What if the old adage “practice makes perfect” proved not to be true? What difference might that make to the way you decided to spend your time?
In a recent episode of “Sideways” I happened to mention that I was sorry we sold my father’s record collection after he died because, even without his expert guidance, I suspect I would have learned a lot about music and my own changing tastes from working my way through it. I said that I was particularly interested in listening to more jazz but had no idea where to begin.
A kind intervention by a listener and friend pointed me towards saxophonist Art Pepper but it wasn’t just his music that piqued my interest.
I discovered, through a little background reading, that he’d been brought up by two violent alcoholics and had developed his own addiction to heroin.
The other thing I learned was that he hardly ever practised, presumably because he was so strung out on “smack” most of the time.
Malcolm Gladwell in his book “Outliers” famously asserted that 10,000 hours of practice is what it takes to achieve greatness but it turns out that it’s only the case if you have a bit of talent in the first place.
Research done back in 1993 with a group of pianists and violinists found that the most expert musicians tended to practice less than those who were not quite as good.
While this might seem like a dispiriting finding for any of us trying to achieve true expertise in a particular field it could actually be seen as a blessing in disguise.
For example, it seems likely now that the reason I did not become a professional musician is nothing to do with my unwillingness to put in the hours but was really because I just wasn’t good enough.
Personally, I find that liberating.
Thinking more laterally I could see this same idolatry for quantity over quality playing out disappointingly in other areas of life.
When relationships are in trouble one of the “go-to” explanations is, “We just don’t communicate enough” when in fact the problem is often in the quality of the communication rather than the amount of it.
Therapy is not immune either, as my daughter wittily pointed out.
“When I used to go and see the school counsellor she just used to play UNO with me every week.”
“I expect she did that in the hope that you’d open up about anything that was bothering you while you played,” I suggest.
“Maybe, but you have to concentrate when you’re playing UNO if you want to win.”
So if I practice something every day it’s perfectly possible that I will gradually get a little better but when I hit my limit and plateau my tendency to compare myself to someone else who might have more natural talent, a better tutor, or sharper learning skills might deflate me without much justification.
Accepting that practice won’t make you perfect but might make you proficient at producing the same mediocre results time after time seems like an important realisation and one that could save a lot of effort better used in other ways.
So instead of practising anything this morning I’m drinking coffee and listening to “Art Pepper Meets The Rhythm Section” an album recorded in 1957 when Miles Davis’s band had to get Pepper’s sax out of hock so that he could drag his heroin-riddled arse into the studio to make what many consider to be his best album. Pepper hadn’t played for six months and apparently, did everything in one take.
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