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WILL SHORTZ
Puzzle guru
Was it physical strength and athleticism? Intellect? Leadership ability? Well- roundedness?
None of the above. The best predictor of success, the researchers found, was the prospective cadets’ ratings on a noncognitive, non-physical trait known as “grit”—defined as “perseverance and passion for long-term goals.”10 The experience of these army officers-in-training confirms the second law of
mastery: Mastery is a pain.
As wonderful as flow is, the path to mastery—becoming ever better at
something you care about—is not lined with daisies and spanned by a rainbow. If it were, more of us would make the trip. Mastery hurts. Sometimes—many times—it’s not much fun. That is one lesson of the work of psychologist Anders Ericsson, whose groundbreaking research on expert performance has provided a new theory of what fosters mastery. As he puts it, “Many characteristics once believed to reflect innate talent are actually the results of intense practice for a
minimum of 10 years.”11 Mastery—of sports, music, business—requires effort (difficult, painful, excruciating, all-consuming effort) over a long time (not a week or a month, but a decade).12 Sociologist Daniel Chambliss has referred to this as “the mundanity of excellence.” Like Ericsson, Chambliss found—in a
three-year study of Olympic swimmers—that those who did the best typically
spent the most time and effort on the mundane activities that readied them for races.13 It’s the same reason that, in another study, the West Point grit researchers found that grittiness—rather than IQ or standardized test scores—is the most accurate predictor of college grades. As they explained, “Whereas the
importance of working harder is easily apprehended, the importance of working
longer without switching objectives may be less perceptible . . . in every field, grit may be as essential as talent to high accomplishment.”14
Flow enters the picture here in two ways. If people are conscious of what puts
them in flow, they’ll have a clearer idea of what they should devote the time and dedication to master. And those moments of flow in the course of pursuing excellence can help people through the rough parts. But in the end, mastery often involves working and working and showing little improvement, perhaps with a few moments of flow pulling you along, then making a little progress, and then working and working on that new, slightly higher plateau again. It’s grueling, to be sure. But that’s not the problem; that’s the solution.
As Carol Dweck says, “Effort is one of the things that gives meaning to life. Effort means you care about something, that something is important to you and you are willing to work for it. It would be an impoverished existence if you were not willing to value things and commit yourself to working toward them.”15
Another doctor, one who lacks a Ph.D. but has a plaque in the Basketball Hall
of Fame in Springfield, Massachusetts, put it similarly. “Being a professional,” Julius Erving once said, “is doing the things you love to do, on the days you don’t feel like doing them.”16
Mastery Is an Asymptote
To understand the final law of mastery, you need to know a little algebra and a little art history.
From algebra, you might remember the concept of an asymptote. If not, maybe you’ll recognize it below. An asymptote (in this case, a horizontal asymptote) is a straight line that a curve approaches but never quite reaches.
From art history, you might remember Paul Cézanne, the nineteenth-century French painter. You needn’t remember much—just that he was significant enough to have art critics and scholars write about him. Cézanne’s most enduring paintings came late in his life. And one reason for this, according to University of Chicago economist David Galenson, who’s studied the careers of artists, is that he was endlessly trying to realize his best work. For Cézanne, one critic wrote,
the ultimate synthesis of a design was never revealed in a flash; rather he approached it with infinite precautions, stalking it, as it were, now from one point of view, now from another. . . . For him the synthesis was an asymptote toward which he was for ever approaching without ever quite reaching it.17
This is the nature of mastery: Mastery is an asymptote.
You can approach it. You can home in on it. You can get really, really, really close to it. But like Cézanne, you can never touch it. Mastery is impossible to realize fully. Tiger Woods, perhaps the greatest golfer of all time, has said flatly that he can—that he must—become better. He said it when he was an amateur. He’ll say it after his best outing or at the end of his finest season. He’s pursuing mastery. That’s well-known. What’s less well-known is that he understands that
he’ll never get it. It will always hover beyond his grasp.
The mastery asymptote is a source of frustration. Why reach for something you can never fully attain? But it’s also a source of allure. Why not reach for it? The joy is in the pursuit more than the realization. In the end, mastery attracts precisely because mastery eludes.
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