For those not on the bandwagon, the so- called 10,000-Hour Rule is based on a study by K. Anders Ericsson and was popularized by the Malcolm Gladwell book Outliers. It dictates, in simple terms, that becoming world- class at something requires 10,000 hours of deliberate practice. This number has been correlated with top violinists and aviators, and Malcolm extended this theory to well-known greats like the Beatles and Bill Gates.

Accumulating 10,000 hours requires 20 hours a week for 10 years. So how can I claim that becoming “world-class” is attainable within six months? There are a few reasons, most of which I think Malcolm would agree with:

- First, I define world-class very specifically: The top 5% in a given field. For Japanese, let’s say, it’s having greater conversa- tional fluency than 95 out of 100 people who study Japanese. For the dead lift, a 650-lb pull from the knees at a body weight of 165 lbs puts me above 95 out of 100 male gym members. That said, I’d be laughed off the platform by competi- tive power lifters. But these power lifters are in the top 0.5%, and we’re aiming for the top 5%. [36]

- Correlation (e.g., A and B are found together) doesn’t mean causation (A causes B). The fact that 10 out of 10 top violinists practiced 10,000 hours over a certain period of time doesn’t mean that this volume is what made them world- class. Imagine all of them are Asian. Does being Asian automatically make you a good violinist? Of course not. There are too many variables. It’s nearly impossible to show cause and effect with observa- tional (versus experimental) data.

- Training method can have an exponential impact on per-hour yield. My before-and- after experience with Spanish proves this, as have my readers’ experiences in dozens of areas.

- People who are singularly focused on a career in a highly competitive field (e.g., concert violinist) are incentivized to prac- tice as much as possible. In other words, if your professional future depends 100% on one skill, you’ll put in as many hours as your body (and schedule) will toler- ate. This doesn’t mean 10,000+ hours are required, but if this is your one ticket in life, are you going to take the risk by doing less? No. Once again, correlation does not equal causation.

- Patterns can be meaningful, but so can anomalies. If we look at the Olympics from 1920 to 1967, most high-jump medalists used a straddle technique or scissor jump to clear the bar. In 1968, Dick Fosbury, to the laughter of spectators, went over back- ward in what was nicknamed the “Fosbury Flop.” He laughed last and won the gold medal. Now, almost 100% of competitors use some variation of his technique. Had we stopped our data collection at 1968, we would have considered him nothing more than a statistical outlier and removed him from the calculus. The Fosburys of the world matter.

- Technology also matters. How did Fosbury make his breakthrough? Partially, it was because the landing surface changed in the mid-1960s from a hard surface (sand, hay, and sawdust) that required a feet-first landing to a soft cushion that allowed for new experimentation. Today, $100 30-frame-per- second cameras and the Internet, to name just two advances, improve both access to expertise and the speed of the feedback loop.

Take, for instance, how I learned to pop up on a surfboard. Prior to a planned trip to Costa Rica, I found myself in Berlin, with no beach or pool in sight. I connected via Skype video with Brad Gerlach, formerly the #1-ranked surfer in the world. In 2006, he won the prestigious Billabong XXL by successfully riding a 68-foot wave in Todos Santos, Mexico. Now, he’s turned his mind to teaching. To start, he forced himself to surf “switch stance” (opposite foot forward) just so he could better commu- nicate the mechanics. From inside a rainy apartment in Germany, I watched him demonstrate technique in Los Angeles, after which I turned the camera on myself and listened to his coaching.

The tools of learning are not fixed, nor is the amount of time needed to become world-class.

[36] Some might criticize this bar, calling me a jack-of-all-trades. Shouldn’t I focus on being the best at one thing instead of merely good at many? To them, I’d point out:

- If you're capable of becoming a Tiger Woods or a Yo-Yo Ma, you'll know early in life. Tiger Woods wasn't drawing pirate ships as a kid, he was literally drawing trajectories of golf balls hit with different irons. He broke 80 for the first time at age eight.

- Being a generalist can be powerful. Steve Jobs was not a specialist or a technician; he was a conductor who could connect dots others couldn’t.

- It's more fun for me to imagine being in the top 5% in the world at dozens of things, as opposed to in the top 1% for one or, at most, two things.

- I'm actually aiming to be the best in the world at one thing: meta-learning.