I don't know about you, but I don't happen to have a spare 10,000 hours sitting around that's easily accessible. Maybe if I looked in the closet with the bowling ball on the top shelf, I'd find a cardboard box labeled "Extra Time"... but honestly, I don't have the time to go rummaging around for the dang thing.

Too bad, because 10,000 hours is the magic number to master a skill. Really. Check out Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell. The dude writes for the New Yorker so you know he's got to be good. Here's his premise:


Impressive, but is he correct? Do I really have to park my butt in a chair for a 10k marathon to be able to master writing a novel?

Let's take this theory out for a test drive. I spent at least that amount of time watching cartoons as a kid, which didn't turn me into an illustrator, TV executive, or even a gun toting black duck. Shoot, I can't even move my token a square ahead on the Trivial Pursuit board when I get a cartoon question.

Which makes me go hmm, maybe there's more to mastering a skill than simply spending time doing it, especially for writers. What if those hours aren't merely clocking minutes in a chair, but people watching at the mall. Or what about experiencing gravel in my sandal as I hike on a mosquito infested river walk? What about moments of rage in a traffic jam? How about simply loving, living, breathing?

I suggest that every moment a human is alive should count for something in that 10k, so don't beat yourself up too bad if you've not yet reached the goal...unless, of course, you've undergone an alien probe and are no longer a homo sapien. Then, my friend, you've got bigger worries.