Practice

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about practice.

In the last three weeks, I went to two weddings.

Beautiful, warm, joy-filled events.
But in total, I only knew five people.

And to be honest, I was nervous. Really nervous at both of them.

Growing up, I was painfully shy.
If my mum dropped me off at a birthday party, I’d go hide in the bathroom until it was over.
In my teens, I’d let my friends take me to house parties, then quietly slip away for a walk until they were done.
I never understood why I did that.

But I also knew…
That wasn’t the version of me I wanted to live with forever.

So I started to practice.

I became friends with the most outgoing person at school. His confidence rubbed off.
I made a rule for myself: in moments where I wanted to disappear, I’d try to do the opposite.
Just stay in the room. Don’t run away.

As painful as it was. Try and speak first, ask questions Bit by bit, my confidence started to shift.

Then, in my early 20s, I asked my boss — a kind of Tony Robbins type — what skill I should focus on?

“Take improv classes”, he said.
So every Wednesday, after work, I’d drag myself to class. I hated every minute of it.
But I kept showing up.
And slowly, that part of me—the part that used to bolt—began to breathe, began to stay.

So, back to the weddings.

It surprised me how quickly that old, shy version of me showed up again.
Not knowing anyone felt like being 13 at a party all over again.
I had to remind myself: it’s been a while since I’ve practised this. I felt myself wanting to run and hide once again.

Running a company is surprisingly isolating. I spend a lot of time alone. And confidence, like anything, is a muscle.

It doesn’t vanish overnight—but it does get rusty.

Anxiety, I’ve learned, often shows up when we don’t know the outcome.

When things feel unfamiliar.
When we’re underprepared.
When we haven’t practised.

Think about giving a speech.

Give it once, you’ll stumble, read from the page, and you’ll rush the words. Congrats, you got the job done.

Practice it 10 times? You start to look up between the lines.

Practice it 100 times? You find your rhythm. You connect to the audience.

Practice it 1000 times? You own the room. You walk in with confidence. You may not even need to read from the script. You move people. You speak in a way that echoes. People won’t ever forget the way you made them feel.

At one of the weddings, a guitarist performed a song so moving I had goosebumps.
I went to congratulate him after, and noticed one word scribbled on his hand: “Everything.”

He told me it’s his cue.
Sometimes, even after all the practice, he forgets the first word.
But once that word comes, the rest of the performance takes over.
Automatic. Embodied.
“It’s like I’m not even there,” he said. “It just flows.”

That’s the myth of talent.
It’s not that gifted people are just born better.

It’s that they’ve done more reps.

Behind every “effortless” performance…
Are thousands of hours in bedrooms, garages, and quiet rehearsal spaces,
When no one was watching.

Talent doesn’t make you practise.
The practice is what makes you talented.

What would it look like to put in so much volume that success became inevitable?

What could you practice so obsessively, it’d be unreasonable not to get great at it?

What could you show up for, day after day, until it would be impossible not to succeed?

What would you do so often, success wouldn’t have a choice but to show up?

So maybe… it’s all just practice.

You don’t need to be fearless.
You just need to show up again.

Again and again and again.

Until what once terrified you… becomes second nature.
Until what once felt impossible… becomes your warm-up set.

It’s all just practice.

So if you’re feeling rusty, anxious, awkward, unsure — good.
You’re right where you should be.
That’s not a flaw. That’s the edge of growth. That feeling you’re avoiding… is exactly where you need to put the reps in.

So tell me — what are you practicing today?
And who might you become if you just kept going?

What have you been practicing lately?