, strike, or learn that just doesn’t match the way everyone else does it? 

And now, instead of sitting down to put your nose to the grindstone, the regular act of practicing becomes a way of hearing—a daily commitment to eavesdrop on a conversation with yourself.

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