Monday 15 April 2013

10,000 Hours

...that's apparently how long it takes to master anything, according to the old premise, referred to in an interesting article in the Saturday Review in the Times by Melvin Burgess, who went to the same school as me, and has praised his English teacher to the skies in several articles that appeared both when I was at said school, and - including in the article I read this weekend - thereafter. She never taught me. I hated school. And I can't say I'm particularly a fan of Melvin Burgess either, but maybe I should give him another go.

10,000 hours and a skin like rhino hide, apparently. I head for the spreadsheets (any excuse) and discover that if I wrote for three hours every day, it would take me nine years to become a master, according to this oft-referenced little formula. Nine years - that's nothing. Nine years ago now feels like yesterday. Nine years from now, I'll be 42. Tchaikovsky was 42 when he first had success as a composer (I seem to remember this fact, should probably Wiki it and confirm). Well, there or thereabouts.

10,000 hours...I bet you could walk 5,000 miles in 10,000 hours. 40 weeks of pregnancy is only 6,720 hours, so all those soppy people who think their children are their life's creative masterpieces - FAIL. Ah well. Nobody's perfect. Not on these sums, anyway.

10,000 hours, then, to master...anything. What, though? What can I master? Picking small stones from the grooves of trainer soles? Opening drinks and passing to the back seat while keeping both eyes on the road whilst driving? Making jam sandwiches while talking to/begging bank managers on the phone? None of these are marketable commodities. Perhaps they should be. Hmmm, how to make these skills pay...