Toward better results with less effort

They all had to learn how to fly. (Image by Kranich17)

When I first started rowing, there was a heavy amount of exertion with little result.

I was stressed, frustrated, tired, and I had blisters on the palms of my hands — and after all that work, my strokes were sloppy and weak.

Now, my stroke is harder, cleaner, and more effective. I have some handy calluses on my hands to help me along. I have better stamina because my work is more targeted — I engage specific groups of muscles instead of desperately trying to maneuver the oar with my whole body. And I no longer feel overwhelmed and about to cry.

There’s a similar path to mastery in most things I’ve tried. There’s a period of flailing that involves massive effort, most of which is wasted. As I improve, I’m getting better results with less effort.

If effort and attention is represented by a bucket of water, the beginner sloshes most of it onto the ground by the end. Mastery means that the bucket of water remains full.

Seth Godin talks about the difference between typing and writing — how writing a 500-word piece takes a lot longer than simply typing 500 words. There’s a lot of water splashing out here and there as the writer tries to figure out what she’s going to say and just how to say it. But as the writer improves, this process is easier and more automatic. More of the water is carried to the destination, day by day.

This is a really important thing to talk about with beginners. They need to know that it’s normal to be all over the place in the beginning — to do it wrong and not get it and make weird mistakes. Some teachers and instructors are uncomfortable talking about it because they don’t want to make the learner self-conscious. It’s as though they wish to pretend that these early problems aren’t happening. They don’t want to draw attention to the struggle. But when they can acknowledge that the flailing is an expected part of the process that won’t last forever, it’s easier for the beginner to keep her frustration in perspective.

The teachers and instructors don’t have to try to fix all the errors — better control will come with time and experience. Those of us who are in the lead simply need to share the map. We can give the beginner feedback on what’s working and help her to know the early signs of improvement to look for. That includes not just what she can see, but what she can begin to feel.

As learners, we tend to give up when the work we’re trying to do is painful and unrewarding and we can’t see a way forward. When we are miserable and we can’t imagine how anyone could possibly find joy or pleasure in the activity, we are done. It’s a shame when people quit a pursuit they had been willing to try because they didn’t have adequate support or context for what they were about to experience. If they understood that the acute suffering is temporary, they might have more fortitude to get through that pain in order to benefit in the long term.

So I have two points to make: If you’re working on something challenging, trust the process. Believe that it will not only get easier, but you’ll also accomplish more with less effort. If you’re having trouble hanging in there, enlist the support of a teacher or coach to guide you.

Then, for the teachers and coaches out there: Share the process. Make sure that the people you’re supporting understand that the discomfort they’re experiencing isn’t permanent. Help them to pace themselves. Praise what’s working, and know when to say when. There’s always next time.

Learning something new has its challenging moments, but they’re matched by miraculous moments when persistence pays off and things begin to click. Something once grueling becomes fun and rewarding. As a teacher and a learner, these are the moments I live for. They are far more accessible if you know to expect them.