Chapter 5: Confidence Comes From Practice

The Apprentice Who Felt Like a Fraud

Antonio is twenty-six and in the second year of an apprenticeship as an electrician. He works alongside an experienced electrician named Grete, who has been in the trade for thirty years. Grete seems to know everything. She can look at a tangle of old wiring and see in seconds what is wrong. She works calmly, quickly and confidently, and customers trust her at once.

Antonio feels like the opposite. He checks everything three times. He is slow. He often has to ask Grete for help. When customers watch him work, he feels their doubt, and his hands become clumsy. At night, he wonders whether he is really suited to this trade. He envies Grete's confidence and wonders how she got it. Was she simply born with it?

One afternoon, during a break, he asks her. Grete laughs. "Born with it? When I started, I was worse than you. I cried in the van once because I could not work out a simple circuit. Confidence did not come first. It came from doing the work, over and over, for years. Every job I finished taught me a little more. After a while, I realized I had seen most problems before." She hands him a cup of tea. "You do not need more confidence. You need more practice. The confidence will follow."

Grete's answer echoes, almost exactly, the teaching of one of the most famous figures in the history of the samurai: Miyamoto Musashi, who wrote, again and again, that the way is in training. This chapter explores his teaching and what it means for anyone who wants to build real confidence, in any skill or area of life.

A Swordsman Who Became a Writer

Miyamoto Musashi lived from about 1584 to 1645. He was a swordsman who became famous for his skill in his youth, during a time of frequent conflict, and many legends grew up around him, some of them clearly exaggerated. This book is not interested in his fights. What is more interesting, for our purposes, is what he did later in life.

In his later years, Musashi turned increasingly to other arts. He became an accomplished painter and calligrapher, and some of his ink paintings are still admired today. He also taught and reflected on what he had learned over a lifetime of training. Near the end of his life, he withdrew to a quiet place and wrote a book for one of his students, which he called Go Rin no Sho, usually translated as The Book of Five Rings.

The book is divided into five parts, which Musashi named after the elements: Earth, Water, Fire, Wind and Emptiness. Much of it concerns the techniques and strategy of his own style of swordsmanship, which are not the subject of this book. But throughout, Musashi also writes about the nature of training, attention and mastery in ways that apply to any skill. Many readers today, who have no interest in swords, find these reflections useful in their work, art, sport and daily life.

I want to be clear that I am not presenting Musashi as a model of how to live in every respect. He lived in a violent age and was shaped by it. But his reflections on practice, written by someone who had spent his whole life training, contain wisdom that goes beyond their original setting.

It is also interesting that Musashi, in the introduction to his book, describes himself as having reached a deeper understanding of his way only around the age of fifty, after many years of practice. Whatever we think of the legends about his youth, this detail is striking. Even a man famous for his skill felt that real understanding came slowly, late and through long training. That is a comforting thought for anyone who feels that they are learning slowly.

The Way Is in Training

At the end of the first part of The Book of Five Rings, the Earth Book, Musashi gives a short list of principles for anyone who wants to follow his way. Here they are, in my own plain paraphrase.

Do not think dishonestly. The way is in training. Become acquainted with many arts. Know the ways of many professions. Understand the difference between gain and loss in worldly matters. Develop judgment and understanding in everything. Perceive what cannot be seen with the eyes. Pay attention even to small things. Do nothing that is of no use.

Of these principles, the second, the way is in training, is the one Musashi returns to most often. Again and again, after explaining a technique or an idea, he tells the reader that they must practise it, study it thoroughly, train in it day and night. Understanding an idea, for Musashi, is only the beginning. Real mastery comes from repeated, careful practice.

This idea speaks directly to Antonio's question. Grete's confidence was not a gift she was born with. It was the result of thousands of hours of practice, of jobs finished, problems solved and mistakes learned from. Her confidence was, in a sense, the shadow cast by her training.

The other principles in the list are also interesting. Musashi encourages learning many arts and understanding many professions, suggesting that broad knowledge supports skill in one's own field. He urges honesty in thought, judgment in everything and attention to small things. And his final principle, do nothing that is of no use, suggests a kind of focus: training not aimlessly, but with purpose.

The list is also remarkable for what it does not say. It does not tell the reader to believe in their own greatness, to imagine success or to wait for inspiration. Every principle is practical: think honestly, train, learn widely, judge well, notice what is hidden, pay attention to details, avoid what is useless. It is a list for someone who wants to become good at something by working at it, not by wishing.

A Thousand Days to Forge, Ten Thousand to Polish

At the end of the second part of his book, the Water Book, Musashi makes a striking observation about how long real mastery takes. In my own paraphrase, he says that a thousand days of practice is needed to forge, and ten thousand days of practice to polish.

The image comes from the making of swords and other metal tools. Forging is the hard, early work of shaping metal through heat and hammering. Polishing is the long, patient work of refining the shape until it is sharp and true. A thousand days is nearly three years; ten thousand days is more than twenty-seven. Musashi is saying, in effect, that the basic shape of a skill takes years to form, and that its refinement takes a lifetime.

This can sound discouraging at first. Nobody wants to wait twenty-seven years to feel confident. But it can also be freeing. If mastery takes so long for everyone, then feeling clumsy and unsure in the early years is not a sign of failure. It is simply what the forging stage feels like. Antonio, in his second year, is in the middle of his forging. Grete, after thirty years, is in her polishing. Both are on the same path.

The image also suggests that confidence grows in stages. In the forging stage, confidence is fragile and comes and goes. Each small success adds a little. In the polishing stage, confidence becomes deeper and steadier, because it rests on a large store of experience. Knowing this can help us be patient with ourselves.

It is worth noting that modern popular ideas sometimes claim that a fixed number of hours of practice, often said to be ten thousand, will make anyone an expert. Researchers who study expertise have pointed out that this is an oversimplification. The amount of practice needed varies a great deal between people and between skills, and the kind of practice matters as much as the amount. Musashi's numbers are best read not as an exact rule, but as a vivid reminder that mastery takes a long time.

Like a Good Carpenter

In the Earth Book, Musashi uses an image that brings his ideas down to earth in a very literal sense. He compares the way of strategy to the work of a carpenter, and especially of a master carpenter who leads a team building a house.

In my own paraphrase, Musashi describes how a good master carpenter knows the plans of the building, chooses the right timber for each purpose, straight wood for visible pillars, strong wood for hidden supports, and assigns each worker to the task that suits their skill. He says that a good carpenter keeps his tools sharp, works carefully and steadily, and is skilled with a variety of tools, so that the work is done well and efficiently.

This image is wonderfully practical. It reminds us that mastery is not a mysterious inner state, but a matter of knowing the work, caring for one's tools, choosing the right approach for each task and working steadily. Anyone who practises a craft, whether carpentry, cooking, nursing, teaching, accounting or electrical work, can recognize this picture.

It also suggests that confidence comes from being well prepared. A carpenter with sharp tools, good timber and a clear plan approaches the work calmly. A carpenter with blunt tools and no plan is anxious and clumsy. Much of what looks like natural confidence is, in reality, the calm that comes from good preparation.

Musashi also stresses that a good master carpenter knows the abilities of each worker, and gives the right task to the right person, neither overloading a beginner nor wasting the skill of an expert. This is useful for anyone who teaches or leads others. Confidence grows in people who are given tasks at the edge of their ability, with support. It shrinks in people who are given tasks far beyond them, or who are never trusted with anything real. A good leader, like a good carpenter, chooses wisely.

Confidence Built on Evidence

Many modern approaches to confidence focus on thoughts and feelings: telling ourselves that we are capable, imagining success or repeating positive statements. These approaches may help some people a little. But Musashi's teaching, and Grete's experience, point to a deeper and more reliable source of confidence: evidence.

When we have done something many times and succeeded, we have evidence that we can do it. That evidence is much more convincing to our minds than any positive statement. Psychologists who study confidence have found that one of its strongest sources is the experience of having succeeded at something through our own effort. Each success, especially a success that required effort, adds to our belief that we can handle similar challenges in the future.

This explains why confidence cannot be rushed. It is built one experience at a time. Antonio will not feel confident by thinking confident thoughts. He will feel confident when he has fixed enough circuits, solved enough problems and handled enough difficult customers that his mind has a large store of evidence: I have done this before. I can do it again.

It also explains why avoiding challenges can weaken confidence. If we avoid difficult tasks because we fear failing, we deny ourselves the evidence we need. Our confidence stays low, so we avoid more tasks, and the cycle continues. Breaking this cycle requires taking on challenges at the right level, as we saw with the ladder of courage in the third chapter, so that we can collect evidence of success.

And it explains why mistakes are part of the process. Grete told Antonio that she once cried over a simple circuit. That failure was part of her training. Each mistake, examined and learned from, adds to our understanding and, eventually, to our confidence. A person who has never failed has not tested their skill. A person who has failed and recovered has learned that failure is survivable.

There is one more source of confidence that practice provides: familiarity with our own fear. Each time we practise something difficult, we also practise feeling nervous and continuing anyway. Over time, the nervousness becomes familiar. We recognize it, we know it will pass and we know we can work while feeling it. Grete still feels a flicker of doubt in front of a very unusual problem. But she has felt that flicker thousands of times, and it no longer stops her hands.

Practising Well

If the way is in training, then how we train matters. Not all practice is equally useful. Researchers who study the development of skill, and many experienced teachers, have described some features of good practice.

Good practice is focused. Doing a task absent-mindedly, while thinking of something else, teaches us much less than doing it with full attention. This connects with Musashi's principle of doing nothing that is of no use: practice should have a purpose.

Good practice is slightly beyond our current level. If we only do what we can already do easily, we do not improve much. If we try things far beyond our level, we become discouraged. The best practice stretches us a little, at the edge of our ability.

Good practice includes feedback. We need to know whether we are doing something well or badly, so that we can adjust. This feedback might come from a teacher, a colleague, the results of our work or careful self-observation. Antonio's time with Grete is valuable partly because she can tell him when he is doing something wrong.

Good practice is regular. Short, frequent sessions are often more effective than long, occasional ones. A little practice every day, as Musashi suggests with his thousand and ten thousand days, builds skill more reliably than bursts of effort followed by long gaps.

And good practice includes rest. Muscles grow stronger during rest after exercise, and the mind often consolidates skills during rest and sleep. Training without rest leads to exhaustion and injury, as many athletes, musicians and workers have learned through painful experience. A balanced approach, with steady effort and regular recovery, builds skill and confidence over the long term.

It can also help to practise in conditions that resemble the real situation. A person preparing for a job interview may practise answering questions aloud with a friend. A person preparing to give a speech may practise standing up, in the clothes they will wear. A carer learning a new task may practise it with supervision before doing it alone. The closer practice is to the real thing, the more the confidence it builds will carry over.

Four Lives in Training

Oluchi is thirty-five and works in human resources. Her new role requires her to give presentations to groups of managers, and she is terrified. For the first few, she shakes and reads from her notes in a monotone. She decides to treat presenting as a skill to train, not a talent she lacks. She practises each presentation aloud at home three times, records herself on her phone and watches the recording, noting one thing to improve each time. She volunteers to speak more often, not less. After six months, she is not a natural performer, but she is calm, clear and competent. Her confidence, she says, came from the evidence of thirty presentations survived.

Bernd is fifty-eight and has always wanted to play the cello. He finally starts lessons and is shocked at how difficult it is. The sounds he makes are scratchy and out of tune. He feels foolish and almost quits. His teacher reminds him of Musashi's thousand days. "You are on day forty," she says. "Be patient." Bernd practises twenty minutes a day, every day. After a year, he can play simple pieces with a warm tone. He says that he has never been so happy to be a beginner, and that each small improvement gives him a quiet confidence he did not have before.

Kenji is fourteen and loves chess. He plays online for hours, but he does not improve much, and he loses often to his friend. His uncle, a good player, notices that Kenji plays very fast games without thinking about his mistakes. He suggests a different kind of practice: fewer games, played more slowly, followed by ten minutes reviewing each game to find where it went wrong. Kenji finds this boring at first. But within a few months, his play improves dramatically, and he begins to beat his friend. He learns that how you practise matters as much as how much.

Antonio, from the beginning of this chapter, takes Grete's words seriously. He stops thinking of himself as someone without confidence and starts thinking of himself as someone in training. He keeps a small notebook in which he writes down each new problem he solves and each mistake he learns from. When he feels doubt, he reads the notebook and sees how much he has already learned. A year later, a customer watches him work and says, "You seem very sure of yourself." Antonio smiles. He is not completely sure. But he has evidence now.

Oluchi, Bernd, Kenji and Antonio each discovered that confidence is not a gift that some people are born with and others lack. It is built through training: through focused, regular practice, with feedback, at the edge of their ability. As Musashi wrote, the way is in training.

Practical Steps

First, see yourself as in training. In any skill or area where you lack confidence, remind yourself that you are in the forging stage, not the polishing stage.

Second, practise regularly. Choose one skill you want to build and practise it a little every day or most days.

Third, practise with focus. Give your practice full attention, with a clear purpose for each session.

Fourth, stretch a little. Choose challenges slightly beyond your current level, not so easy that you learn nothing, nor so hard that you give up.

Fifth, seek feedback. Find a teacher, colleague, friend or method that tells you how you are doing, and use it to adjust.

Sixth, collect your evidence. Keep a record of what you have learned and achieved. When doubt arises, look at the evidence.

A Short Exercise: A Simple Training Plan

This exercise takes about twenty minutes to plan, and then several weeks to follow. It is for a skill in which you would like to build real confidence.

Write the skill at the top of a page. It might be a work skill, such as presenting or writing reports; a practical skill, such as cooking or repairing things; a creative skill, such as drawing or playing an instrument; or a personal skill, such as speaking up in groups.

Underneath, describe where you are now, honestly. What can you already do? What do you find difficult? Then describe where you would like to be in three months. Keep it realistic.

Next, plan your training. How often will you practise, and for how long? What will you practise, specifically? How will you stretch yourself a little each time? How will you get feedback? Write these down.

Then start a simple training log. After each practice session, write the date, what you practised and one thing you learned or improved. Keep it short.

After three months, read through your log. Notice how much you have done and learned. Then ask yourself how confident you feel compared with when you started. Most people find that their confidence has grown along with their skill, not because they told themselves to be confident, but because they now have evidence.

You may also want to share your plan with someone, a friend, a family member or a colleague, and tell them how it is going now and then. A little friendly accountability can help you keep going on days when practice feels dull. And when you reach a small milestone, take a moment to notice it and enjoy it. Recognizing progress is part of building confidence.

Questions People Often Ask

"What if I practise and still do not improve?" Sometimes progress is slow or hidden, especially early on. It may help to check whether your practice is focused, at the right level and receiving feedback. Talking with a teacher or someone more experienced can help you find what to change. And sometimes, patience is simply needed: in the forging stage, improvement often comes in sudden steps after long plateaus.

"Is it too late to start practising something new?" Musashi's numbers might seem to suggest so, but no. You do not need ten thousand days to enjoy a skill and gain confidence in it. Even a few months of regular practice can make a real difference. People begin new skills at every age, and many find great satisfaction in being a beginner again.

"Can confidence from one skill help in other areas?" Often, yes. People who have built confidence in one area through practice frequently find that they approach other challenges more calmly, because they understand how skill and confidence grow. Musashi himself encouraged learning many arts, perhaps partly for this reason. Knowing that you can learn is itself a powerful kind of confidence.

Chapter Summary

Miyamoto Musashi, a famous swordsman of the early seventeenth century who later became a painter and writer, wrote The Book of Five Rings near the end of his life. At the end of its Earth Book, he lists principles including honesty in thought, learning many arts, attention to small things, doing nothing of no use and, above all, that the way is in training. At the end of the Water Book, he says that a thousand days of practice forge a skill and ten thousand polish it.

Musashi compares mastery to the work of a good carpenter who knows the plan, chooses the right timber and keeps tools sharp. Confidence built on the evidence of past success is more reliable than positive thinking, and avoiding challenges weakens it. Good practice is focused, slightly beyond our level, includes feedback, is regular and includes rest. The popular "ten thousand hours" rule is an oversimplification; Musashi's numbers are a reminder that mastery takes time.

In the next chapter, we look at another quality that confidence depends on: the ability to stay calm under pressure.