The Talent Code

    I actually read a book about talent.  It's kind of a surprising thing; although it's stuff that I would read, I rarely ever actually do read it.  Usually it's something I only do when I think about something that I'm sure I've heard of before and want to find something talking about it so I can post it here, something like that.  Anyway, this post will be about The Talent Code by Daniel Coyle.  If you couldn't have guessed, I don't intend to talk about the quality of the writing or how worthwhile of a read it is, or anything like that.  Who would be interested in knowing that?

    The importance of myelin, described as a neural insulator in the brain, is one of the main points.  The idea is that our actions are controlled by circuits of nerve fibers in the brain.  Now, that's the old idea, but the new part is the purpose of myelin.  Myelin insulates the nerve fibers, and more myelin insulating the circuit means the circuit operates more efficiently and accurately, which in turn means better performance in the corresponding action or skill.  It's importance is well summed up in this paragraph:

"Myelin is important for several reasons.  It's universal: everyone can grow it, most swiftly during childhood but also throughout life.  It's indiscriminate: its growth enables all manner of skills, mental and physical.  It's imperceptible: we can't see or feel it, and we can sense its increase only by its magical-seeming effects.  Most of all, however, myelin is important because it provides us with a vivid new model for understanding skill.  Skill is a cellular insulation that wraps neural circuits and that grows in response to certain signals."

    If this is all true, then it would be very strong support for something I've always believed: You can improve the functioning of your mind.  You can improve upon your ability to acquire new skills.  Through the effort of learning new skills, you create more myelin, which "enables all manner of skills."  It may not have to be a direct connection such as: to improve in a fighting game you have to be able to memorize combos which requires muscle memory, which means you could become better at playing the piano which also requires muscle memory.  It may be something much more powerful, something with much more broad applications: in mastering the skills required to play a fighting game, you are creating more myelin, which in turn makes you more capable of mastering any other skill you choose.

    The book brings up someone named Anders Ericsson who changed the way psychologists viewed memory.  Previously, it was believed that short-term memory had a limit of about 7 independent things, but now, memory is seen as something that can be improved through training.  Now this is something I agree with, but Ericsson (and the author too, it seems) support a Ten-Year, Ten-Thousand Hour Rule which says, "Every expert in every field is the result of around thousand hours of committed practice."  It just doesn't make sense to me for a rule like that to be any more than a very rough general guideline.  First, how do you define your experts and your fields?  Something like Tic-Tac-Toe doesn't require 10000 hours to master completely, while something like, well, brain science, won't be completely understood even if you devoted 10000 hours of your life to it.  Now you might say, "Well, you might not completely understand the brain but you'll be an expert on it," but the title of expert is relative to the other people in the field (in any field, not just science).  In any field, you'll look back and find that, due to general improvement in the field, there's a lot that "experts" of the past didn't know or weren't capable of.  I mean apparently, "expert" neurologists used to believe that short-term memory had a completely fixed limit.  The author gives some potential examples of fields: violin, math, chess..., but those bring up another question.  Where do you draw the lines between fields?  Most math experts are experts in a specific area, partial differential equations, number theory, and so on.  Do you draw the line at partial differential equations as one field, or general mathematics which includes partial differential equations?  Is it just violin, or can you work 10000 hours to master stringed instruments, or playing instruments in general?  If you can choose the field in any way you want, then I will gladly commit 10000 hours of my life to master the fields of general logic, memory, and skill-building.  Finally, what are the implications of this rule?  As it is written, it says every expert is the result of 10000 hours of practice.  If you take it to be true as written, then the rule says nothing about you if you're not an expert.  It says, "If you're an expert, you must have practiced 10000 hours."  It does not say, "If you practice 10000 hours, you will become an expert."  To provide support for the first, you would look at a bunch of experts and see if they've spent 10000 hours in their field (which is what was said to have been done).  To provide support for the second, you would look at a bunch of people who've practiced something for 10000 hours, and see if they've become experts (which is not what was said to have been done).  This means that, even if the rule is true, it's incorrect to take it to mean the second statement, "If you practice 10000 hours, you will become an expert."
    Now I do believe it is true.  If you practice long and hard, you'll become an expert.  I believe that's true.  And, to master something complex, it will take a lot of practice, even for someone who is very talented.  I believe that's true too.  To say, any field, 10000 hours, well now, I don't agree with that.

    Now, although I wrote kind of a lot on that topic, it was really just a small part in a larger section on "deep practice" (but it was referred to again often).  To improve, it's not enough to simply practice.  You have to practice deeply.  Deep practice is practicing at the edge of your ability.  Pushing yourself to do something just a little more difficult than you were previously capable of.  Deep practice says to memorize something, you don't read it 4 times, you read it once and try to recall it 3 times, fixing your mistakes each time.  Fixing your mistakes is important, as is making mistakes, which is why you do practice on something difficult, to make your mistakes, know where they are, and push to fix them.
    This is something else I've always believed.  To improve, you do the things that are difficult for you.  Really, that's the philosophy I've always been following.  For example, if there was someone who knew the type of practice I did while attempting to improve my skill in osu!, they could tell you: I practiced pretty deeply.

    The author names an effect that I will refer to as the Holy Crap Effect, instead of its original name.  Basically, it's the feeling you often get when you see someone, seemingly from out of nowhere, make massive improvements in some skill.  Now the author says it surprises the observer and not the person doing the improvement, but I can say that's not always the case.  I've amazed myself many times with the amount I've improved in some area.  Anyway, the reason I'm bringing this up is because it implies something that I want to highlight: people tend to underestimate the amount of improvement that is possible in an area.  And, going back to the last post, you know what happens because of that?  People set limits.  Limits on themselves, limits on other people.  Limits that any reasonable person might say is completely supported by all the evidence out there.  The only problem is... people, even reasonable people, tend to underestimate the amount of improvement that is possible.  The support is usually based on the current level of ability, or the (under)estimate of the amount of improvement that can occur.  And then, these absolute insurmountable limits are broken as the people who set them experience the Holy Crap Effect, as the amount of improvement that was actually possible is so much more than anyone expected.  Now I will say it again because I think it's that important.  Don't accept the limits others set on you.  And don't set limits on yourself.  Because, through a lot of efficient deep practice, the amount that you can improve... well, it's probably much more than anyone expects.


    After deep practice, there's a section on ignition, ignition being what motivates people to put in the effort to develop a skill.  There's a lot on it, but I'm just going to talk about part of it.

    One major argument is that ignition often comes from the breakthrough success of another, with such examples as Se Ri Pak and women's golf in South Korea, Andruw Jones and baseball in Curacao, and more.  I'm sure it would come as no surprise now to anyone that I would single out Roger Bannister's accomplishment:

"The broad outlines of his achievement are well known: how physiologists and athletes alike regarded the four-minute mile as an unbreakable physiological barrier; how Bannister systematically attacked the record; how he broke the mark by a fraction of a second, earning headlines around the world and lasting fame for what Sports Illustrated later called the single greatest athletic accomplishment of the twentieth century.  Less well known is what happened in the weeks after Bannister's feat...  Within three years no fewer than seventeen runners had matched the greatest sporting accomplishment of the twentieth century."

    What good did it do anyone to assert that a sub-4 minute mile was impossible?  The potential negative effect is clear: anyone who truly believed it might have let it hold them back.  So I ask again, what good did it do anyone?

    One thing I found interesting is that one study found that, in beginning music students, the expected level of commitment when starting out (with answer choices ranging from just playing the instrument for a year to playing their whole life) was a good predictor of improvement, even among students who practiced the same amount.  Now I would ask, is it just because the students who expected to commit longer practiced harder, or, deeper?  To me it'd be strange if it was something more than that, but there are strange things that are true.

    One study was as follows:  400 fifth graders were given a test with fairly easy puzzles, and after finishing, they were either told "You must be smart at this" or "You must have worked really hard."  Then, for a second test, the kids were offered a choice between an easier test and a harder test.  The kids praised for effort almost all chose the harder test, and the kids praised for intelligence tended to choose the easier test.  On a third test which was harder than the first two, the group praised for effort tried harder and enjoyed the test more.  Finally, a fourth test of the same difficulty as the first was given, and the group praised for effort improved 30 percent, while the group praised for intelligence declined 20 percent.
    I see it as two diverging outlooks: one in which you place your emphasis on the end result and see a comparatively poor performance as showing your own weaknesses or inabilities, the other being more focused on the process and valuing the effort put in to reach a difficult goal.  In terms of improvement, it's seems natural to expect that the second would generally be more effective, as you'll be more willing to put in the effort towards challenging goals, and you'll be more willing to make mistakes and correct them.  Now, that doesn't mean that the second is necessarily a better outlook to have in life in general; there are more categories than "rate of skill improvement" to consider before attempting to answer that question.
    The other thing is that this study could give a reason for the differing outlooks.  If you grow up with parents and teachers telling you, "Wow, you're really smart.  You're really talented," you may be more likely to want to stick to things that seem to show your talents while hiding your flaws.  On the other hand, if people always tell you, "Wow, you must put in a lot of effort.  You really work hard," you may be more likely to focus on the effort and enjoy the challenge.  While I think there are more factors, an expressed value placed on either natural ability or on effort from those who teach, and, in a sense, judge you, could be a significant one.


    The last section is on master coaching, and I don't have anything specific to comment on here, so I'll just give the big ideas.  As a good coach, rather than giving long-winded speeches, you point out mistakes and how to fix them.  Which of course means that you have to understand your area well enough to know what's right and what's wrong and how to fix what's wrong.  Along with that, you have to understand the person you are coaching.  You have to know their personality and how to connect with them.  Some people will respond better if you say more and some if you say less, just as some people will do better when given more positive feedback and others more negative.  These things are what the best coaches will understand.