The Predictable Journey Towards Mastery
Malcolm Gladwell popularized the idea that it takes about 10,000 hours to gain expertise in a performance-based field. Breaking that down, mastery requires we practice 2 hours per day, 5 days per week, 50 weeks per year for 20 years. Sounds about right. If I dedicated myself to anything for that long with that kind of regularity, I’d certainly expect some level of proficiency, if not mastery. Unfortunately, about the only things we often have time for with that kind of dedication is sleeping, eating, and working a day job.
Nashville writers and publishers put it another way. Somewhere around your 250th song you can call yourself a songwriter, they say. Whether we measure growth in hours or songs, the bottom line seems to be effort put in equals proficiency out.
Neither of these approaches seem to indicate that talent is a prerequisite. Getting good at anything is an endurance game. It’s tough to commit long-term without short, immediate gains, and those who carry a smidge of talent get a little more back in the short-term from their efforts. No doubt talent can accelerate learning, but a lack of it doesn’t preclude us from forward movement. It just requires the movement come with a little more intention.
10,000 is such an intimidating benchmark, I hardly feel like penciling in 2 hours per day Monday through Friday in my calendar for the next twenty years. I wouldn’t do anything that long for the sake of mastery, but I would do it for enjoyment. And what’s enjoyable is also motivating. So somewhere along the way, when the practice of writing no longer feels enjoyable, progress slows down for lack of practice.
So the question for me in my own practice and my own teaching becomes about how to keep the process enjoyable, so that I can achieve the level of skill that cycles round to creating even more growth and more enjoyment.
What motivates each of us to keep putting pen to paper, or fingers to instrument, or sound to DAW, is personal. Perhaps we all would like to see our songs connect, communicate, and be heard, but such abstract measures are feeble hooks on which to hang our dreams. ‘Why’ we create is important to clarify, but what we practice day-to-day to actualize the ‘why’ is the real discussion. That path is paved with tools, practiced through specific skill-building actions we can measure. Thus, the struggle to write, record, and release begins, with landmarks like writing and recording with others, wondering where our songs fit in terms of the market, touring, and gaining distance, and clarity, from projects we made years before.
It is entirely possible to write 250 songs and still not reach mastery, or to devote 10,000 hours and fall short of great skill. The point is not the time taken or the songs finished, but the various tools practiced along the way that come up as we dedicate so much focus to an endeavor. Here’s how that path looks for many songwriters, and perhaps you’ll find yourself somewhere in the pages of this story:
About 10 songs in, we’ll begin believing we’re songwriters, and around 20 we’ll wonder what our sound is. We might pick up a new instrument, or dedicate ourselves more fully to the instrument we already play. Right around 30 songs completed we’ll get tired of that perceived sound of ours and search for more, in the form of producers, collaborators, or maybe a band. Then around 50, if we make it that far, we’ll realize how hard it is to write simply and effectively rather than complexly and convolutedly, as our improved taste begins to show us the gap between our ability and our vision. These are predictable stops along the way to great artistry, and cannot be skipped over. The moment we realize the extent of our limitations is the moment we see the gap between our current placement and our vision. Instead of seeing that as a valiant leap forward, many of us take that moment as a sign we don’t have what it takes. We interpret the data all wrong, thinking that the more skilled we become, the more pleased we should be with our new aptitude.
So perhaps instead of measuring how far we’ve come, we could measure by how far we recognize we still have to go. 10,000 hours of aiming to create one thing and winding up having created another - only the brave do that. To continue making what falls short of our initial vision and pushing through - that’s the reality. That’s why creators are incredible people, and why I love working with them every day. And I’m humbled and proud to be one of them.
Enjoyment isn’t always enough. We need instruction, in the form of a community of like-minded creators, teachers, tips and tools that can help us continue down the path when discouragement lurks on the sidelines. Gaining mastery can be a bloody fight, and we all can use a little cheering-on from time to time to stay in the ring.
Wherever you are along your journey to mastery, I wish you time to do the work, resources to guide the work you do, and people to support you on your way.
If you're looking for a space to focus on your writing, connect with fellow songwriters, and expand your toolkit, click here to join The 30-Day Songwriter.
Stay creative,
