The past three weeks I’ve been obsessed with disc golf. It started innocently enough on a Thursday evening. After ordering a beginners set of discs from Amazon, I set out to try the nearest course.
The closest course wasn’t the best course, though. I played it nonetheless.
And I was bad.
But by the end of my first play through I was throwing mildly better. And I mean mildly.
My over enthusiastic interest in disc golf has manifested in a number of ways this month. I’ve toured many of city’s courses, loaded up various discs, practiced distance throwing in fields, and watched videos on maximizing my throw.
Has my throw improved then?
Mildly. And I mean mildly.
But my distance is improving, inch by inch. And so is my accuracy, throw by throw.
That’s the purpose of practice: minimal gains for maximal time. To master something isn’t about intrinsic skill. Sure, that’ll get you some distance in whatever you’re aspiring after. But genuine mastery is the result of patience and dedication. Mastery is the result of disciplined aging, which is more than merely getting old. It’s instead the process of aging with intention, of aging with time well spent.
This evening I’m going to age well with disc in hand. And I won’t be amazing. But inch by inch I’m becoming more and more amazing.