The importance of this is not lost on me. I somehow won a jackpot in terms of intelligence and raw talent; there are so many things that come relatively easy to me--academics, athletics, arts, interpersonal relationships--but in most cases, I've quit as soon as the going got tough. I will never be a great pianist, a great comedian, a great singer, a great runner, a great artist, or a best-selling writer because I've never stuck with it. They say it takes 10,000 hours to become an expert in something; I simply haven't put in the time.
One of my students summed it up best in a thank you note to me at the end of last year, a follow up to a discussion we'd had at one point about my childhood aspirations:
I like to give myself outs: my coach never invested in me, I never got into a good art class, I just don't have the time to take more improv classes or keep up a daily writing habit...but in the end, it comes down to what I'm willing to put in. We talk about grit in education a lot these days. It is the voice inside of you that tells you to keep going, even when things get hard. It's necessary for success. Passion follows in the same vein. A few years ago, I formed a serious "The Voice" habit, and ever since, I think about every song on the radio as though it was a potential audition piece. I'll never actually try out, though. Not because I'm afraid--though I would be nervous-- but because even though I love to sing and I'm pretty good at it, I just don't want it that badly. None of my raw talent has developed into anything remarkable because I simply don't want it enough. Yeah, it'd be cool to be on TV and have Adam Levine and Usher tell me how great I am (because that's the way things play out in my head), but even if I were good enough (which I'm probably not), I'd never make it because I don't really want to.
Last year, I started playing volleyball again for the first time since high school with a group that sets up nets twice a week near my house. My attendance for the first six months was pretty irregular, but by the fall, I was there every week, with bells on. I was also terrible, but I'm a fairly decent human being, so I made friends and people let me play with them anyway. Time passed, and I got better and better, to a point where I was slightly less terrible than I had been. The progress felt good, but I was more or less content with my unhurried amble towards mediocrity.
In April, stories of parties and dancing lured me to a beach volleyball tournament in Florida. Yes, the parties were epic, and yes, it was amazing to be surrounded by tall people (for the first time ever, I couldn't see over the crowd!). The most surprising part of the the trip, though, was the few hours I spent in a folding chair beside an Open-level court, watching some of the best volleyball I've ever seen in my life. It was thrilling in the way that serious tournaments often are, but for me, it was also exciting because as I watched, I thought: "I want to do that." I want to be that good. I want to be able to pass the ball with control, hit with force, and place with strategy. I want my sets to float perfectly above the net, and I want to block the other team as though I were twice as tall and twice as wide as I am. I want to be great.
But I didn't know how.
When I got back to New Orleans, I focused more on my game. I watched the ball more closely. I sought out advice from other players. I signed up for leagues above my level. But I wasn't really getting any better. My unhurried path to mediocrity was only slightly less unhurried.
I have always been a student that needed to be taught; my learning process has always been faster when someone else was involved. I had assumed, though, that getting coached was something that I'd left behind in high school. It wasn't until someone told me about a guy that ran sessions out at the local beach volleyball courts that I got my hopes up. I got in touch in late June, and by mid-July, I started seeing him two to three hours a week, working on fundamentals and coordination. In the first session, he almost killed me. I literally almost passed out. But I wanted this, I really wanted it, and I kept going back. It's the beginning of September, and he and I have been at it for a month and a half now. My sets are inconsistent but better. My hitting is still lacking, but I'm learning to make good contact with the ball and make strategic directional choices. My passing is not where I want it to be, but my footwork is better and I'm getting quicker on my feet.
Coach and I talk a lot during training sessions, more than I expected us to. I like it, though, because it gives me the space to talk through successes and frustrations. Most of my frustration comes down to speed of progress; I want to be great now. I say this almost every week, and almost every week he reminds me that I just haven't put in the time yet. "Be patient, young grasshopper. Think about how much better you are now than when we started."
A friend of mine and I were talking recently, and when I told her about my volleyball training, she asked, "Which is your priority right now, readjusting to school or improving your game?" It took me a little by surprise, and in my mind, I immediately recoiled. Of course work should be my priority--there were children counting on me. But she stopped me and clarified, "I ask that without bias...Which thing do you want most?" My response was almost immediate, "I want to get better." I don't know where it came from or when, but at some point between April and now, I found some grit where I wasn't expecting it.
I have mostly given up on becoming great at things I'm not already at least good at. I am almost thirty, after all. Anyone who knows me knows that this doesn't mean I've given up on learning new things. Since moving back to New Orleans, I have taken salsa classes and tango classes and improv classes. I've taken art lessons and voice lessons. I've played kickball and run road races. I've started cooking all my meals. I've traveled to at least five new countries. But I have not, at any time, planned on being great at any one of these things. I have always just gotten my feet wet and moved on to the next wading pool.
This time, though, I'm staying put. This time, I'm putting in the work. Billy Joel said it best: "You can get what you want or you can just get old."
When I grow up, I want to work hard. I want to be a great volleyball player.
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