And truth be told, I'm a little scared.

A couple of weeks ago I read an article about writing and it referred to the "10,000 Hours Rule."  (I can't find it now or I'd link it.)  This rule implies that to be excellent at anything, you must first invest 10,000 hours into practice and development.  Whether it's playing the piano, sculpting, or crunching numbers, true mastery is not achieved until after 10,000 hours have been completed.  In the context of writing, the author suggested that if one wrote three hours every day it would take ten years to show depth and maturity in the art.

10,000 hours.  10 years.  Or, at my rate, 47 years.

That's what scared me.

I am Perfectionist Girl.  I try not to be.  I pretend not to be.  I attempt to radiate calm, cool and collected Laid-Back Girl.  However, regardless of my grand illusions, on this day in the year of our Lord, 2010, I am Perfectionist Girl.  And I shudder at the idea of 10,000 hours for anything.  Let alone writing.  

What have I ever disciplined myself to practice or study that would come within a stone's throw of 10,000 hours?  It has never been an instrument of any sort.  My mother would begrudgingly verify that.  Not art, not running, not culinary skills, not Spanish, not fishing, not skiing, not accounting, not --dare I say it-- studying the Word of God.

Perfectionist Girl wants to be able to learn something quickly and be, if not exceptional, at least proficient.  Her timetable is a couple of weeks max; perhaps this may possibly consist of 20 hours.  If chosen skill cannot be learned in that time frame, she drops it and moves on.  That's why 10,000 hours is daunting.  Why start?  It feels impossible.  And who really has the time, anyway?  

I have no track record for commitment.  Seriously, it's a good thing that I learned to read early in life because that has proved to be my most dedicated hobby.  Looking back, I can recall only one thing to which I have devoted significant time.  Becoming a nurse did not take place within 20 hours.  In fact, supposing I have worked 49 weeks a year at 40 hours per week for the last four years, a grand total of 7,840 hours has barely scratched the surface of proficiency for my profession.  I am not good at starting IV's, but I keep trying.  I continually tweak my injection-giving technique.  I am always striving for a better way to explain something to my patients. I prefer to avoid suffering because it makes me feel awkward.  No, I am nowhere near mastering the art and technology of nursing.  Yet, even as I have written this a thought has surprisingly formed in my mind:

I wouldn't trade one of those hours.  It's the experience of all 7,840 hours that helps hour 7,841 be a little better.  Although I would have gladly given up as a junior in college, changed my major to English and become a librarian, I am so thankful that I didn't.  On this day, in the year of our Lord, 2010, I find this journey and vocation worth it...worth every hour.

So I really don't know what to write, but I am going to write more.  Perhaps I'll write more like calm, cool and collected Laid-Back Girl.  This seems like something she'd make time for.