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Practice Makes…

We all know the saying, “Practice makes perfect.” Nice sentiment. Motivational poster material. But let’s be honest—perfect? I’m not sure any of us ever get there. In anything.

Sure, we might have moments of perfection. A perfect golf shot. A flawless presentation. A perfect kiss shared with the person we love. But those aren’t sustained states of being; they’re flashes. Highlights. Fleeting moments of everything lining up just right before the universe snaps back to reality.

Most of life is spent somewhere between “acceptable” and “pretty good,” with the occasional dismount stuck cleanly enough to make us think, Maybe I’m getting the hang of this.

I’ve heard that line, “Practice doesn’t make perfect. Perfect practice makes perfect.” I appreciate the intention, but I’m not convinced it holds up in the real world. Whether you’re working on your piano scales or rehearsing a speech, nobody starts with perfect form. You make a mistake, fix it, go back, repair that corner of the piece until it holds… and gradually, through patient grind, it begins to look like something.

Most people don’t know this about me, but I used to be a serious pianist. At one point in high school, I had my sights set on being a concert performer. I was going to walk out on stage in a tuxedo, sit down at a Steinway, and play with orchestras in front of full houses.

And when you’re learning a difficult piece, there’s always that one measure—that tricky little demon hiding in the middle of the score—where your fingers simply refuse to behave. To conquer it, I had to slow down. Way down. As slow as necessary to get it right. Then I would repeat it. And repeat it. And repeat it. Gradually speeding up. Then backing up a few measures to blend it into the section before it. Then stringing the whole page together.

Trust me when I say: perfection was not how it started. And I’m pretty sure I drove everyone within hearing distance insane. But eventually, through repetition and small-course corrections, I got it. Then I moved on to the next hard section. The process repeated.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that I was learning something more valuable than Chopin or Rachmaninoff. I was learning a pattern for acquiring any skill. And the pattern goes like this:

• Instruction

• Approximation (give it your best shot)

• Feedback

• Portional perfection (nailing one small piece)

• Sectional combination

• Repetition

• Reaction-speed memory (performing faster than you can think)

It turns out this isn’t just how you learn piano. It’s how you learn everything. Golf, speaking, rehab estimating, negotiation, management, writing—pick the skill, the process is the same.

And here’s the real truth: you will never achieve or maintain mastery without repetition.

Not once. Not ever.

So no, I don’t say “Practice makes perfect.” And I certainly don’t buy into “Perfect practice makes perfect,” because nobody starts perfect and nobody stays perfect.

In fact, pastors and Little League umpires are the only people expected to be perfect on day one and show continual improvement from there.

The rest of us get to be human. We get to learn, improve, adjust, and grow.

We begin. We stumble. We practice. We get feedback. We get better. Every now and then we hit something perfectly—and then we go back to work.

Skip the instruction and the feedback, and what you’re actually practicing is consistent mediocrity. And while consistency is a virtue, consistent mediocrity is not something you want to master.

So what’s the point of all this?

The point is to live in the real world, doing real business, making real money, and making a real difference. And in that world, your responsibility—to yourself, to your family, to your goals—is to continually refine your skills.

Not by striving for perfection, but by committing to Constructive Practice:

• Work on your craft

• Repeat the right motions

• Seek honest feedback

• Adjust what needs adjusting

• Push your edge

• Return to the fundamentals

• And keep going

A trusted friend or mentor can often see what you can’t: the backswing that’s too quick, the deal analysis that’s a little too optimistic, the presentation that’s lost a bit of spark. Constructive feedback is the compass that keeps your improvement pointed toward your ideal.

No one becomes perfect. But in the striving, with the right kind of practice, you may achieve something far better:

You get better. Consistently. Predictably. Purposefully.

So if I had to rewrite the old saying, I’d say this:

“Constructive practice doesn’t make perfect— but it does make you better.”

And better, done long enough, starts looking a whole lot like mastery.

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