I’ll admit it: I have an obsession with rugby.
A sport that has consumed me since my school boy days, I have (unknowingly) committed half my life to peak my fitness, skills and understanding of the game.
Now in my 30s, I spend a great deal of time chasing the game and figuring out how to be a better player. To prevent myself from losing touch of the game, I enrolled myself as a part-time coach eight weeks ago at a local kids rugby club.
Am I geeking out?
Now as the father of an active toddler and having crossed the big three, the idea of hanging up my boots might seem a little more plausible. But that’s (obviously) the little devil on my shoulder whispering these dirty deeds. My wife, as supportive as she could be, had a thought that made me consider stopping once and for all: I needed to lead an injury-free, risk-averse life for our son. Who’s going to be throwing our kids in the air? Definitely not the man with a backache.
But all that somehow falls on deaf ears, like a little child clasping his ears, pretending to be the only one living in a noise-free world.
Recently I found myself telling my wife, “I’ll participate in the next SRU season in September because I’m not done with it yet”. Oddly, I’ve been saying that every year for the last five years.
If this were to be realised, it would be my tenth season playing in the local men’s league, with my last just before the pandemic eradicated all forms of human interaction. In 2020, I was called up to the national men’s squad by then head coach Simon Mannix (ex-All Black), but couldn’t realise my dream of representing the country.
Surprisingly, injuries are common in impact sports.
Take a look: I’ve broken my nose twice, suffered a spinal bulge (aka slipped disc) twice, had an almost career-ending MCL injury on my left knee, and a whole lot of bumps, bruises and scars that could have been brushed off as having fallen off the bicycle.
I’m not trying to prove myself a man. I’m far from one. Neither am I implying I enjoy hurting myself. But it feels like another day in the office. In fact, it did the opposite: it motivated me to pursue a higher level of expertise. No amount of broken bones could get me off the field.
There are two possible reasons for my madness:
I’m a stubborn, foolish brat, because I don’t know when to call it quits.
I’m in love, because I can’t seem to take my eyes (or hands) off the game.
Or a third — there’s some unexplainable connection with this thing I do.
I noticed a paradox: I can have all the time in the world, but I can’t seem to clear the mess in my room. But when my body starts breaking down from years of playing contact sport, suddenly, I’m finding all excuse to get back on it.
Do it once. Do it again. Then, do it thereafter.
In his best-selling book Outliers, Malcolm Gladwell highlights the 10,000-hour rule: you have to put in 10,000 hours to get great at something. I think most of us might have miss the crux of what he meant.
Let’s think about it this way:
Michael Jordan had put in at least 10,000 hours of practice on the basketball court.
J.K Rowling had put in at least 10,000 hours of practice with writing.
Mozart had put in at least 10,000 hours of practice in the music studio.
If we bite-sized it, here’s how it would look like: 5,000 days of 2 hours practice each day. That’s 14 years. It isn’t just investing 10,000 hours. It’s about actually investing 10,000 hours.
Gladwell was right - 10,000 hours isn’t just 10,000 hours. It’s a ginormous amount of time, and more often than not, people are unlikely to see it through from beginning to end. If you want to reach the pinnacle of your craft, you’ll need to repeat it over and over.
To be able to repeat it over and over, you’ll need more than talent or skill.
When we discuss what it means to achieve remarkable things, we often consider the importance of talent and skill. However, when we examine those who have broken through the ceiling, we find that there is another element at play. It’s interest.
Smart people are supposed to do smart things, right?
Kim Ung-Yong is a South Korean former child prodigy who was recognised by the Guinness Book of World Records in the 1960s for having then the highest IQ in the world. 210 was the number.
He was able to read in Japanese, Korean, German, and English by the time he was a toddler, and at the age of four, he was accepted into a university in Seoul. He later moved to the United States to study at Colorado State University, and received a Ph.D. in physics at the age of 15.
Talk about genius.
But despite his early success and remarkable intelligence at a young age, Kim became disillusioned with his work.
Everyone has their own unique learning style, dreams and aspirations, and their talents to bring to the table. Kim knew that his career at the highest ranks of NASA weren’t what interest him. Without the inner drive, it would be a matter of time before he became unsustainable.
So he did what no sane person would have done - quit.
He left NASA, where he worked as a researcher at 8 years old, and returned to South Korea to become a university math lecturer. When asked much later on why he rolled up the red carpet laid out for him, Kim said:
I don’t like the limelight. I prefer to live a quiet life with my family.
In the eyes of society, Kim became an unfulfilled promise, like an Usain-Bolt-calibre athlete who never made it to the starting line. Aren't smart people are supposed to do smart things?
But for Kim, everything was going perfectly the way he wanted it.
“Society believes that those with a high IQ are destined for greatness - but it’s not that simple,” Kim explains.
“Just look at me".
Now, let’s jump back 100 years to see what people in 19th century thought about interest.
Seek, strive and be in it forever
Amidst his swirling paintbrush, Vincent Van Gogh battled his artistic demons.
Locked in his studio, van Gogh felt his mind crashing down on him — his brush strokes hesitating and his fragile hands shaking. “One more stroke,” he whispered, desiring to capture the essence of his vision. But the canvas resisted, and so did his efforts.
Throughout his life, Van Gogh encountered nothing but difficulty in gaining recognition and financial stability. His work struggled to find an audience, and no one gave a hoot about what he doing. But in 1890, his life took a turn when French art dealer Julien “Père” Tanguy stumbled across his work. There and then, the legacy of Starry Night was born.
But recognition aside, Van Gogh’s pursuit for perfection wasn’t about connecting with an audience or earning a sale. Instead, it was for one audience: the one within him.
To Van Gogh, painting wasn’t just art. It was the channel for self-expression - a place where he could rationalise his anxiety, depression and loneliness. In a letter to his brother in July 29, 1882, he wrote, "I believe more and more that in the art of painting, just as in music, it's necessary to express what is most essential, what is most profound." Van Gogh often spoke about how painting provided him with solace and a sense of purpose, allowing him to transcend his personal struggles.
Having an interest trumps doing things for the sake of it. It is a reflection of our need for a kind of rationalisation of who we are — to make sense of our world and the purpose we have in this lifetime. No doubt Van Gogh was talented and skillful at his craft, but it was interest that sustained him through the turmoil, overcoming the temptation to give up.
“I am seeking. I am striving. I am in it with all my heart”, Van Gogh writes, depicts his wholehearted dedication to the creative process and the pursuit of artistic expression, ultimately giving him the ingredient that made all the difference: fulfilment.
Interest on steroids
We see two things panned out here:
Without interest, talent doesn’t really matter.
With interest, talent doesn’t really matter.
To do something repeatedly, you need an insatiable passion. And a passion of this sort is interest on steroids.
Van Gogh had an interest in painting. Kim Ung-yong has an interest in math. And safe to say, I have an interest in rugby.
To increase the chances of leading a fulfilled life in the future and attain higher success, consider the following:
Passion (or a highly-stacked interest) is a key ingredient in achieving great work. Cultivate a love for something by first giving yourself the permission to have passion. Thereafter, dedicate time and effort to mastering it.
To become great at something, it takes more than talent or skill. It requires consistent practice and repetition, even when it’s not easy or convenient. But first, you need an interest.
Smart people are supposed to do smart things? Not necessarily. Everyone has their own unique learning style, talents, and interests. Aim to be different. Learn to discern, rather than blindly following the “right” path.
Recognise that success looks different for everyone. While some may strive for greatness in the public eye, others may prefer a more low-key life. But either paths does not make one better (or worse). Define your own success and work towards it.
I'll say it: interest will take you further than talent or skills. It’s nice to be skilled at something, but if you are in it for the long haul, begin by doing the things you love.
Be well,
MBT
Writing Tip
✔️ Metaphor
Finally, something I learned from high school English class had some use in my life.
Metaphors, a comparison of two unrelated things. The purpose is to convey a shared characteristic between two unrelated situations so you understand one by way of the other.
For example:
In the eyes of society, Kim became an unfulfilled promise, like an Usain-Bolt-calibre athlete who never made it to the starting line.
Imagine on race day, Usain Bolt didn’t show up at the track. Instead, you find him sipping a cup of coffee at a cafe nearby. Shake my head.
Most of us wouldn’t know what it’s like to have an IQ of 210, but we sure know how it feels like when we studied so hard for test, but didn’t show up for it. Make your readers understand your point by giving relatable examples in the form of a metaphor.
Photography Tip
✔️ Portrait augmentation
Portraiture is great. Advancing on the details of the person you’re photographing adds life. But we can always take things up a notch, like this example above.
Add a layer of attraction by intentionally putting things in places where you shouldn’t be. In this case, the projection of text on my friend’s beautiful, fair complexion.
And that’s the beautiful thing about photography (and creativity in general) — doing things that you shouldn’t be doing, simply because you can. Because, why shouldn’t you?
The next time you’re taking photos of people, think of ways you could spice up the image by introducing details that could capture the attention in ways that are unexpected.