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Deep practice means doing three things: 1) chunking - which means breaking things down to their basic parts, then putting them together again in ever-larger groupings; 2) reaching just past the edge of your ability; 3) intensive repetition. When you combine these things, you literally change your brain by constructing new circuits, and making new connections.

In the book, I tell the story of Clarissa, a clarinet player who shows the power of deep practice in an experiment in which her practices were videotaped and analyzed. First she practices one song the normal 鈥渟hallow鈥� way, by playing it straight through, not noticing the mistakes. Then she practices the next song deeply, paying keen attention to errors, repeating, and chunking. According to the researcher, Clarissa accomplishes more in five minutes of deep practice than she would in an entire week of her shallow practice. Psychologists refer to this zone as the 鈥淪weet Spot鈥� because when you spend time there, your learning velocity increases so much.

The larger point of deep practice is realizing that mistakes aren鈥檛 verdicts, but rather the information you use to get better. They鈥檙e the navigation points we use to build the right connections. Struggling in the right way makes you smarter.

I think a lot of the critiques of the 10,000 hours stem from a basic misunderstanding that it鈥檚 some kind of a magic threshold - people think it means that anyone can be an expert if they just practice for 10,000 hours. But that鈥檚 silly, because it鈥檚 simply not true. Genes matter. Environments matter. Emotions matter. But above all, quality of practice matters.

To me, the takeaway of the 10,000-Hour rule is that it鈥檚 not about quantity - it鈥檚 about quality. Creating opportunities for high-quality practice is, by far, the most effective thing you can do to improve performance. Seemingly small changes in approach - moving to the edge of your ability - can vastly change performance, as it does in the case of Clarissa. For most of us, it鈥檚 not about 10,000 hours; it鈥檚 more about creating a great ten minutes. Then doing it again. And creating a space where you can turn this kind of progress into a daily habit.

Absolutely. I love that study because it illustrates a profound truth that鈥檚 easily overlooked: education isn鈥檛 the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire. When we feel a deep emotional connection, a purpose, a commitment - it unlocks vast amounts of unconscious energy. That鈥檚 what鈥檚 propelling the performance. They see a vision of their future selves, and are ignited.

For teachers, I think the lesson is that they need to behave like Johnny Appleseeds. To seek ways to create moments when the kids light up and tune in. To pay deep attention when a kid stares hard at something - that鈥檚 an incredibly important piece of information. Staring is the first step toward developing a passion.

We are social animals. When we get the opportunity to join an enchanted circle of people - whether it鈥檚 students, or athletes, or musicians - our brains light up like Christmas trees. I call it 鈥渇illing the windshield鈥� -- creating opportunities to stare, daily, at the people we wish to become.

When you examine the lives of many top performers (Mozart, Michael Jordan, Michael Jackson), this happened by sheer serendipity - many were born into situations where they had the chance to stare, mimic, join these enchanted circles. The trick for most of us, then, is to not rely on serendipity, but rather seek ways to make these moments happen more often in the classroom.

It鈥檚 ironic - we鈥檝e designed many of our schools according to the factory model, where kids are separated by ages, when in fact we should seek out ways to do the opposite. Montessori does a good job of finding ways to 鈥渇ill the windshield.鈥� So do the KIPP charter schools. When I visited one KIPP school in San Jose, CA, I asked the principal what day in the school year was the most motivating for the students. It turned out that the most effective day was a field trip where they took fourth- and fifth-graders to visit area colleges - to fill their windshields with images of the people they could become. On that day, the kids ignited, because they could connect the dots; they could connect with a vision of their future self.

You probably remember the term 鈥渕yelin sheath鈥� from high school biology. Myelin functions like electrical tape for our brain circuits - wrapping and insulating the wires, so the signals don鈥檛 leak out. For years, myelin was thought to be inert. But it turns out that myelin grows - and grows in response to practice.

It works like this: When we repeat something over and over, the myelin on that particular brain circuit thickens, wrapping over and over. And when myelin gets thicker, our brains send signals far faster and more accurately. Those signals make up our thoughts and motions - whether it鈥檚 playing a violin or solving an algebra equation. The more myelin we earn, the better we become. As one neurologist told me, 鈥淢yelin is like broadband.鈥�

And here鈥檚 the other thing: brain studies show that myelin grows proportionally to the number of hours practiced. That is, each intensive repetition earns you another wrap of myelin. Each session changes your brain to make it faster and more accurate. That鈥檚 what makes intensive practice so powerful.

As the father of four school-age kids, I know about summer slides. And from a neurological perspective, it makes perfect sense. Myelin works exactly like muscle - if you don鈥檛 provide it with stimulus and activity, it naturally degrades.

That鈥檚 why pro athletes do training camps; why musicians are addicted to daily practice (as one concert pianist famously said, 鈥淚f I do not practice for one day, I notice. If I do not practice for two days, my wife notices. If I do not practice for three days, the world notices.鈥�) Students are exactly the same, which is why we need to build environments (and academic schedules) that are aligned with the way the brain grows.