4 Ways to Guarantee You’ll Get There, and Why Trying Harder Isn’t One of Them

Strength in softness. Let go. Be humble. Embrace curiosity.

There’s a right way and a wrong way to up your game in whatever it is you do. Guess which one trying harder is? Counter-intuitive though it may seem at first, knuckling down and putting more effort into the thing you’re trying to improve is often the least effective approach — I’m speaking from experience in a number of different fields.

Let me tell you about three of them.

Tai Chi: strength in softness

I’ve been going to Tai Chi lessons for a few months now, and it’s been a wonderful, humbling experience.

Wonderful because it feels great, and because our teacher is donating her time as a community service (and to help keep her in practice). There’s joy in giving back, in giving freely, because all parties benefit.

Humbling, because I’m not progressing as quickly as I thought I would.

Tai Chi is all about soft movements. Not trying too hard, not pushing too far. In yesterday’s lesson we were taught that adding strength, increases softness. That the less forced effort we put into each move, the stronger — and softer — it will become. I’m at the very edge of starting to understand what this means.

“You’re getting softer in your moves,” the teacher told me last night, “but not all of them.” I appreciate her straight-talking feedback. The lack of a trophy-for-participating attitude, and the way she gives unapologetic correction without it coming across as personal criticism.

When I first began, I thought Oh! I am a natural at this! It felt so good. I was certain I was accurately imitating the moves and wondered why people say it takes a lifetime to master. I knew what the Dunning-Kruger effect is, but I still fell into the trap of not recognising that no-one gets it right first time, no matter how good they feel.

Drawing: learn to see

Learning to draw works the same way. You might have seen people post things they’re drawn before and after drawing lessons and loads of practice. The before pictures are usually pretty good, but the after pictures show just how far they’ve come.

Therein lies the lesson: no matter how far you’ve come or what level you’re at today in whatever you’re doing, that’s just the before of a potentially even greater after.

When we were learning drawing in design school, I remember complaining to the teacher that shading was hard; the levels of shadow were just so close.

“Is it all one shade?” He asked.

“I guess not, but they’re all so much alike,” I complained.

“Then draw the differences,” he replied with a smile. “Draw what you see.”

Rather than reciting all the things I was doing wrong, this master teacher pointed out the right path with the quiet confidence of someone who has been there. As I relaxed, let go of what I thought the picture was supposed to look like and approached the subject with curiosity, my drawings improved.

Sessions where I decided to have fun because I planned to throw it out if it wasn’t any good, ironically produced some of my best work.

Writing: connect to your inner voice

The same principles apply to writing. The harder I try to write something that I think people will like, the more wooden and unengaging my writing becomes. Even though I’ve consumed truckloads of writing advice on Medium and elsewhere, it’s only when I put all that aside and connect with the authentic voice inside me that wants to be heard, that my words grow wings.

I have to turn off the part of my brain that thinks it knows stuff and simply observe the world around me with curiosity and delight if I want the words to bubble up inside me, demanding to be written.

4 Principles

Whether in writing, drawing or Tai Chi, finding the zone isn’t something you can express as a standard operating procedure; it’s a place you arrive at when you stop trying to claw your way there.

James Clear said it like this:

Commit to a process, not a goal.

For me, the process begins with curiosity. I’m aiming for a childlike anticipation of new discoveries, with no expectation of any particular outcome. My best work emerges like a deer from the woods when I stop trying to will it to leave the shelter of the trees.

These principles will improve your Tai Chi, or make you a better writer, artist, [insert your thing here]:

• Embrace softness to find your strength, and stop trying so hard: you don’t need to impress anyone, and you certainly don’t need their approval.
• Let go of expectations and outcomes. Meditation exercises before you begin can help.
• Approach the activity with curiosity for what you might discover. Spend time with pre-schoolers if you need a boost in the right direction.
• Give yourself permission to do poorly while trying to do well, but cut the false modesty: if you’ve done a good job, celebrate it.

Remember, today’s best work is tomorrow’s ‘Before’ picture, and a new ‘After’ isn’t as far away as you might think.