A battle-hardened warrior approached a bearded old man sitting at the entrance to a cave. "Are you the keeper of the potion of strength?" asked the warrior. "I am," replied the old man without looking up. "Is it true that the potion is guarded by monsters, crevasses, and rivers of flame?" asked the warrior. "It is," replied the old man. "And is it true that if I drink this potion, I will become stronger than ever I was before?" The old man looked up at the warrior and thought for a few moments. He then spoke slowly, carefully: "It is true that if you do reach the potion, you will be greatly rewarded for your efforts." The warrior charged into the cave without another word. Hours later he stumbled out, his armor singed and blood dripping from his shoulder. Panting, he looked towards the old man, who was staring at the ground as before. "I am not ready. Not yet. But I will return," said the warrior as he limped away.
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I despise trivial banter. I don't care about the weather, or who won the game last night, or how drunk you got at the frat party on Friday. It's easy enough to sustain meaningful conversations with the people I know well, but with those I've just met, it usually requires a bit more effort on my part to avoid falling asleep. I typically skip the easy questions, like "Where are you from?" or "What's your major?". If it takes less than five seconds for someone to come up with a satisfactory answer, it will probably take me less than five seconds to not give a shit. Instead, after the obligatory "Hi, I'm Ryan," I immediately transition to something along the lines of "So what do you want to change about the world?" or "Tell me two interesting things you've learned in the last year."
One of my favorite questions is "How would you break your life into chunks without using location, education, employment, or relationships as frames of reference?". Not surprisingly, my attempts to summarize my own life often involve music. The first chunk was when I had no interest in making music whatsoever; the second chunk was when I thought it was totally normal for people to sit on their couches for hours on end, furiously trying to improve their technical abilities; now is the third chunk, in which I have come to realize how unusual it is for one to be perpetually dissatisfied with one's own abilities, and to voluntarily insulate oneself from others to make time to improve them.
My thousand-hour quest has opened my eyes to another music-related summarization scheme: There was a time when I believed that I would never want to be a professional musician. As much as I loved making music and using it to tap into different states of mind, I was afraid that any attempt to create a career out of it would immediately turn guitar playing into just another chore. I was afraid that if I ever made music for others instead of just myself, the magic would evaporate. Now, of course, I can't imagine myself doing anything else with my life, at least not for any extended period of time. Even when I was a character performer at Walt Disney World, easily the most exciting and fun job I've ever had, there came a point when I started to feel that all-too-familiar itch to take on new challenges.
The amount of progress and joy I have experienced thus far as a result of the quest are, in my mind, solid indicators that focusing on my music was the right decision. However, there are some situations that do make practicing feel like a chore. I used to keep track of my playing time in 15-minute intervals. I hoped that this would help push me to play a little bit longer after I had already reached a natural stopping point, but I've found that it usually does the opposite. I'll get to the 45-minute mark and think "Well, here's a good place to take a break!" rather than working for the full hour. I've countered this instinct by only tracking 30-minute chunks, but that presents its own problems. If I need to leave the house in twenty minutes, the old version of me would happily sit down for a few minutes and just play a couple songs for fun. Now I hear a nagging voice in the back of my mind that says, "Playing now won't contribute anything to your goal, so why bother?"
But every now and then, I get transported to that incredible place where my fingers fly up and down the fretboard, I pour myself into every note, and I just know that I'm going to change people's lives someday. I forget what time I started playing, and I have no idea when I'm going to stop. As with any project of mine, it's easy to slip into the completionist mindset, but the truth is that it has always been the process that I love, not the end result.
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After several months, the warrior returned to the cave. The old man looked up, with only the faintest hint of recognition in his beady eyes. "I will not fail this time," uttered the warrior. The old man nodded, and the warrior ventured into the cave once more. He returned a short while later with an empty vial in his hand. In an instant, he threw the glass against a rock, unsheathed his sword, and held it inches away from the old man's neck. "I will not be taken for a fool, old man. That was no potion! It was just water!" The old man sat motionless and calmly replied, "Are you stronger now than you were on your first attempt?" Still infuriated, the warrior shouted, "I have trained every single day since then! Of course I am stronger!" Still motionless, the old man said, "Then the potion worked."
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Week 7 total: 25.5 hours
Grand total: 161.5 hours
Required pace: 135 hours (+26.5)
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