Practice

One thing you need to know about me is that I hated writing.

I hated writing essays. I liked numbers, reasoning, technical drawings, and answering scientific questions, but please do not make me write freely. I had no idea where to start from.Still, every once and then throughout high school, my “ability” to write was tested: Verification time.

We had a 4-page ruled paper that we folded in two, and we had to write on the left part because the right part was for the teacher’s correction. We were expected to write at least four pages. And that was my only goal. Forget about the actual content. The content was for the Experts — not for me.

To reach the desired length, my technique consisted of writing each letter sooo large that one word occupied the most space in each row.

…I know: it’s an ingenious technique. Thank me later. ;-)

So, I wrote the draft copy, and then I wrote my text again in the final copy (la bella copia), ensuring that these words were nicely large enough. And…

Yes! The technique worked: I reached the fourth page! My goal was fulfilled. I got up and left my essay at the teacher’s desk. I felt satisfied, and I thought, “Bravo, Michele. You made it! Great job today.”

…

A couple of weeks later, the teacher returned with our corrected essay. No surprise, it didn’t go well.

It was another borderline grade to add to my 4-years collection. Still, it was not much about the grade that stuck with me about that day. It was about the red ink note that the teacher wrote at the end.

The note said: “Ponzelli, your grammatical and syntax mistakes cannot be considered merely errors but horrors.”

My reaction?

I laughed hard. I mean, she was right, and I knew I sucked in writing. Writing was not my thing. And I was totally okay with that. Plus, that wordplay “errors/horrors” was pretty funny (I love puns).

It doesn’t happen so often to receive a personal note from your high school teacher like that. So, with pride and triumph, I turned to my friends, pointing to the note.

They read the note. They looked back at me. We watched each other in the eyes for a moment without saying anything. And we exploded into even louder laughter. Oh boy, we were laughing to tears. Great times…

What I Learned From That Note

Still, what did I learn from there, and why do I still smile when looking back?

I smile because I feel deeply grateful for that note. The reason behind the person I am today and what I am doing is partly due to that red ink note.

I learned that there’s no such thing as “You are not good at something a priori.”

You are good at what you dedicate time to.

You are good at what you believe you are good at.

And you’re terrible, and you suck in what you tell yourself (and repeat) you are not good at.

You are what you tell yourself

Start telling yourself what you would like to do but have been afraid of, such as public speaking.

Of course, the first time will be sh*t.

Don’t expect that you magically become good at something if you tell yourself you’re good at it.

It doesn’t work like that.

You need practice.

And you need mistakes.

A looot of mistakes.

Practice makes perfect

They say, “Practice makes perfect.”

But I prefer to say, “Practice makes it possible.”

And that’s what, in the end, really matters.

Now…

What are you going to try out?

What are you going to tell yourself?