Most people live average lives. They settle for the status quo, the safety-and-security model, the retire at 65 to enjoy the final years of life charade. To feel comfortable and understood they surround themselves with like-minded people who don’t challenge them or rustle any feathers. The majority would rather be adequate than grow through challenge. They are finished learning when they finish school, rare to pick up a book and learn something fresh. They don’t realize it, but this average life devolves into a mediocre existence rather quickly.
But there’s some who are the oil in the sea of water—their determination to grow far exceeds their longings for comfort and a Social Security check. Retirement doesn’t fit their stories—life is too rich and new challenges provide too much growth to ever lose enticement. We often call these challenges “hobbies,” though they are better represented by “wars:” The Battles of Man Vs. Himself.
Whatever one choses as a hobby, there is a similar blueprint in how one rises above mediocrity and becomes great. Aside from the well-known characteristics of discipline and consistency, there’s one feature I noticed yesterday: variability.
When I was in Yellowstone, my family member / friend, Eddie B (who retired from the U.S. Forest Service and a lifelong photographer), taught me how to capture a photograph. He reminded me that while adjusting the ISO, shutter speed, and f-stop, a skilled photographer will also change his or her positioning. This bolsters the chances of creating a unique and balanced shot.
I’ve been working on my short game in my back yard (that’s golf talk). I realized I could only practice my shot from 25 yards out, but that I’d be at a loss if I had to shoot from 10 yards out. If I want to be exceptional around the green, I have to start changing how far away I am from my target. I have to be adaptable with the presented variation.
I believe this concept holds up no matter the discipline. A sailor can’t only practice in smooth waters and a tennis player can’t only practice his forehand. Without variation and a welcoming of the uncomfortable (and inevitably, lots of failure), mastery will always be far away.