学进去

“You’d be an intermediate (中级学生),” the clever salesgirl at the Apple Store said brightly. She was talking about the free classes one could sign up for. An intermediate, I thought with pride. “I’ve used Macs since they had green text and discs,” I said, eager to strengthen my position. “And I had a Mac Classic for years.” She smiled, or maybe she was thinking, “If it’s been that long, why are you still an intermediate?”

Why does one remain an intermediate? Sometimes it’s a matter of opportunity: Leaving New England was a blow to my cross-country skiing. No longer living on the banks of a river held up kayaking. Horseback riding, too, requires an opportunity. I know, however, a friend I rode with as a child bought herself a retired police horse in her 40s. A devoted kayaker would not have been prevented by the highways lying between her and rivers.

Sometimes, it’s ability. I have taken up piano later in life. I love music, but I can see that I have no particular gift for it. Gardening was another late job. I wasn’t a natural at that, either.

I admit I’m a little ashamed of being an intermediate. It seems to imply a lack of focus, an unwillingness to push myself to go deeper or further. Do I lack the persistence to become an expert? Am I too easily distracted to put in the 10,000 hours reportedly required to achieve mastery?

Maybe I have to accept that, for now at least, intermediate is my sweet spot. I’ve moved past the frustrations of beginnerhood without meeting the demands of expertise. A beginner is a beginner and an expert is just that. But an intermediate can be low, medium, or high. And wherever you are as an intermediate, you can always go forward, try harder, and learn more.

Who of us can claim to be an expert parent, wife, husband, child, or friend? At best, we’re the high intermediate with much to learn.