"Release!" barked the instructor. One dozen bowstrings snapped. Eleven arrows found their mark; one missed by a few inches. "Always to the left," grumbled the one. The instructor walked over and placed his hand on the squire's shoulder. "We won't accept archers who miss," he said sternly. "If you cannot learn to adjust your aim, your time would be better spent by joining those who have already given up. Archery is not for everyone." The young man threw his bow to the ground in disgust as he watched the others line up to shake their new commander's hand.
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Today, after returning from a refreshing and much-needed spring break, I sat down and practiced guitar. I chose to work on a Stanley Jordan–inspired tapping riff that I have been struggling with for several weeks. My left hand plays fine, and my right hand can get through the ascending run without a problem, but for reasons that were a complete mystery to me, I could not play the descending run cleanly with my right hand. After working on it for a few minutes without any success, bad thoughts started to seep into my head: Maybe I'm wasting my time. Maybe I'll never get this to sound the way I want it to. Maybe I should just give up and rewrite it.
A few moments later, I found myself tinkering with pull-offs on my left hand, wondering what it was that made my favorite guitarists able to play legato runs so beautifully... and then it clicked! In a moment of clarity, I suddenly realized the teeny tiny little adjustment I needed to make in order to get the sound that I wanted. I still can't play the riff at full speed, and probably won't be able to do so for some time, but now I have a clear idea of what I need to do in order to get there. It's a great feeling.
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After a month had passed, the squire arrived at the field for yet another archery trial. He calmly tied back his hair and strung his bow. The instructor eyed him skeptically before turning to face the others. "Archers! Near target... release!" The squire inhaled slowly, then launched his arrow. It struck the intended target directly in the center. "Mid-range target," called out the instructor. "Release!" The arrows flew. Dead center again. "Far target... release!" A third success.
As the archers-to-be lined up, the instructor hurried over to the commander. "That one should not be accepted, my lord," he snarled, pointing at the squire. "He has failed the trial thrice already! Today's performance was merely a fluke." The commander turned to the young man. "Answer truthfully, boy. Were you surprised when your arrows found their marks?" Without a moment's hesitation, the squire replied, "No, my lord." The commander nodded and said, "As I suspected. This lad will be my greatest archer some day. I would be a fool not to accept him." He held his hand up, stopping the exasperated instructor before he could speak again. "Greatness is not a matter of what comes naturally to whom, nor is it a matter of accepting one's abilities as being fixed and immutable. Greatness is achieved when one is fully convinced that one cannot progress further, and yet one chooses to press onwards all the same."
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Week 37 total: 14.5 hours
Grand total: 796.5 hours
Required pace: 711.5 hours (+85)
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