Amateurs Give the Best Advice.
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
When we first moved out of Manhattan to the Hudson Highlands, I had my own yard for the first time ever, and I wanted to learn how to garden. I got a couple of books written by professional gardeners, scoped out the local gardening centers, and dove in. In my spare time, I planned and planted and weeded. After a while, the yard looked better than it had before — but it still wasn’t like the photos in my books.
Around the same time, I wanted to improve my physical fitness. The Internet was starting to be more of a thing, so I researched online along with reading books on how to get fit. I followed the prescribed routines, and I did get stronger, but I soon found that most of the experts’ systems weren’t sustainable for me.
I bought and devoured Stephen King’s book On Writing the day it came out. King is someone I greatly admire, and I found much of his advice helpful. But I won’t have anything like his self-imposed writing routine (write four hours per day, read four hours per day) for at least six more years while I still have kids at home.
I got a French Laundry cookbook for Christmas a few years ago. It’s gorgeous and has amazing recipes in it. And I cook every single day, but so far, none of Thomas Keller’s recipes have made it into my regular rotation.
Can you see the pattern in the four anecdotes above? I wanted help, so I consulted experts. And I learned things, no question — but I didn’t get the results a full-time professional gets. Why not?
I’m a writer, and I try to spend as much time reading and writing as much as possible — but as a full-time caregiver, my family is my first priority. I also have to allow for music practice; food shopping, menu planning and cooking; an hour of walking our corgi every morning; and inevitable, time-sucking stuff like personal hygiene.
The problem with many experts is that they sometimes unconsciously assume that the people they’re advising have as much time and energy for their area of expertise as they themselves do. Many yogis I admire spend several hours per day on their practice. The same goes for musicians, athletes, and chefs.
But the rest of us can’t. We maybe have 20 minutes here, a half hour there. Save yourself some frustration. The next time you want to learn something new, find an competent amateur and ask them how they did it. How did they work that thing into the fabric of their ordinary life?
Here’s my best advice for fellow amateurs, no matter your passion.
You can make impressive progress if you’re consistent. About three years ago, I decided to teach myself a piece on the piano. I’d had a year of piano lessons when I was four, and I sing in our church choir, so I wasn’t starting from zero — but my goal still seemed daunting. I practiced my piano piece for 20 minutes per day, because that’s all the time I could spare. Six weeks later, I performed it for my family. It didn’t sound like James Rhodes, but it wasn’t half bad.
With persistence, your learning curve will eventually flatten out. This summer, I started playing the organ. I had gotten decent at playing hymns on the piano, but the pedals — the keyboard for your feet — was a whole new challenge. In June, I started with three relatively easy hymns, and for the first few weeks, it seemed like my brain and feet would never connect. But then they did, very slowly. I kept practicing. About a month ago, I began playing for church services. I’ve made some pretty spectacular mistakes, but I’m getting better. Those first three hymns took about eight weeks to be able to play well enough to accompany our congregation — but now I’m learning hymns in one to two weeks.
Be conscious about your choices. A mentor of mine, about 20 years older than I am, successfully pursued a Ph.D. and went on to write scholarly books while raising eight children. As with many traditional families, her husband was the official breadwinner; she considered herself an amateur. She gave me the most useful piece of time management advice I’ve ever encountered. When you want to take on another project, whether it’s a new exercise routine, habit, or a creative endeavor, sit down and consciously decide what you will give up to make room for that new thing . Next, figure out exactly how much time that frees up to devote to the new thing and go forward. If you don’t do this, either you’ll fail, or you’ll drop a different ball. Something’s got to give.
Good can be good enough. I want to be an excellent wife and mother and the best writer I can be — so those are the areas on which I spend the bulk of my time and energy. Everything else? I’m a competent cook. I play the piano well enough to enjoy it and be useful. I’ll never be a triathlete or on the cover or Yoga Journal, but I’m healthy and strong. My yard looks fine (with the help of a weekly service). And I’m okay with all of that.