If you missed it last time, you have another chance:
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Another gig with Dan and Nate
Editing this post probably makes it show up again in your RSS reader, huh? Serves as a good reminder to come out tonight, huh?
If you missed it last time, you have another chance:
If you missed it last time, you have another chance:
Friday, January 09, 2009
Early risers
"I only distribute pigs to early risers. Fern was up at daylight trying to rid the world of injustice. As a result, she now has a pig. A small pig, to be sure, but nevertheless, a pig. It just shows what can happen if a person gets out of bed promptly."
—Henry Arable, in E.B. White's Charlotte's Web
I was up at 6:30 this morning, just about at daylight. I headed to the pool to swim a few laps and was home by 7:30 in time to take Tracey to work. And now it's 8:30, and I'm home, at the computer and ready to work. Having already worked out, showered, and eaten breakfast, I am free to get down to the difficult business of time-wasting. Somewhere in here there's a point.
And I think that last sentence was the point.
I'm learning—slowly, piecemeal—that as Annie Dillard said, "How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives." This is true not only because wasting days will eventually turn into wasting your life, although that sobering notion should probably be more cause for my concern than it is. It is also true in the opposite way, which is the lesson I've been trying to internalize for over a year now. That is to say, if you want to get good at something, I mean really good at it, you have to do it. Based on the testimony of a rather diverse group of witnesses—Annie Dillard, Anne Lamott, Malcolm Gladwell, my friend Jason, Stephen King, Merlin Mann, to name only a few—I have reached the verdict that doing something of consequence does not require a whole lot more than actually making an effort.
And that's the problem, because making a real effort at doing something requires time. A lot of time. It's not just about getting up early (though that, for me, is probably a key factor) or shutting off Twitter/Facebook/BBC.co.uk/Halo 3/whatever distracts you (though again, do that too). The much bigger sacrifice for me is that I am beginning to think that I will have to forsake some things I enjoy if I want to excel at something specific.
I am left with a choice, or maybe a series of choices. Take creative and artistic endeavors, for example. I am a pretty good saxophone player, a fairly decent guitarist, and a solid writer. I also dabble in photography and a couple other artistic things. Let's say I wanted to become truly excellent at one of them. I think it's within my grasp to do so. But I don't know that it's possible without letting go of the hope of being "pretty good" at the others.
I'm not sure I'm willing to do that just yet. See, deep down inside, I have this burning desire to be the best at everything. Being better than most people at several things is a delightfully convenient cover for my failure to be the best at anything. The excuse goes something like this: "Oh sure, he plays guitar WAY better than I do, but I bet I'd kick his ass if we played basketball." Or if the tables are turned and I get dunked on in a basketball game, I imagine a rather hilarious scenario where the player who just embarrassed me tries to play the saxophone. It's helpful.
Except that it ensures that I never really will become the best at anything. Jack of all trades, master of none. And ain't that a shame.
—Henry Arable, in E.B. White's Charlotte's Web
I was up at 6:30 this morning, just about at daylight. I headed to the pool to swim a few laps and was home by 7:30 in time to take Tracey to work. And now it's 8:30, and I'm home, at the computer and ready to work. Having already worked out, showered, and eaten breakfast, I am free to get down to the difficult business of time-wasting. Somewhere in here there's a point.
And I think that last sentence was the point.
I'm learning—slowly, piecemeal—that as Annie Dillard said, "How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives." This is true not only because wasting days will eventually turn into wasting your life, although that sobering notion should probably be more cause for my concern than it is. It is also true in the opposite way, which is the lesson I've been trying to internalize for over a year now. That is to say, if you want to get good at something, I mean really good at it, you have to do it. Based on the testimony of a rather diverse group of witnesses—Annie Dillard, Anne Lamott, Malcolm Gladwell, my friend Jason, Stephen King, Merlin Mann, to name only a few—I have reached the verdict that doing something of consequence does not require a whole lot more than actually making an effort.
And that's the problem, because making a real effort at doing something requires time. A lot of time. It's not just about getting up early (though that, for me, is probably a key factor) or shutting off Twitter/Facebook/BBC.co.uk/Halo 3/whatever distracts you (though again, do that too). The much bigger sacrifice for me is that I am beginning to think that I will have to forsake some things I enjoy if I want to excel at something specific.
I am left with a choice, or maybe a series of choices. Take creative and artistic endeavors, for example. I am a pretty good saxophone player, a fairly decent guitarist, and a solid writer. I also dabble in photography and a couple other artistic things. Let's say I wanted to become truly excellent at one of them. I think it's within my grasp to do so. But I don't know that it's possible without letting go of the hope of being "pretty good" at the others.
I'm not sure I'm willing to do that just yet. See, deep down inside, I have this burning desire to be the best at everything. Being better than most people at several things is a delightfully convenient cover for my failure to be the best at anything. The excuse goes something like this: "Oh sure, he plays guitar WAY better than I do, but I bet I'd kick his ass if we played basketball." Or if the tables are turned and I get dunked on in a basketball game, I imagine a rather hilarious scenario where the player who just embarrassed me tries to play the saxophone. It's helpful.
Except that it ensures that I never really will become the best at anything. Jack of all trades, master of none. And ain't that a shame.
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