Don’t drop the pilot

There’s a rare, passionate species out there to which you should open your mind. Who knows, you may become part of the fold, writes

You can’t become a professional photographer by buying a professional camera. I used to take a lot of pictures, some time ago, and I figured then that I stood a chance of being reasonably good at it. Even in those years the technology was advancing so fast that if you were prepared to throw money at the problem you could’ve produced a pretty good result. All you had to do was find and frame the subject, put all the settings on auto, decide whether you wanted aperture or shutter speed priority (or just let the camera figure the whole lot out for you), press the shutter release and behold!

With a bit of luck and enough attempts some pretty impressive photographs would emerge. More, I would argue, with the benefit of hindsight, due to the technology than the talent of the button pusher. I grew out of that as I got busy building a career, a family and a living.

Now, many years later, I thought I’d return to my photographic ambitions, but do it properly this time — fixed focal length lens, manual focus, high resolution; basically the best for the best.

I bought such a camera and set off on a road trip — camera, note book and me. It didn’t take long, once I’d got into it, to discover how far ahead of me a proficient user of this amazing piece of equipment would have to be.

You can train to be an expert, but that will only get you so far. You can study medicine or engineering or accounting, which will qualify you (by way of some sort of licence) to express expert opinions or take decisions. Maybe that’s why their businesses are called

“practices”, because being qualified to know the rules doesn’t make you an expert in their application; it entitles you to play, not to win.

What’s my point? There is no shortcut to becoming an expert. It’s a journey; it has no destination, no universal benchmarks, no certificate of attainment. You either are or you aren’t an expert.

Airmanship, defined as “the consistent use of good judgment and well-developed skills to accomplish flight objectives”, captures a number of the elements I allude to — a skill set well beyond that of a newly qualified pilot.

Perhaps when you’ve had sufficient practical experience (to build on the academic and training foundations of your field of expertise) you become so proficient that you cross the space between knowledge and understanding — when you don’t have to think any more, you just know what to do in the circumstances, however unusual — where knowledge and experience come together and morph into instinct.

Such high levels of capacity are seldom required in everyday situations. In normal life the benchmark for coping is competence, ground zero of the expert pyramid. It is in times of crisis, or in circumstances never encountered or even contemplated, that the expert emerges to answer the call — oftentimes offering (and executing) solutions so obvious and simple you’d be forgiven for not appreciating their value.

I’ve been privileged to meet a few (not many) experts. They don’t wear badges or carry their CVs on their sleeves, but you’ll know one when circumstances call for one and be grateful they were there. If you’re lucky enough to engage personally with this rare species, shut up, open all your receptors and absorb, admire, absorb. Learning curves are life’s purpose.

Who knows, if you collect enough of them ... No, not really. I’ve never met an accidental expert. It’s not that experts set out to be experts (as an objective); they’re not in pursuit of the title. Rather, they’re fanatical about the toil, the chosen field of endeavour.

Trial and error, openmindedness, being prepared to risk failure to find higher levels of success — this is the world of the expert in the making. Beyond aptitude, determination, dedication and discipline, the winners are passionate about what they do. They love it. It’s hard to compete with that extra ingredient, in anything. In a race between two people of equal skill and aptitude, it is passion that decides the race.

We find experts in the simplest things around us — threading a needle, drawing a shape, riding a scrambler, dribbling a soccer ball, kneading dough, flipping a pancake, giving a haircut ... or landing a plane in a storm. Often taken for granted, these are the products of effort and enthusiasm way above the standard of the game.

You won’t become a tennis star by simply buying the best racquet (and you’ll do your kids a disservice getting them one before its due). Start with a cheap racquet, start with takkies, not spikes, and practise, practise, practise — then one day someone might pay you to play with the best racquet in the world. We’re all experts at some things — things we find easy that others struggle with.

I’m going to stick with the fancy-basic camera. Let’s see what happens.