Well, it's not really a theory she thought up it comes from some other clever psycho-something expert. Basically, my mom was telling me that to be an expert in something you need to have spent 10,000 hours doing it. People like Bill Gates didn't just happen to be good at the thing that made him a household name, his bright idea didn't come out of nowhere... No, he had been fiddling with computer-type stuff, namely programming, for years. Similarly,a young Mozart practiced music "with ferocious intensity for years" and Bobby Fisher's "utter obsession with chess" is well documented.
You can read about the 10,000 hour theory in more depth by reading Michael Gladwell's 2008 book titled 'Outliers' or just having the modern day knee jerk reaction and 'Googling it', but harping on about the theory is not what this post is about. It's more about a realisation I came to recently as a result of what my mom mentioned.
You see I make my living at the moment as a copywriter, a wordsmith, and most recently as a blogger. I don't make my living as an artist which is how I always thought I would, which is surprising as it's what I studied at one of the top art schools in the world for four years, it's what I have always felt was my strength... My ability to draw, to paint, to feel right at home in front of an easel with the smell of turpentine in the air.
However, according to the 10,000 hour rule (roughly ten years taking into account sleeping, eating and having a life) I am not an expert in fine art. My expertise lie in something that I have always taken foregranted, in something that I have always done, in something that more often than not I have stuffed in a drawer or packed in a box to collect dust and perhaps never be looked at again...
The thing that I have spent more than 10,000 hours doing in my life is writing. I have kept journals since I got given my first pink diary with a padlock and scented pages at the age of 8, and I have piles of journals lining my bookshelf that have been scribbled in ever since then.
I am not claiming to be an expert, don't misunderstand my epiphany... I just find it amazing that writing has been such a big part of my life but I have never acknowledged it as such.... A bit silly when my great grandad, Ernest Ritter, wrote a little book called 'Shaka Zulu' and my grandfather was also a published author by the time he passed away. Perhaps, it is in the blood after all.
Anyway, on closer inspection I now see how something I never thought was very significant has really affected where I park my butt Monday to Friday. Who knew my obsession with Scrabble and my competitive crossword habit was all part of my 10,000 hours of training?
I recently sorted out my bookshelves and came across my journal from my first couple of years in London... It's full of teenage angst, tales of tequila and some really bad poetry (trust me, I was never destined to be a poet!) What I wrote is not as important as the fact that I kept writing.
Chatting to Hubby as I read him some amusing excerpts from the varsity chapter of my life, he asked me why I never wrote about him and our 'romance', "well," I said, "I didn't need to. I was too busy living it to write about it."
You see, historically speaking, the biggest gaps in my journals coincide with my happiest times, like I wrote on 24 September 2005: "it's been a while... Since I put pen to paper. When you see time laid out so clearly in front of you, it becomes apparent that somewhere in between my last journal entry and this one I stopped writing about my life and started living it.
And, well, that sums up where I find myself as a blogger... The big stuff I used to scribble about (my lovelife, my future, my faith) is no longer a big question mark. These days I get a kick out of everyday life... what hubby said next, trying to keep my potplants alive, navigating wifely duties with an artistic temperament and saying 'no' to that 50% off Nine West SMS.
I'd love to hear what you're an 'expert' in if you apply the 10,000 hour rule... So, get commenting...
You can read about the 10,000 hour theory in more depth by reading Michael Gladwell's 2008 book titled 'Outliers' or just having the modern day knee jerk reaction and 'Googling it', but harping on about the theory is not what this post is about. It's more about a realisation I came to recently as a result of what my mom mentioned.
You see I make my living at the moment as a copywriter, a wordsmith, and most recently as a blogger. I don't make my living as an artist which is how I always thought I would, which is surprising as it's what I studied at one of the top art schools in the world for four years, it's what I have always felt was my strength... My ability to draw, to paint, to feel right at home in front of an easel with the smell of turpentine in the air.
However, according to the 10,000 hour rule (roughly ten years taking into account sleeping, eating and having a life) I am not an expert in fine art. My expertise lie in something that I have always taken foregranted, in something that I have always done, in something that more often than not I have stuffed in a drawer or packed in a box to collect dust and perhaps never be looked at again...
The thing that I have spent more than 10,000 hours doing in my life is writing. I have kept journals since I got given my first pink diary with a padlock and scented pages at the age of 8, and I have piles of journals lining my bookshelf that have been scribbled in ever since then.
I am not claiming to be an expert, don't misunderstand my epiphany... I just find it amazing that writing has been such a big part of my life but I have never acknowledged it as such.... A bit silly when my great grandad, Ernest Ritter, wrote a little book called 'Shaka Zulu' and my grandfather was also a published author by the time he passed away. Perhaps, it is in the blood after all.
Anyway, on closer inspection I now see how something I never thought was very significant has really affected where I park my butt Monday to Friday. Who knew my obsession with Scrabble and my competitive crossword habit was all part of my 10,000 hours of training?
I recently sorted out my bookshelves and came across my journal from my first couple of years in London... It's full of teenage angst, tales of tequila and some really bad poetry (trust me, I was never destined to be a poet!) What I wrote is not as important as the fact that I kept writing.
Chatting to Hubby as I read him some amusing excerpts from the varsity chapter of my life, he asked me why I never wrote about him and our 'romance', "well," I said, "I didn't need to. I was too busy living it to write about it."
You see, historically speaking, the biggest gaps in my journals coincide with my happiest times, like I wrote on 24 September 2005: "it's been a while... Since I put pen to paper. When you see time laid out so clearly in front of you, it becomes apparent that somewhere in between my last journal entry and this one I stopped writing about my life and started living it.
And, well, that sums up where I find myself as a blogger... The big stuff I used to scribble about (my lovelife, my future, my faith) is no longer a big question mark. These days I get a kick out of everyday life... what hubby said next, trying to keep my potplants alive, navigating wifely duties with an artistic temperament and saying 'no' to that 50% off Nine West SMS.
I'd love to hear what you're an 'expert' in if you apply the 10,000 hour rule... So, get commenting...
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