The 2nd 10,000 Hours
Michael Cain
The First Steps to Mastery
We’re all familiar with the 10,000-hour principle, the idea that it takes around that much time to become an expert in a given field. I remember asking my piano teacher a similar question when I was young: “How long does it take to become a professional musician?” Without hesitation, he calmly and confidently replied, “12 years.” I was a bit taken aback, mostly by his certainty. How could he know for sure? I was probably around ten at the time, so 12 years sounded daunting.
However you think about it, developing expertise takes real time. If 10,000 hours is one way to conceptualize it, I can accept that. I started playing piano at age four and am now in my late 50s, so I’ve more than reached that milestone—perhaps logging somewhere between 40,000 and 50,000 hours, depending on how you count. After all, I’ve spent most of my life as a professional musician and teacher.
Beyond the Arrival Point
But what happens after you hit 10,000 hours? It’s a question I’ve thought about a lot, especially because many of the musicians I know are “lifers” like me. They, too, have doubled or tripled that time and are true masters of their craft. Conversations with such musicians often focus on the key lessons and pivotal insights they’ve gained along their path to mastery. It’s a natural and valuable dialogue: What did it take to get here?
However, there is an unspoken assumption in these discussions: the idea that expertise is an arrival point, something to be basked in once reached. But that doesn’t tell the whole story. In reality, expertise is just one chapter. The other half of the story is what I call the 2nd 10,000 hours. Once you reach a certain level of proficiency, what comes next? Do you simply become better at what you already know? Yes, to an extent, but the journey continues, often requiring an even deeper, more committed engagement. Mastery, as I’ve come to understand it, is an ongoing pursuit—a lifelong journey.
Early Mastery and a Hard Realization
Since I started young, I reached my first 10,000 hours relatively early. While that gave me enough skill to be a viable professional, it certainly wasn’t the endpoint. In fact, a pivotal shift in my development came well after achieving real professional success. By then, I had been living in New York for several years, playing with renowned musicians, securing record contracts, going on tours, and teaching at the Eastman School of Music. Despite these accomplishments, I encountered a realization that was neither easy nor comfortable.
One of the most surprising aspects of being a professional is how it exposes your weaknesses. This truth became especially apparent to me during my early recording experiences. At first, I thought recording was simply about capturing what I did as a musician. I quickly learned that recording is its own skill, requiring a nuanced approach. Playing well isn’t enough; you have to play well for the recording medium. And once something is recorded, it’s permanent. You live with it, and so does everyone who hears it.
Confronting My Weaknesses
Listening back to my early recordings was a humbling experience. They were a stark reflection of not only what I did well but also of my glaring weaknesses—flaws I had managed to sidestep for years. Hearing them was uncomfortable and inescapable. So, well into my professional career, I had to embark on an entirely new phase of growth. I needed to confront those weaknesses head-on, which meant building a whole new set of tools and strategies.
This second phase of development was comprehensive. It involved rethinking my approach to technique, rhythm, and how I played piano overall. I also had to immerse myself in an enormous amount of listening—studying albums and artists I had previously neglected. It wasn’t just about refining skills I should have mastered earlier; it was about developing entirely new understandings and reinventing my approach from the ground up.
Reinventing the Musician
This reinvention is what I call the work of the 2nd 10,000 hours. It’s not just revisiting old gaps but forging new territory. I’ve observed many great musicians go through this: a period of profound rethinking, rebuilding, and even unlearning. Unlearning is a particularly crucial but often overlooked skill. Sometimes we learn inefficiently, or shortcuts become bad habits. Other times, things are simply taught incorrectly, or we absorb skills in a way that limits our growth.
The process of unlearning involves deconstructing these ingrained habits and rebuilding them with fresh insight. It’s a daunting task but an essential one. Teachers often warn us about the difficulty of relearning skills after learning them incorrectly, but no one escapes this challenge entirely. No matter how careful a learner you are, some level of re-education will be necessary over a long career.
A Lesson From Childhood
I began to appreciate the importance of this skill early on. One vivid memory stands out from when I was four years old, first sitting down at the piano. It was a summer day, and I dragged our record player next to the piano. As my favorite 45 spun, I tried to pick out the melody on the keys, moving note by note until I got it right. As I kept learning more of the song, something unexpected happened: I started to visualize the melody on the piano even when I wasn’t playing. The music became a visual experience, and I realized I would never hear it the same way again.
At that young age, I struck a balance: I would learn enough to satisfy my desire to play but not so much that I lost the magic of simply listening. That approach never left me, though I didn’t fully understand its significance until my 2nd 10,000 hours began. Even now, I carefully decide how much of a piece I want to analyze and intellectualize and what I want to remain intuitive and untouched.
Applying It Today
Today, as a professional musician, this approach serves me well. In the studio, for instance, most recordings I work on come with minimal direction—no sheet music, just a track and a request for piano, Rhodes, or organ. I learn by ear, focusing on capturing the spirit of the music. I aim to understand it just enough to play effectively but still experience it as a listener would. Once I internalize it, I let intuition take over.
Balancing Creativity and Structure
One time, during a studio session, the producer asked me something about the verse, and I found myself momentarily confused. So immersed in creating, I hadn’t been thinking in terms of verses and choruses. The experience underscored a truth I’ve come to embrace: different musical contexts require different mindsets, and navigating them is part of the art of being a musician. The work of the 2nd 10,000 hours is all about this nuanced awareness—continuously evolving, learning, and staying open to transformation.