Never too late...

I was recently prompted to consider what might have been one of my own most valuable lesson about learning at any age after watching a TED talk given by Tim Ferris recommended by my friend Vic. I agree: the talk is inspiring. Tim Ferris delivers with flair a message that rings true beyond whatever his own facts might be (I understand some people had questioned them). In addition, an interesting coincidence brought back memories of my own trials and tribulations, small victories and lessons about learning. In the video Ferris credits his swimming achievements to a new method called "Total Immersion" pioneered by Terry Laughlin. I had personally met Terry several years ago during one of my own most significant learning journeys while we both had attended the same… rowing camp. The participants, a group of like-minded adults of different ages and skill levels, came from all over US to improve upon their rowing. I was a true beginner and had signed up for the chance to dedicate one week to “crash learn” how to row a skinny scull (competition-style boat). I had previously rowed a few months in a recreational boat (those of you who row, please be tolerant, I was so “green” I didn’t even know what I didn’t know…). The rowing camp turned out to be one of my most telling experiences about learning as an adult.

I had arrived at the camp with so much enthusiasm that the first day I took advantage of all three extended rowing sessions (one was optional). This was way more than three times I had ever rowed in any single day…. yet, I felt no fatigue. However, within minutes I was made painfully aware of how much I needed to improve upon. Each of the many trainers stationed every 200 yds. on the lake pointed out yet another major issue with my technique. I would barely start working on something only to hear the next coach yelling about another huge mistake or simply making fun of my “style”. They made sure to leave me with no doubts: I was at the very bottom of the skill ladder. I was once again re-experiencing all of the frustrations and humility that come from being a complete novice critically assessed by experts, not an easy feeling for someone who had become accustomed to operate with great ease in her professional and everyday life.

They finally broke me down by the middle of the second day: "how could I ever possibly fix so many major things terribly wrong with my rowing technique???" So instead of the additional rowing session that day, I opted for the trip to the nearby ice cream factory. As I was drowning my sorrow in the biggest possible cone I was able to get, I was struck by a thought: “So what if my rowing ‘looked funny’ or I was possibly doing everything totally wrong?” Being out in the boat, pulling the oars through the crystal clear water in the middle of the woods gave me tremendous energy and joy! Who was going to watch me once I finished camp? And, if they did, should I worry about what they thought of my style? In that second I decided that I will not let the way my rowing looked prevent me from experiencing the happiness it was giving me. Thus I would go back on the water the next day and try my best to correct whatever possible (maybe not at the pace they wanted me to!) but I would not give up on rowing. The rest of the camp days continued pretty much the same: I rowed every single session, worked hard to correct various things, put up with a lot of criticism, including a lot of ridicule, and asked a lot of clarifying questions undaunted by the fun they seemed to engender. The coaches got to expect me to raise my hand at every Q&A session.

The camp’s final row was a “head race” in which all students, starting one by one like beads on a string, had to row the full length of the lake against the clock. The rowers were started in the reverse rank of their skill to give enough head start to the slow ones. I was called to start second, being assessed by coaches to only be possibly better than one other student from the group of 20+ with various skill levels. By this time it did not bother me (I knew how much I had to work on), I was just so happy I was still rowing in my white skinny scull! We then all gathered in the camp cafeteria where the head coach read in decreasing order our times, slowest first, regardless of student’s gender, age, or skill level, a nerve wrecking exercise… My heart jumped with anticipation every time they were about to call another name, but once they called out most students, my heart really started racing again! Soon I noticed that the only few not called yet were all guys, and the best rowers. I started to wonder if the coaches would play some last prank on me, they seemed to have particularly enjoyed making fun of my technique and even more so of my eagerness. With somewhat of a sheepish laugh the head coach called: “…and finally, the 'Fastest Woman on the Lake'...” It turned out to be… me!?! I was totally stunned (apparently they were too) and really happy - then, as I am now! -that I did not give up that second day. More, that small victory against great odds taught me that my enthusiasm could overcome my inexperience, and how “funny” I looked while I was learning it. I got a distinct feeling that the coaches also experienced some eye-opener that day…

I am now convinced that the ability to learn anything at any age depends in no small measure on our capacity to conquer our own fear of ridicule. Since my rowing camp days whenever I am confronted with the challenge of learning or trying something new, I have started asking myself the question: so what's the worst that could happen if I ’looked stupid?’ If the only danger is that others might think I looked goofy– then I’ll go ahead, it is well worth it! And I can have a good laugh about it too. As young children we learn new things while we are still not self-conscientious. Later, as the fear of peer judgment intensifies, we avoid trying things that might make us look ridiculous. Then, with age comes the wisdom that the “sacrifice” of looking funny is well worth the learning and we can return to being the child freely and fully embracing the fun of learning and experiencing new things that truly matter to us. At that point we become free to make choices based on gaining value, rather than on losing appearances. As a teacher of adults I try to encourage my students to fearlessly pursue their passions, even when they lay well beyond their previous/formal training. There is no substitute for really wanting to learn or do something. I don't care how "off" you might start at it! And, I make sure to reassure the first time I meet my students, and then remind them frequently, that "stupid question" is a misnomer. If someone can formulate a question about anything, than obviously there is something that needs clarification - which is the purpose of a question - thus asking any question simply can not be stupid. I learned from asking lots of "stupid" questions: if one is ever told or made feel that had just asked a "stupid question" is because the receiver had a hard time answering it and was ashamed to acknowledge it. Voila, the secret is out!

Kids, do try this at home: if you see older people, friends, parents or grandparents learning something new, do not laugh, but rather plan to continue to have the same curious and adventurous attitude… Truly, it’s never too late to learn new things!

p.s. My rowing technique has gotten better after all these years of learning, but I am still working on improving many things. Also, I still have to follow-up on my plan to someday (soon!) learn Terry’s "Total Immersion" fast, ultra-efficient swimming style. As for that rowing race, well, yes, my time was faster than Terry’s ;-)