The Art of Deliberate Practice

About three decades ago, at Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh, Professor William Chase and a postdoctoral fellow named Anders Ericsson posited an interesting theory. They argued that our innate talents — whether it’s playing the violin, winning at chess, or running a Fortune 500 company — aren’t really innate at all. After many years of research and conducting dozens of experiments, they concluded that the individuals we perceive as “geniuses” — Mozart, Tiger Woods, Itzhak Perlman, to name a few — become who they are through “deliberate practice,” not thanks to some miraculous higher power.

That means thousands and thousands of hours of hard work. Tiger Woods wasn’t born a gifted golf champion. His father, a pro golfer himself, started training him at age three. Mozart’s music wasn’t merely handed down to him by God; the composer rewrote his music numerous times, trying to perfect it as he went along. Violinists like Itzhak Perlman accumulated at least 10,000 hours of practice in 10 years before he finally mastered his art. In one study, Chase and Ericsson proved that great memory can be cultivated — anyone, at any level, can improve their memory skills, not just math wizards and chess players.

It doesn’t take a genius to understand that no one succeeds unless they work hard. But what separates the “ordinary” people from so-called “gifted” people, Chase and Ericsson suggest, isn’t some magical inborn quality; it’s deliberate practice. According to Geoff Colvin, author of the book Talent is Overrated:

Deliberate practice “is designed specifically to improve performance, often with a teacher’s help; it can be repeated a lot; feedback on results is continuously possible; it’s highly demanding mentally, whether the activity is purely intellectual, such as chess or business-related activities, or heavily physical, such as sports; and it isn’t much fun.”

Deliberate practice equals high performance. I understand now why many of my teachers believed I was a “gifted” writer and artist. But my talents weren’t gifts bestowed upon me at birth. I was a good writer because I wrote every single day — journals, essays, school newspaper articles, letters — I even created newsletters that I sent to one of my cousins regularly. I started my first collection of short stories in second grade. And I excelled at art because, at 6, I began drawing pictures on a regular basis. I was practicing deliberately without realizing it.

In retrospect, it makes sense why, in film school, my editing and shooting assignments often stood out (one of my professors once told me he had no doubt that I would one day “make it”). Prior to film school, as a teenager, I shot and edited numerous silly little short films; I volunteered at a local broadcasting station and taught myself video production; during my spare time I wrote dozens of awful screenplays. I didn’t wait until film school to learn the craft of filmmaking.  

My point here isn’t to boost my own ego. Far from it. For the last few years I’ve been racked with self-doubt and uncertainty about my future. I’ve never had any doubts about my own talent, but here’s what I’ve realized: I haven’t been working hard enough. And you out there, whoever is reading this: keep working your ass off. Double the amount of time you spend on pursuing your dreams. Stop wallowing in fear and laziness. Surgeons don’t become surgeons after a year of med school; it takes up to 10 years. It’s a mistake to believe we can achieve overnight success simply by wanting it. You’ve gotta get out there on the field and train like crazy. We may never truly know where talent comes from, but what we know for sure is this: deliberate practice pays off.

Lynch’s Twitter report

David Lynch is arguably the most unique filmmaker of our time. Case in point:

Welcome to L.A.

Long before I moved to Los Angeles, while I was a film student in San Francisco, I was told that the city was a breeding ground for superficiality. People in L.A., they said, were shallow creatures concerned about nothing except for breaking into showbusiness. How ironic, I thought, that the City of Angels was filled with self-absorbed demons. Still, after graduating from the Academy of Art College, I packed up all my stuff and moved to the alleged hellhole.

They couldn’t have been more wrong … and right. L.A. is far from the heartless town people say it is. I’ve met some of my best friends here. Yet there’s an underlying sense of selfishness that I haven’t felt anywhere else (well, besides film school). It’s only natural, of course. This is, after all, a city populated by many wanna-be actors, aspiring screenwriters, and struggling film directors. No one moves to L.A. to be a philanthropist.

I came out here to pursue a career in — yes, showbusiness. I’m a screenwriter. Although I’m not sure if pursue is the right term. The word makes me think of a man or woman chasing after something. But how does one chase after a career? Really, you can only work at accomplishing what you want. You go to a job interview to get a job, but you don’t chase it around like a dog.

Maybe that’s why there’s so much tension in this city. Everyone seems to believe they’re in some sort of competition. The competitive nature of this business is normal, but there’s no guarantee that any of us will reach the finish line — or if the finish line even exists. My theory? It’s all in our head. There’s no race. The best we can do is work on our daily accomplishments and not worry about winning. Because, really, we succeed everyday by showing up and doing the work.

L.A. is a great place to be creative. It’d be a shame to be consumed by the vices of the weak and selfish, when there are far more important things to do in life.

China’s creative revolution

We can do more than martial arts.

In the June issue of Fast Company, writer Aric Chen showcases emerging creative talent in China. As a Chinese-American, the article not only inspired me, it reminded me that we all, as human beings, have the capacity for creative change.

Chen interviews many young Chinese artists — filmmakers, designers, DJs — and one of many things they have in common is ambition. Jennifer Wen Ma, 33, is a member of the Creative Committee of the 2008 Olympics, and she says she wants to “stun the world.” And 37-year-old Ou Ning is a writer, filmmaker, music promoter, and designer.

It’s clear that none of these people are ever bored. Can we say the same about ourselves? It’s very easy to wallow in boredom. I’m not talking about relaxation — I mean absolute, total boredom, one of the many symptoms of laziness; the feeling that you know you should be doing something productive but don’t seem to have the willpower for it.

It’s a sad, embarrassing excuse for failure. And those artists in China obviously won’t allow it to become a part of their vocabulary.