The other day, I had a moment of self-awareness. This moment took me back to a time long ago when I’d experienced a similar feeling. I was in high school. We had a typing class. The teacher told me, “Don’t type with two fingers—type with ten. If you type that way, you won’t be able to type fast.” I objected, saying, “What does that have to do with anything? I can type fast with two fingers too.” I even went a step further and proved it—after all, back then I could type fast with just two fingers. When the teacher couldn’t respond and didn’t lower my grade for it, I felt like I’d done something right.
That day, it felt like I’d won a victory.
Looking back now, I see it differently. That day, I hadn’t actually proven anything. I’d opened the door to a trap I wouldn’t realize I was in until after I turned forty.
The fact that something “works” is not the same as it being “right”.
This sentence sounds simple. But when I really think about it, I see just how much it carries within it. Because if something works (that is, if it produces a result), why bother questioning it? As logical as this sentence may seem, being satisfied with the fact that it “works” is what has brought me to where I am today. But it’s clear it won’t take me to the next level.
Today I see that there are actually two types of practice in life. The first is practice that you repeat without being aware of it. You do something, it works, so you keep doing it. Over time, it becomes automatic. The second type is intentional practice—learning to do things correctly. You examine how you’re doing something, identify what’s wrong, and steer toward the right way. It’s uncomfortable, slow, and sometimes frustrating.
But this is the path to growth—as they say, there’s no success without effort.
There’s also this: progress itself can be a trap.
I’ve been trying to learn the guitar for a long time. There are days when I can play a melody I’ve heard. I really enjoy that moment. It’s as if something inside me opens up—it’s genuine joy. And it’s actually a well-deserved joy.
But right there, there’s a little trap.
That joy fulfills my emotional need in that moment. My sense of “I’m improving” is satisfied. And this satisfaction gets in the way of the motivation needed for deeper, more challenging practice. The small victory I’ve experienced erodes the motivation for the greater victory I could achieve. I celebrate small progress, but it’s only now that I realize I’ve come to a standstill.
Let me explain it this way: it sounds good when I’m playing the guitar. Then I watch the video, and I think, “Wait, this isn’t actually that good, is it?”
Why does this happen? Because when I’m doing something, my brain perceives two things at once: both what I’m doing and what I intended to do. Intention and reality intertwine. The video, however, shows only reality—not the intention, not the idealized version in my head, but simply what’s happening.
That’s why the video feels “foreign.” It’s actually as if it sees me more accurately than I see myself. I’m so intimately familiar with myself that it’s hard to see the difference unless a second pair of eyes points it out.
I think saying, “If I watch it as if someone else were watching, I see my mistakes,” describes something very valuable: stepping out of the first person perspective and looking through the eyes of a third person. It not only helps me make the clearest diagnosis but also becomes the most powerful tool for my growth.
But I can’t help but ask myself this question: “Then should I never stop until I get it perfect?”
No. Because that’s a trap, too.
On one end, there’s the illusion of “making progress.” It creates false satisfaction and leads to stagnation.
On the other end is perfectionism: “It will never be good enough.”
Both paralyze a person; they just do so in different ways.
The goal seems to lie on the narrow path between the two: deliberate, purposeful practice. It’s not about doing it perfectly today, but about taking this step correctly today. My goal is becoming smaller, yet I’m not lowering my standard of correctness.
Philosophical Perspective
In his *Nicomachean Ethics*, Aristotle stated that virtue is acquired through action. To be just, one must act justly. In other words, habit gradually transforms into character. We can think of this like a sharp sword: the right habit builds character, while the wrong habit limits it with the same certainty. Aristotle also said that virtue lies in the middle between two extremes. My challenge, too, is to find a deliberate, correct, and progressive practice that lies between “working” and “perfect” . (1*)
According to Socrates, the most dangerous enemy is not ignorance, but false knowledge—or the illusion of knowing. Being able to type quickly with two fingers creates the illusion that “I know how to type.” And this illusion stifles inquiry. Socrates’ entire philosophy is built on shattering this illusion: “I think I know, but do I really know?” (2*)
Scientific Perspective
K. Anders Ericsson has spent years researching mastery. His conclusion is this: mere repetition does not lead to mastery. What matters is deliberate practice. The correct method involves repeating the task outside your comfort zone with conscious feedback. The more you practice using the wrong method, the more you reinforce that mistake. (3*)
Neuroscience also supports this. Procedural memory (muscle memory) is extremely resilient. Once a habit is encoded in the brain, it isn’t erased—it’s overwritten. Correcting something you’ve learned incorrectly is harder than learning something new. Because two things are happening at the same time: the incorrect behavior is being suppressed, and the correct one is being written over it. It takes twice the effort and twice the patience. (4*)
Here’s my story.
That typing class goes all the way back to my high school years. The teacher told us to type with ten fingers, but I proved I could type faster with just two and stuck to what I knew. This behavior became a habit, and knowing that this habit worked—and still works sometimes—is what has kept me stuck at this point. But there’s a ceiling, and that ceiling is my “victory” from that day.
Years later, I started learning to play the guitar. For the first year, I worked with an instructor for one hour a week. For the next three years, I continued on my own, using practice exercises and watching videos. During this time, I developed a habit of celebrating small victories. For example, being able to play a melody I’d heard or nailing the chords for a song. These were real progress for me, right up until today. There was no harm in celebrating them.
But one day, I recorded myself playing. I watched it.
The beautiful performance I had in my head wasn’t there.
My fingers were in the wrong places, and the rhythm sometimes slipped. I’m also experiencing a strange internal conflict with myself. It’s as if I’m both seeing this and not wanting to see it. I’m telling myself, “Actually, it’s not that bad,” and at the same time, “No, be honest.”
That video moment, with the help of my new guitar teacher, hit me like a mirror to my face. I’d built that same pattern I’d carried over from high school into my guitar playing. What I thought was “practice” was actually quietly setting a ceiling for myself.
Now I’m practicing more slowly. More mindfully. It’s also more frustrating because every mistake is now audible and visible. But this time, I feel something different. For the first time, it feels like I’ve really started to make progress.
I’d like to share these exercises—which I created for myself—with you:
Ask “Is it right?” instead of “Is it working?”
Ask these two questions separately for each habit. If they don’t both give the same answer, the difference between them has become apparent. What’s visible can be changed.
Celebrate the small victory, but don’t overdo it—take it as it is.
Playing the melody is one step. Just one step. Celebrating is fine, but it doesn’t mean “I’m a great guitarist.” If the question “I got through this part, but where might I be going wrong?” comes right after that small victory, it takes me further.
Using video or an outside eye.
Stepping out of the first-person perspective and looking from a third-person viewpoint. Watching yourself as if someone else were watching you. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s the clearest diagnostic tool. The difference between the ideal version in my head and reality only becomes apparent this way.
Accepting the slowdown.
My performance may drop initially as I transition to the right method. This isn’t a setback; it’s a natural effect of the rewriting process. After all, as the brain erases the old code to write the new one, a temporary slowdown is inevitable.
Setting the “right for today” goal.
It’s not about playing perfectly, but about getting this transition right today. It’s about hitting this chord correctly today. The goal gets smaller, but the standard of accuracy doesn’t drop. The path to overcoming both perfectionism and the “good enough” mindset lies through this narrow but powerful path.
Going back to that typing class... Was the teacher wrong? Technically, no. Typing with ten fingers is truly a more efficient system. But I had fallen into a habit of closing the door by saying, “It works.” And now I see that I hadn’t opened that door for years.
Just because something works doesn’t mean it’s right. And repeating something that isn’t right for long enough makes changing it increasingly costly.
We set our own limits. And seeing this can be both difficult and liberating. The limit can be removed, but first, you have to see where it is.
I’ll leave you with a question:
Which habit has brought you to where you are today but won’t take you any further? And what are you waiting for to change it?
See you in the next post.
Until then, stay well.
Sources and Inspirational Texts
(1*) Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics
(2*) Plato, The Apology of Socrates
(3*) K. Anders Ericsson, Peak (2016)
(4*) Charles Duhigg, The Power of Habit (2012)
