My father always used to repeat the Tony Robbins quote, “Repetition is the mother of skill.” Every time I did something wrong: “Repetition is the mother of skill.” Every time I started working on something new: “Repetition is the mother of skill.” Every time I did something successfully, my father told me why: “Repetition is the mother of skill.”
Needless to say, I found this to be the most annoying phrase of words ever strung together.
My father knew I hated this phrase. With a smile, he’d often start it and then wait patiently, refusing to let me leave the room until I grudgingly completed it for him.
The most annoying thing about this phrase is that it was true. The more I practiced and repeated something, the better I got at it. Repetition truly was the best way to refine my skills. I could never bring myself to admit this to my father, but today the phrase still repeats in my head whenever I am struggling with something.
During my senior year of college, I found myself remembering the phrase as I practiced a speech for a class. It was a rather comprehensive speech, stuffed full of information in a measly three minutes. Normally, I performed my speeches without practicing. I found I was more eloquent if I knew the basic outline of my speech instead of trying to remember the exact words I wanted to say. However, I knew I wouldn’t be able to fit in all the information I wanted to say in the allotted time without rehearsing it. What amazed me was that, because of the repeated practices, it was the most articulate and powerful speech I had ever given. I received tumultuous praise from my classmates and professor, and was rewarded with a perfect score.
Later that day, when relaying the experience to my father, I mentioned how surprised I was by how much the practices helped. I cringed immediately, hoping with bated breath that he would merely give a small assent of agreeance.
“Well, you know,” he began, and I could hear the smile through which he spoke. I groaned internally, knowing the words that were about to come. “Repetition is the mother of skill.”
Happy Father’s Day to the man who always inspires me to work hard & pursue my dreams. I would not be where I am today without your loving support & words of wisdom, even the ones I found irksome. 😉
My name is Tyler, and this is my first blog post. For most of my posts, I plan on writing about things actually happening in my life, or about topics that I find interesting (and I think you will, too!). But, I thought I would use this opportunity to tell you a little bit about myself.
I grew up in southern Maryland, and I have been a writer for as long as I can remember. I wrote my first short story when I was four years old about the ants that had trespassed into my house, and I have been writing stories ever since.
For most of my life, fiction was my main form of writing. I loved using my imagination and escaping into the worlds I created. My characters were almost as important to me as the real people I knew in my life.
When I started college, everyone expected me to be an English major. But I went for communications instead. It was the “smart” choice, because it gave me to opportunity to fall back on a degree that offered plenty of career opportunities should the “writing thing” not pan out.
I still wanted to focus my elective choices on my true passion. Creative fiction writing was no longer an option, but journalism seemed like a good idea. It was still telling stories, but now my subjects were real people.
Induction ceremony into Alpha Chi my junior year of college
I fell in love with journalism. I loved the opportunity to give someone the spotlight and make them feel special.
The thing about journalism, though, is it’s normally pretty cut and dry. The inverted pyramid style taught by my professors always felt so confining and suffocating. They wanted to know what happened, and when and how it occurred. I just wanted to describe my real living character and tell their story.
So, I took the skills I learned in my journalism classes, and I moved on to creative nonfiction. In these classes, with magazine writing style format, I was given the opportunity to expand my typical 400-word news stories to 2,000-word expositions. For the girl who once couldn’t keep her middle school assignments under 10 pages, this increased word count was surprisingly freeing. I had learned from journalism how to strip a story down to its bare bones; now I had the opportunity to expand on only the most important details (and the knowledge to know what those details were).
During all this time, however, I don’t think I ever truly found my voice. In all the stories I had ever told, I had neglected one very important one: my own.
When my professor said we had to write memoirs for our class, I was distraught. I didn’t believe that I had a story to tell. Which is funny because I had anything but the conventional childhood.
I have suffered from chronic illness since the age of 10, when I was diagnosed with Lyme disease. Twelve diagnoses and over a decade later, I am no stranger to pain, to overcoming challenges, to perseverance, three things that can make a great story.
Induction ceremony into Delta Alpha Pi (academic honor society for high-achieving students with disabilities) with my good friend Caitlin
The trouble is, what really makes a good story is being able to connect with the reader. While my story was one full of plot possibilities, I didn’t believe it was one anyone would want to read.
My professor told us to choose any topic, and that she would be the only one to read it. Even with that information, I did not want to tell any story that was painful to write. However, after weeks of brainstorming, I couldn’t get one particular story out of my mind. It wasn’t one I wanted to share, but after years of denying this particular moment, it was time to face it.
When I handed in the memoir about my hospitalization for anorexia to my professor, I was visibly shaking. I felt raw and exposed. I was convinced it wasn’t the story anyone wanted.
I had always gotten high marks on my papers. But when my professor handed my memoir back, it was the first time anyone had asked me for more. She asked me to let my peers read it. Nervously, I handed it to one of my classmates. Once again, I waited with bated breath, hating myself for sharing something so personal. But when she returned to me, tears brimming in her eyes, she thanked me for telling the story she had been too scared to share herself.
It was then that I learned that not only do I have a story to share, but it’s one that actually touches people. It’s one that can comfort and encourage, one that can facilitate connection and possibly inspire others’ creativity.
Since a young age, I have always wanted to help other people. But it took me nearly two decades to discover that my way of doing that was the thing I have always been most passionate about: writing.
So, this is my blog, and on it, I plan to share my story, and also some other things that I have grown passionate about over the years. I am going to talk about the travels I have taken, and the adventures I am still going on, because I have found that the best way to learn more is to go places you have never been. I am going to share about ways I have found to find balance in my life, mentally, physically and spiritually, because dealing with chronic health has taught me that self-care is one of the most important ways to care for yourself and others. And most importantly, I am going to talk about the people in my life: those who have inspired me, those who have made me who I am, and those who I am growing with.
I hope this is a place where you can find inspiration, illumination and comfort. I hope it’s a place where you can read something authentic, and then know that it’s okay for you to be yourself, too. And most importantly, I hope it inspires you to tell your story, in whatever way feels most natural to you. Create art, write poetry, talk to people, volunteer…whatever makes you feel most alive. And when you do, please leave a comment and tell me about it – I would love to hear your story, too.
