Notes from Maine - 2023/12/17

Sometimes I toy with the idea of writing something autobiographical. Over the years, I’ve shared quite a bit about myself in my novels and in these weekly notes, but none of that is exactly autobiographical. The question that pops up and stops me is always this: Who cares? I’ve done a variety of interesting things (to me) so far, but none were particularly noteworthy. I spend a decent amount of time reflecting on my experiences, but I haven’t come to any giant epiphanies that might shed light on the human condition. 

That said, I’ve formed a few strong opinions over the years.

When I was a kid, parents and teachers impressed upon us that we could do whatever we wanted in life. This is not a message that I took to heart. I was one of the younger kids in the neighborhood. I had two older siblings and it seemed like all the neighbor kids were older as well. To me, there were simply things that I could do and things that I couldn’t. Maturity was measured in milestones like being able to whistle, roll my tongue, roll my Rs, do a headstand, a cartwheel, blow a bubble with bubblegum, or walk on my hands. 

Older kids could do everything. I, most of the time, could do none of those things. If I later discovered that I had developed an ability, the world had moved on. I wasn’t familiar with the concept of “work diligently towards a goal and then achieve it.” Skills were just binary—you had them or you didn’t. In gym class we had the Presidential Physical Fitness Test, which I failed every year. They constructed this award with enough gravitas that failing brought me great shame. In third grade (I must have been eight or so) I sat down at home and brainstormed about how I could get better at sports. I was trying to think of a clever way to solve the problem because I didn’t understand the fundamental truth that slow, deliberate practice was the only solution.

I knew the aphorism—practice makes perfect. I had no idea how to apply it. I can tell you the moment that it happened. I was fifteen and sitting in English class. For some exercise, the teacher chose a student and asked their classmates to fit them into one of several categories. When she singled me out, the other students assigned me to the “skills and talents” category. I was so shocked that I can’t even tell you what the other categories were, but there was one centered around being an “intellectual learner” or something, and I was convinced that I would be lumped in there. My sense, at the time, was that I didn’t have any real “skills and talents” but that I was decently smart so I would be able to get through life without them.

I think the teacher was decently surprised by the assessment of the class. She asked for examples. My classmates mentioned that I could flip a pencil around my finger. This was a distraction that I learned in my brief foray into the debate club. They pointed out that I had a couple of decent sleight-of-hand tricks at my disposal. I did magic tricks for a short period of time. I was a trumpet soloist in jazz band. I could mimic a water drop sound by tapping my cheek, etc.

To me, these weren’t “skills and talents,” they were just things that had captured my attention so I had practiced and practiced until I was able to do them better than my peers.

That’s when it hit me—if something interests you, you can focus on it, practice, and then become good at it. I understand how stupid this sounds. I was fifteen before I figured out that practice makes perfect. Up until that point, I figured you were born with some abilities and not with others. I will never be able to touch my tongue to my nose (why did anyone want to?), and so I figured that standing on my head was also out of reach. 

In that moment when I saw myself through the eyes of my classmates, I learned, “you can do whatever you want to in life.” All it takes is dedication. That requires either an iron will or the activity has to really capture your interest. 

Over the years, I learned to cull my goals so they matched my interests. For a while I was obsessed with the idea of doing a standing backflip. If you develop explosive power in your legs (heavy squats, box jumps, plyometrics, etc.), and then practice with helpers on either side of you, it’s not that difficult. I worked on my legs and tested the idea in a bounce house about twenty years ago. It went okay, even without the helpers. During one jump, I went too high, grazed the ceiling, and came down on my head. That’s when I realized that my curiosity about executing a standing back flip was not strong enough to provide the dedication required. I let that “skill and talent” go. Every now and then I try to do a back flip off the dock into the lake, but I still suck at it. 

I don’t have any real wisdom that could fill an autobiography, but I would like go back about fifty years and have a frank conversation with my younger self. 

“Pick one thing at a time,” I would say. “Try it out. If you can throw yourself at it, lose yourself in it and become proficient, so be it. If you don’t, you don’t. You can do anything you want in life, but you can’t do everything. It’s all about what you spend your energy on.”