A little more than a year ago I listened to an interview with Annie Duke . Annie’s other name is; the Duchess of Poker.
In 1991 Annie was pursuing a Ph.D in psychology when she decided to give it all up and play professional poker.
In this interview Annie discusses how she approached decision making and shared some insights into the world of professional poker. However, the part of her story that piqued my interest was her journey from learning the fundamentals of the game to holding a World Series of Poker gold bracelet (a big deal in the poker world). In the interview she describes how people she initially played and lost against, would eventually lose to her as she improved. And that in most cases, these people didn’t improve. Annie goes on to explain that the majority of poker players learn how to play and then look to improve through practice, which translates into playing many hours of poker in the hopes that this will improve their game.
However, practice is only part of the equation. To improve at poker one has to practice, but with intent. Just playing many hours of poker won’t make you a better poker player. At some point you plateau. To improve you have to grow. You have to force yourself out of your comfort zone. That requires analysis; understanding where you are making poor decisions and then adapting the way you play with a view to improve.
Annie improved her game by analysing her decisions, combining this with knowledge – she read myriad books on poker, and then seeking feedback on her game from those who were better than her. Annie sought out criticism on her game from her brother and other successful poker players. Through them pointing out where she had made errors she was able to improve while other stagnated.
We aren’t taught what practice is
At school we are told that we need to practice in order to improve. Practice is usually a form of preparation which involves repeating some action in order to improve an associated skill. And when we are competing at school level the skills required to be good enough are simple and reasonably easy to pick up. However, for anyone who went to school where they had competitive sports, you’ll know that there were kids who joined clubs and organisations outside of school to further improve their skills. The truth is school level coaching was significantly different to the coaching and practice undertaken at club level. The kids who trained with professional coaches improved, while those who only practiced at school level, being coached by teachers, were left behind.
The difference was the quality of the input that one received from the coaches at club level. If your range of skills in a discipline don’t expand you won’t get better at that discipline. At school level the coaches (usually teachers) understood the fundamentals, but most of them weren’t be able to train kids to become Olympians as they themselves didn’t have the depth of knowledge to train at that level.
If you’re not focussing on changing something you’re not getting better
I like to run.
I have completed a few half marathons, I hope to compete in a couple of ultra marathons before my knees give in. That said, when I practice, I focus on a few things that I’ve read about running. I focus on foot strike, my mental commentary when things start to hurt and… okay, it’s only two things. However, I know if I want to improve my times or run much further than I do now I am going to need someone who knows more about running than I do to help understand what I’m doing wrong. And once I know what that is I’m going to have to change a few things about my running. And for those changes to stick, I will have to practice them – and that will definitely be uncomfortable, mainly because I have been running the way I do now for such a long time.
That is the point. When you aren’t focused on changing or perfecting something when you practice, I can pretty much guarantee that you’re not getting better at whatever it is you are practicing for. The guide for if you are improving should always be recognisable discomfort.
What to change and how to change, those are the elements that require external input. It’s a cliché that we don’t know what we don’t know – but the truth is, we don’t. What I have come to understand about my running is that I can read hundreds of books about running, but eventually I am going to need someone, probably a coach of some sort, who knows more than I do about running to show me where I’m going wrong and where I need to change.
Similarly, when it comes to my writing, I have come to understand that my development has plateaued and I will require guidance from someone who is better versed in writing than I am. I will need them to tell me where I can improve and where I need to change so that I can focus my practice. And it is going to suck because nobody, especially not me with my frail ego, likes to be told that they have weak spots, that they aren’t good enough. However, part of improving means running towards what is difficult and overcoming weaknesses so that we can be better than we were yesterday.
Say hello to deliberate practice
There is a name for the type of practice I’m referring to; deliberate practice. Many have written about it, but Psychologist Anders Ericsson who spent much of his career researching expertise and elite performance is the person responsible for a lot of the foundational theory behind the concept of deliberate practice. In his 2016 book, Peak, Ericsson writes:
The reason that most people don’t possess these extraordinary physical capabilities isn’t because they don’t have the capacity for them, but rather because they’re satisfied to live in the comfortable rut of homeostasis and never do the work that is required to get out of it. They live in the world of “good enough.” The same thing is true for all the mental activities we engage in.
The reality is that to become an expert at a discipline you need to sacrifice. And the sacrifices, from what I can tell, will include your:
- personal and/or family time
- comfort
- pride (because you are constantly pushing yourself to attempt things you haven’t mastered yet)
- idea of failure (with deliberate practice failure is a prerequisite)
- other dreams and aspirations
- tears (maybe vomit)
In writing this I am reminded of the quote by the American Footballers, Jerry Rice, who said:
Today I will do what others won’t, so tomorrow I can accomplish what others can’t.
And that is deliberate practice. It’s the act of doing what others won’t so you can accomplish what few ever will.
But what about the 10,000 hour rule?
Malcolm Gladwell in his book, Outliers, introduced the idea of the 10,000 hour rule. Gladwell considers the key to success in any field comes down to practicing a specific task for 20 hours a week for 10 years. I believe that Malcolm’s hypothesis is correct, however, he needs to be more specific in the type of practice one engages in.
Daniel Coyle in his book, The Talent Code neatly summarises what is missing in Gladwell’s 10,000 hour rule.
There is a place, right on the edge of your ability, where you learn best and fastest. It’s called the sweet spot.…The underlying pattern is the same: Seek out ways to stretch yourself. Play on the edges of your competence. As Albert Einstein said, “One must develop an instinct for what one can just barely achieve through one’s greatest efforts.”
I like the idea of spending time at the edge of your ability. The longer you spend time there, at the edge, the further away from you the edges of your ability will move. Which gives you the opportunity to, again, wander out further still, to the newly undiscovered edges of your ability.
OK, but what’s the point?
The point is; getting good at something is difficult, and I have come to realise that the older I become the less I want to experience that feeling that of being a novice and out of my depth. The older I become the less I wander out to the edges of my abilities, and the more rarely I harness my greatest efforts to achieve things that I thought I might not be capable of. And it is the fear of having to suffer to become good at something that holds me back from attempting to try things that I still hope to master in my lifetime.
I probably have two, if I’m luck three new endeavours in my life that I can invest 10,000 hours of deliberate practice into. I’m choosing those endeavours wisely and by choosing them I realise I’m choosing to suck at something I haven’t done before. That said, I know that with a little suffering I’ll master the skills I’d like to take to my grave.