10,000 Hours to Success

What are you an expert at? In his book Outliers, Malcolm Gladwell talks about what factors contribute to the success of wildly successful people, like Bill Gates. One of the crucial elements contributing to success according to Gladwell is 10,000 hours invested in doing. He attempts to prove that this is the threshold of time needed for practice and/or experience that tips the balance. For example, he describes how, in the early 60s, the Beatles played all night every night at a night club in Hamburg, Germany so that by the time they returned to Liverpool, they had played together for over 10,000 hours. They were pros. Gladwell shows where Bill Gates got his 10,000 hours of computer programming experience by the time he was in his early twenties. Doing the math, to get the 10,000 you’d need to do about 20 hours per week for 10 years or 40 hours for 5 years (hope I got that right—I’ve only put in six and a half hours at math).

Gladwell’s 10,000-hour theory is compelling. He cites a study done with musicians. Those who became brilliant professional pianists had put in the 10,000 hours at a fairly young age, while those who were teaching music or playing for pleasure while holding down another job had not met the 10,000-hour threshold.

If we buy Gladwell’s theory that to become an expert in something we need to have 10,000 hours of experience, I find it interesting to consider what that makes me an expert at. There are not many things I have spent 10,000 hours doing. Sleeping. Reading. Doing laundry perhaps. (I may have put in 10,000 hours laundering diapers back in the day.) Seriously, I would say I’ve invested that 10,000 in writing, and also in grant writing as a separate expertise, and definitely in active parenting (I mean real parenting, not just being a parent). Ron has put in the 10,000 studying music, more specifically R&B and Soul. What about you? Where have you invested your 10,000 hours?

How to Write a Comforting Sympathy Card

[I published this article in another venue and it seems to be so helpful to people that I’m reprinting it on my blog so it can be searched by a wider audience. It will also automatically post to my Facebook.]

When someone dies, we naturally want to comfort those left behind, but we often feel helpless to make them feel better. What can we possibly say to relieve the pain of loss they are feeling? Actually, even a few words, carefully chosen, can provide surprisingly strong comfort.

When we lose someone we love, we want to know that they are remembered and we want to believe that their spirit continues on some level. It is important for us to see that the person so dear to us touched the lives of other people. It is also helpful to know that others are thinking of us in our time of grief and that we are not alone.

A well-written sympathy card will contain all the above elements. Start off by saying how sad you were to hear of the death. Let the recipient know that you will always remember the person who died. If you are inclined, you can briefly relate a special memory of the person who died. Hearing new stories about someone who died provides new experiences of that person, which helps us transcend the death. Let the recipient know that the person who died touched you in a personal way and made a difference in your life. If you did not know the person who died, then let the recipient know that s/he is special to you and that was what prompted you to write.

If you believe in the ongoing life of the spirit, make reference to what you imagine the spirit of the deceased is doing or thinking in the “spirit world.” Be sensitive to the religious and spiritual beliefs of the person receiving your card. If you share their religion, then you will be able to say something of a spiritual nature that is in exact harmony with your religious beliefs. If you don’t believe in an ongoing life of the spirit or you are irreligious, make reference to the ongoing impact the deceased will have in the world based on what s/he did in life. Remember that those left behind will be comforted to know that others recognize the difference in the world that was made by the person who has died, that s/he accomplished something worth remembering.

Finish your message by letting the recipient know that you will continue to hold them in your thoughts (and prayers if appropriate) and that they and the one they have lost to death are not forgotten. If you feel certain that you can follow through, then offer to help in any way you can and put your phone number to show that you are serious.

Mistaken Identity

For the second time in recent months, my name was slapped on something I didn’t write in our little synagogue newsletter, which is not owned by Hearst, yet it bothers me. The newsletter only goes to about 200 people and I would wager that few of them read it cover to cover. But the ones who do read it are probably puzzled as to why I, of all people, would write a haiku about “the G-word” (quoted from the published haiku), since I am a known atheist, who actually stood up in front of the congregation and read a piece that I DID write about not believing in god (small cap, spelled out) last year, at Yom Kippur services no less.

Only a few months ago my name was attached to a piece in the same newsletter written about a workshop that took place that I not only did not plan but did not even participate in. The woman who did do all the work for it, and did write the article, was not acknowledged at all. So I had people coming up to me and asking about the workshop, which was on a topic that frankly does not interest me.

What really irks me about all this silliness? I am a professional writer. I choose my words, content, and genres with care. For better or worse, I define myself as a writer. Writing is at the core of my identity. It is my gift. It is the work of my hands in this life. So when my name appears on material that I did not write (especially second-rate material), I cringe. Let me explain how it feels. If you saw the movie The Naked Gun then you will recall a hilarious scene in which Leslie Nielsen sneaks his way onto the baseball field by kidnapping the opera singer who was supposed to sing the National Anthem. The opera singer, bound and gagged, is seen watching Nielsen sing, and butcher, the National Anthem in his stead on national TV. While Nielsen is screeching the bombs bursting in air, the opera singer’s name appears at the bottom of the TV screen, identifying him as the singer for all the world. I am that bound and gagged opera singer.

Cool Down Needed

I recently realized that Global Warming hit right when I went through menopause. I’m just saying. An Inconvenient Truth came out like on the day my doctor said “Congratulations, you are past menopause.” The perfect gift. Thanks Al. Impeccable timing. I am doomed to be sweaty from now until the ice caps puddle out and the earth burns up in a massive fireball of combustible plastic and oil.

Yesterday it was 107 degrees. What is up with that? It’s almost October. I shouldn’t be raking up oak leaves in blistering heat. Or putting on my swimsuit to garden. Or using my hot tub without heating it up. In October. OK, well, almost October.

I don’t deserve this. I have done my part. I drive an extremely fuel-efficient car. I have been recycling since the McGovern Administration. Oh, wait, never mind, he lost to Nixon, didn’t he? Don’t blame me I voted for McGovern. Me and three other people, two goats, and a barn owl. I consciously reduce use of paper and plastic. I don’t travel much (those fuel-guzzling airplanes). I work at home, no commute. I leave a tiny carbon footprint. Shoe size 3. Yet things heat up right when my body thermometer gets stuck in the Mojave. Life is not fair.

I need a good investigative reporter to write a book about the conspiracy by large polluting, carbon-emitting corporations to make me hot. Pass the popsicles.

Solving the Problem

How often have you had the experience of suddenly discovering a simple solution to a longstanding or significant problem? One of those DUH moments, when you realize that you’ve been living with this difficulty that evaporates in an instant?

For instance, a few years back, I suddenly had something poking me in the bottom of my foot. It felt like a perpetual rock in my shoe. I lived with it for months until it made me crazy. I didn’t know which doctor to go to. Family doc? Foot doc? Skin doc? I finally opted for the foot doc. Wrong. This foot doc (and after this went down, believe me, I never went to that doc again) took X-rays and said I had something growing in my foot and he wasn’t sure what it was. He wanted to remove it surgically, which would require an outpatient hospital procedure, require me to spend a week on bed rest with the foot iced and elevated, and leave me on crutches for a month. I booked the surgery, dreading the ordeal. But I also called my dermatologist and ran in for an emergency visit. He diagnosed it immediately as a planter’s wart and removed it in his office for $35. End of story.

Here’s another example. One of my cats, Golda, is an orange tabby. Even though she’s a shorthair, she sheds like crazy. For four years I have tried to remember to pick her up only when I’m wearing house clothes, covered couches and chairs with easily removable fabrics (which I air fluff in the dryer periodically), often walked around covered in orange cat hair (when I forgot and picked her up in my going-out clothes), and didn’t pet her as much as I pet her non-shedding sister. Poor Golda. A few weeks ago, I bought a metal hoop designed to remove the shedded hair in cats and dogs. Every couple of days or so, I comb Golda with the hoop. Now her coat looks fabulous, she looks healthier (and happier), and she is no longer a shedding problem. I pick her up all the time and pet her. How simple was that?

These things give me pause. How many problems, big and small, would be so easy to resolve if only we could step back and take a new perspective, discover a tool for the job, get the right information, or use a different approach?