10,000 Hours

Malcolm Gladswell's recent book, The Outliers, postulates that it takes 10,000 hours to become successful at something. In his book, he cites several people who have become enormously successful because of this concentrated time learning their craft, whatever it may be.
10,000 hours.
The idea intrigues me--it's as if it's been simmering in the back of my brain for some time. The concept first came to me in reference to Bonnie Raitt, the blues stinger and guitarist. And you can say, 'Oh--Bonnie Raitt--well that doesn't seem like much of a measure of success.' But it is to me. Bonnie Raitt was as good as many of the blues guitarists I've heard. And I wondered how did she get that good. A girl! Didn't she spend all those hours pouring over beauty and style magazines like every other girl? Didn't she spend all her time on the phone with friends, dissecting the curious behavior of men? Didn't she spend all those hours in malls, finding that perfect dress that would make her life complete? Where DID she find the time to get that good on a guitar, and find and sing those songs of such profound meaning and relevance?
10,000 hours.
I KNEW it.
Of course, now I feel a fool. I should have been spending the 10,000 hours getting good at--well--whatever it is I wanted to get successful and famous at. And there's the rub. You have to have the overwhelming desire for something before you can get to the 10,000 hours. You have to love something THAT MUCH to put in the 10,000 hours. That is what I lacked--for a long time. I spent the 10,000 hours, instead, looking into lidded,blue eyes of the man I love--memorizing the curve of his cheek and the tone of his voice. I spent it listening to my children's voices as they read to me. I spent it memorizing the sound of their laughter in the other room. I spent it committing to memory the patterns of their thinking. I spent it taking my aging mother shopping. I spent it at family gatherings, listening to the same old stories. I spent it reading, hiking, kayaking, swimming, lying on the beach. Learning to make a gumbo. Taking my dogs for walks, brushing my cat's fur. I spent it working jobs I didn't care about. I spent it following politics.
I squandered the 10,000 hours like a drunken sailor on leave.
But things are different now. I'm dedicated to this writing thing. I'm obsessed with this writing thing. I write constantly--wildly--with abandon. I write about things, I write about nothing. I write, write, write, hoping something will come of it.
10,000 hours.
Perhaps I'll get good at it. Too soon to tell.
I'm only on the 4000th hour.