Maintaining Balance
I would be remiss without discussing the darker side of mastery. Time and effort are essential toward mastery, and so sacrifice is inevitable. In the process of deliberate practice, it’s impossible to ignore the cost that comes with forgoing other opportunities. Would becoming a master at musculoskeletal ultrasound mean giving up another element of being an excellent rheumatologist—or physician, for that matter? Could it risk crowding out other skills or unintentionally diminish attention to the human side of care? Might we neglect the parts of ourselves that find purpose and meaning in teaching, research or even hobbies outside of medicine? These are difficult questions we must ask on our journey toward mastery.
In my opinion, the danger lies in over-identification. When mastery becomes the sole axis of identity, imbalance logically follows. Relationships can fray, health can suffer, and the joy of the broader practice may erode. A fixation on perfection as the mark of mastery can crowd out curiosity. Similarly, a hyper focus on performance may leave little space for experimental play. Zealotry in becoming a master can even lead to guilt when we fall short, or envy when others succeed. It can isolate us from even our innermost selves. These risks don’t invalidate the pursuit of mastery, but they do highlight the need for intentional reflection to complete deliberate practice.
Sustainable mastery also entails boundary setting. It means reserving space for rest, for relationships, for just plain randomness. The rheumatologist who takes time to paint or play or parent may return to the clinic with greater depth and insights. Contrary to our images of scientists burning the midnight oil and athletes self-flagellating themselves for performance, balance is not the enemy of mastery. Prioritizing sleep, delegating tasks and saying no to unnecessary obligations are acts of sustenance in the journey toward mastery. More importantly, connecting with peers can remind us that the path of mastery is best walked together.
Conclusion
Suffice to say, I left the conference, as I leave most conferences, both awestruck and inspired. Yes, I felt the sting of inadequacy, but also the thrill of possibility. The people I met, masters and novices alike, reminded me that mastery is not a finish line but a Zen-like mindset.
In that conference room, surrounded by people who made pixels speak like poetry, I remembered what it felt like to be a total beginner again. That sense of excitement that came with placing a probe on skin and magically seeing bones and tendons and blood vessels came rushing back to me. Beyond the complex relationships between deliberate practice, relentless curiosity and maintaining balance, perhaps that’s the key aspect of mastery: It loops and builds back on itself. The master becomes the student, and the student becomes the master. The revelation never ends.
