There are many ways to become an expert. One that makes the most sense is through the repetition of activities grooming your talents. You do something often enough and you get better.
This thought occurred to me recently as I pulled burrs off my pants. Sounds weird, right? Yet, as I sat on a chair in front of our house cursing and plucking after plodding through our woods eliminating invasive species, I contemplated how good I’d gotten at yanking the dastardly distance-traveling burrs that seek to send their seed across the planet, catching a ride on animals’ fur and human clothing.
Pull, flick. Pull, flick. Grab your pants tautly, pinch the tiny bastards tightly between thumb and your lead finger. Do this repeatedly 343 times until the cramps crush your fingers and wrists. You are closing in on becoming an expert burr remover.
Becoming an expert burr remover requires ongoing learning. You determine the importance of shifting hands. As your left fingers and wrist tire, you come to recognize the importance of rotating to your right hand. Keep the pace. Rotate back when the right hand tires. And, so on.
There are multiple ways to pull burrs. Some are successful, some not.
When I first took on this mission (not willingly), I went in blind. Didn’t know a thing. Would just look at the tracks of stickers across the clothes on my butt, arms, ankles, calves, sigh and think, “I’ll NEVER get all these off.” And, it seemed to take forever.
It seemed like every time you pull a string of 7-8 together and you feel good about yourself for making progress that another set would appear on your thigh or some weird place on your body that you couldn’t imagine would become a resting place for traveling burrs.
This became dispiriting. When you’re overwhelmed to start with, then find even more challenges, it gets depressing. Slowly you determine your tactics and strategy.
Jump right in. Don’t wait when you return from the woods and see oddly-patterned burr patches all over your clothes. Just get to work. Start fast. Make a dent in the project.
Then, give yourself some time to sit back after 10 minutes or so. Assess your progress. “OMG, 232 of the burrs are gone!”
There’s only about a third of the initial mess still left to clean up. You feel better about yourself. You get a sense that you can make the finish line.
Here’s the thing though: as you learn to clip the burrs, why do I keep getting more burrs on my pants and sweatshirts? Why aren’t I learning on that front and not walking repeatedly and inadvertently into those bushes?
I don’t know the answer to that one since I continue to come out of the woods covered and cursing. I wear crappy pants so I don’t destroy them when the crumbly remains of the burrs grind into the fabric. Tight pants somewhat prevent the burrs from adhering. I’m learning.
When you learn, you become an expert. Repeat the actions, figure out what works and what doesn’t. Keep after it. Someday, you too can become an expert in burr removal. I don’t recommend it, but it can be done.
This thought occurred to me recently as I pulled burrs off my pants. Sounds weird, right? Yet, as I sat on a chair in front of our house cursing and plucking after plodding through our woods eliminating invasive species, I contemplated how good I’d gotten at yanking the dastardly distance-traveling burrs that seek to send their seed across the planet, catching a ride on animals’ fur and human clothing.
Pull, flick. Pull, flick. Grab your pants tautly, pinch the tiny bastards tightly between thumb and your lead finger. Do this repeatedly 343 times until the cramps crush your fingers and wrists. You are closing in on becoming an expert burr remover.
Becoming an expert burr remover requires ongoing learning. You determine the importance of shifting hands. As your left fingers and wrist tire, you come to recognize the importance of rotating to your right hand. Keep the pace. Rotate back when the right hand tires. And, so on.
There are multiple ways to pull burrs. Some are successful, some not.
When I first took on this mission (not willingly), I went in blind. Didn’t know a thing. Would just look at the tracks of stickers across the clothes on my butt, arms, ankles, calves, sigh and think, “I’ll NEVER get all these off.” And, it seemed to take forever.
It seemed like every time you pull a string of 7-8 together and you feel good about yourself for making progress that another set would appear on your thigh or some weird place on your body that you couldn’t imagine would become a resting place for traveling burrs.
This became dispiriting. When you’re overwhelmed to start with, then find even more challenges, it gets depressing. Slowly you determine your tactics and strategy.
Jump right in. Don’t wait when you return from the woods and see oddly-patterned burr patches all over your clothes. Just get to work. Start fast. Make a dent in the project.
Then, give yourself some time to sit back after 10 minutes or so. Assess your progress. “OMG, 232 of the burrs are gone!”
There’s only about a third of the initial mess still left to clean up. You feel better about yourself. You get a sense that you can make the finish line.
Here’s the thing though: as you learn to clip the burrs, why do I keep getting more burrs on my pants and sweatshirts? Why aren’t I learning on that front and not walking repeatedly and inadvertently into those bushes?
I don’t know the answer to that one since I continue to come out of the woods covered and cursing. I wear crappy pants so I don’t destroy them when the crumbly remains of the burrs grind into the fabric. Tight pants somewhat prevent the burrs from adhering. I’m learning.
When you learn, you become an expert. Repeat the actions, figure out what works and what doesn’t. Keep after it. Someday, you too can become an expert in burr removal. I don’t recommend it, but it can be done.