In which Wolf drops the ball over and over and over...
In which Wolf drops the ball over and over and over...
Released April 14, 2021
You've heard the saying, "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." By my estimation, if there are about 2,000 steps in a mile, then a journey of a thousand miles has about 2,000,000 steps in it. Nobody wants to count to two million; our minds recoil at huge numbers like that. Or consider that in his book Outliers: The Story of Success, Malcom Gladwell famously said that it takes 10,000 hours of practice to become a master performer in any field. That's a solid five years of 40 hour work weeks. But even if these huge numbers don't put you off, I'm here to tell you they're not very useful anyway. Because true paths of mastery never end.
Prejudice, ideology, bias, distortion, mindlessness: bad thinking is everywhere. The world needs heroes to lead the way to better, higher, more valuable ways of thinking. These ways are timeless, and never more needed than right now. Some claim that these timeless ways of thinking are now dangerous. To them I reply: BEWARE OF WOLF.
Hold a ball in your hand. Then toss it up and catch it again. Now ask yourself: how did you do that? You may never have even thought to ask that question. The very question seems a bit absurd: you just willed yourself to do it and did it. Now focus on that experience: on what is was like to simply toss a ball up and then catch it as an act of will. Now again: reflect on the fact that you probably struggle to put together words to describe how you did it.
What you just experienced is a form of mastery. At some time in your life, you mastered the art of tossing and catching a ball. When you were very young, you became fascinated with the concept and began your practice, possibly thousands of hours from the time you were a toddler to the time you were in your early teens. You made many mistakes along the way to mastery, dropping the ball possibly hundreds of times, but you had good teachers: your parents, siblings or friends who first rolled the ball to you, then tossed it to you, and importantly, who modeled tossing and catching the ball again themselves. Your practice grew in sophistication as you learned how to toss a ball back and forth with another person, and learned how to toss it from one hand to the other. And then... you forgot how you learned. The skill remained, but your memory of the process faded. We master most of our functional skills like this, without any narrative memory of how we did it. Which is a shame really, because we could learn a lot from our younger selves about fascination, modeling others, practice, growth, and the emergence of knowledge and skills becoming a part of us that exists even below our level of consciousness.
Now, remember a time when you saw a really good juggler perform. You witnessed a controlled chaos; patterns of hand movements and flying objects from which a physical magic seemed to emanate; a blur of hands appearing to be everywhere at once and objects seeming to defy gravity. Recall that as vividly as you can, then ask yourself: how does anyone get to be able to do that? Of course, the answer is right in front of you: it is the same general process by which you learned to toss and catch a ball in the first place. The difference being: the juggler started with that same mundane skill we all master, but instead of simply developing it and moving on, they chose to start walking on the path of "the tossing and catching of things." A path of mastery we call "juggling."
I learned to juggle when I was 16. That summer I was hired as a Counselor-Instructor at "Computer Camp", which was a company that took over the campus of a private boarding school in Santa Barbara California during summer recess, and ran a camp oriented toward teaching computer literacy and programming to teens as well as offering a variety of other summer camp activities. Over the course of that summer they held five two-week sessions, each host to a different cohort of student-campers. Only the staff remained constant, and throughout those ten amazing weeks I developed friendships among the other Counselors, at least one of which lasts to this day. As a Counselor-Instructor, I was expected to teach several classes on programming as well as lead other camp activities, and I had a supervisory role over the campers. The fact that I was no older than some of the campers wasn't lost on me, but the staff treated me no differently from anyone else. Needless to say I never shared my actual age with the campers!
One day in the school's ball storage room, I saw another another staff member pick up three baseballs and casually begin to juggle them. "Teach me to do that!" I immediately blurted out. He started showing me the basics; how to hold two balls, one in each hand, then, throw one into the air, then throw the second, then catch the first then catch the second. "Throw throw, catch catch. Throw throw, catch catch." Of course I dropped the balls a lot when I was starting to practice this: it was like trying to rub your stomach and pat your head at the same time: it felt awkward, unnatural, and a bit scary, like the balls could go flying away of their own accord. And sometimes they did collide in mid-air and fly away. But once I'd gotten a taste of success throwing and catching the two balls, I was hooked. After that, I spent many of my off-hours alone, practicing my juggling. In the years that followed, I advanced my skills by reading books and watching videos on juggling, finding others to juggle with, and attending juggling meetups and conferences. I performed walk-around juggling at a few events, but I never really aspired to become a professional; I loved it for its own sake.
I like to say: juggling is like a magic trick where there is no secret: it's all right there in front of your eyes. And jugglers love to teach other jugglers how to perform their moves. It wasn't long before I began to teach other people how to juggle. This was also a joy for me: to see people have that same A-Ha! moment that I once had. I found it also deepened my own skill to articulate this physical skill in ways that a variety of other people could understand. I taught anyone to juggle who cared to try, young or old. I even established a time at a busy local park where I'd go every weekend and practice my juggling, inviting kids and their parents to learn. I carried a large duffel bag full of tennis balls I'd filled with rice (which makes them a perfect weight for an inexpensive juggling ball) and I'd dump them out all over the ground as a way to encourage people to not worry about dropping them. I told them, when you drop, just pick up the nearest ball and keep going. "The only people who never drop the balls, are the people who never pick them up!" I'd say. Over time, I got my teaching technique down to a science. I especially enjoyed the challenge of teaching someone to juggle whose initial reaction to the idea was, "Oh, I could never learn to juggle, I'm too clumsy!" Over the years, I taught in parks, in offices, on city streets, and even on a cruise ship. I've taught literally hundreds of people how to juggle. In a sense, I mastered the art of teaching juggling. I could have stopped anywhere along that path. And at some point, I did: I made a conscious decision to divert more of my life energy to other things in my life that needed mastering. But I'm also aware that, had teaching juggling been my true life's calling, there was certainly no reason why I could not have gone on and done that, in the process affecting countless peoples' lives for the better.
Mastery is a big topic; too big to do justice to in a single episode, so I'm sure I'll return to it in the future. Right now, I want to discuss why mastery should be important to you, and a bit about how to recognize a true path of mastery. And later I'm going to give you my high-level "toolkit for mastery": the seven elements you will always need to acquire mastery over any subject.
So why is mastery important? I often encourage younger people I meet to pursue at least one path of mastery while they are still young. And I'm not talking about mastering your favorite video game here. Such pursuits are false mastery, and I'll explain why in a moment. There are four major reasons why I think mastery is incredibly important and something everyone should be pursuing in life.
Much is said about the incredible potential we have locked inside us. I believe that a true path of mastery is really the only way to unlock any of our higher potential. As I've said before, you can have anything you want, but you can't have everything you want. On a path of mastery, you go deep into something. Eventually, you end up going deeper than anyone has gone before. You actually open up new territory and become something truly unique in the world. If you're interested in seeing what your potential actually holds, then pursuing a path of mastery is the only way.
Second, paths of mastery help us discover and achieve our life goal and purpose. When we discover a path that truly speaks to us— that we can spend many years, perhaps the rest of our life on— then it becomes our North Star; a compass that guides and shapes every other decision we make. Having a sense of purpose is closely associated with well-being and mental health, and is the antidote to the regret that comes from simply outgassing your precious life energy into the void, like so much vapor.
Third: paths of mastery, because of their depth and uniqueness, gradually transform you into a person of worth. As you deepen and practice your skills, you eventually enter a creative phase where what you do is truly unique and valuable. Others will inevitably take notice of such value and seek you out, giving you greater influence to make the world a better place for everyone.
And fourth: becoming a master gives you sovereignty over your own fate. Being recognized and valued as a master, you become empowered to choose where and how you live, with whom you associate, and a host of other factors that feed back on themselves and creates greater and greater success. Look at anyone you admire in business, art, sports, or world affairs; not simply someone famous, but someone truly admirable, and you'll find a person who has been walking a path of mastery most of their lives.
And I'd like to say a bit about how you recognize a path of mastery, as opposed to a pastime, hobby, or lifestyle. Here are four qualities that set a path of mastery apart:
The first is that a true path of mastery can become a viable vocation: something you can do as your life's work. This is because unless you can fuse your work life with your deeper path, you won't excel at either. It's important to realize that not all vocations come with a paycheck, but all vocations come with a living. Your path must be your work, and your work must be your play. James Michener said, “The master in the art of living makes little distinction between his work and his play... He simply pursues his vision of excellence at whatever he does, leaving others to decide whether he is working or playing. To him he's always doing both.”
The second quality is that a path of mastery is a calling. It's not simply something you do because you're good at it, or because it's socially acceptable, or because it might yield fame or fortune. A calling speaks to something higher within you, to your life purpose that I mentioned earlier.
The third is that a path of mastery requires a deep set of skills that take time and effort to develop. But the true master doesn't stop with the minimum. As you study and practice, you begin to see that skills that are entirely separate from the "core curriculum" of a path actually provide insight in how to strike into new territory that you can ultimately call your own, and for which others will come to recognize you as having blazed the trail. Only when you know what's gone before you, can you truly know what moving forward means.
The fourth quality that true paths of mastery have is a history: masters that preceded you, who you can look to as role models and upon whose shoulders you can gratefully stand; whose heritage you will come to own and pass on.
I'm going to conclude this episode by introducing you to my "Seven T's of Mastery". This is a toolkit of things that everyone who aspires to become a master needs.
Number 1: Temerity. You need the gall to believe that you can become masterful on your chosen path. You need courage to move forward despite your "bucket of crabs" telling you you can't. In short, if you don't start by believing in yourself, you'll never even set foot on the path, or at best you'll only dabble.
Number 2: Time. You need time to engage in consistent study and practice of your path. This includes both years of your life and hours of each day. You'll need to sacrifice other things to your path, because there's always a price to pay. If you have found your path, you'll pay it gladly.
Number 3: Tools. To learn juggling you'll need some balls. To learn programming you'll need a computer. To learn filmmaking you'll need a camera. Even if the tools you start with are humble, recognize them for what they are: one of your stepping stones to greatness.
Number 4: Tomes. This includes the books, web sites, videos, and various collected knowledge of those who have gone before you on your path. You'll encounter some of these that are far too advanced for you. Put them on the shelf of your anti-library anyway, to inspire you. Bookmark them into lists and return to them over and over as your knowledge and experience deepen.
Number 5: Touchstones. These are the gods and goddesses in the pantheon of your path of mastery. Who are the great artists, inventors, engineers, filmmakers that inspire you? Learn their stories and how they traveled their paths. They are your repository not of simple knowledge of your path, but of a deeper wisdom that will gradually start to shine through you.
Number 6: Townsfolk. This is the community around your path. Fellow travelers, aficionados, and even critics of your path. They are there to support and correct you, and they become more and more valuable as you give back to them. Learn who they are, and make sure they know you exist! Don't stay in the shadows, these are Your People.
And Number 7: A Teacher. Or more properly, a Mentor, but I needed another T-word, right? Teachers teach a fixed curriculum to students, who are expected to absorb that specific knowledge and pass tests on it. But a relationship with a mentor is deeply personal, even emotional. Mentors are there to help you discover your path, identify obstacles on your path, and hold you accountable to walking your path with integrity. A mentor is not there to take attendance or give you a grade: you must actually walk the path yourself. You are your own teacher, but your mentor is a guide who shares your love of your path who knows you as a person.
I'll leave you with one of my favorite Zen proverbs that, in just a few words, summarizes everything I've just said and more:
To follow the path:
Look to the master,
Follow the master,
Walk with the master,
See through the master,
Become the master.
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