Just keep hitting

I’ve been watching a long YouTube tutorial today - four hours on something I actually want to learn. And I tried something I haven’t really done before. Instead of just watching, I had the video on the left and was doing the thing on the right. Following along. Building as he built.

It felt different. So I stopped to think about why.

The honest answer is something like this. Watching only asks your eyes to recognise things. Doing asks your hands to produce them. And those two are completely different muscles. You can recognise a perfect forehand all day on YouTube. Doesn’t help you hit one.

I was trying to find a metaphor that worked for me. Riding a bike - the obvious one, but I’m not actually that good at riding a bike, so it falls flat. Cricket - too team-dependent. FIFA - your hands learn but your body never does, the stakes are too low.

Tennis is the one. I play five times a week. I’m decent at it. And here’s the thing - I never got decent at tennis by reading about tennis or watching Federer or having the right framework. I got decent at it by turning up, hitting balls, and going home. The court did the work while I was busy being nobody in particular.

So I tried to make a mantra out of that. Something to remind myself, when I’m learning something new - you’re not watching, you’re hitting balls. Get on the court.

First version was “reps.” Reps make the player. But reps feel heavy. Gym-bro heavy. I don’t want a heavy mantra.

Then I landed on something softer - just keep hitting. Said in the singsong of just keep swimming from Finding Nemo. A small Dory voice in your head, cheering you on while you build.

Which sounds ridiculous. And here’s the thing I want to write down so I remember it:

The mantra has to be slightly ridiculous to actually work.

Because the moment a mantra feels profound, it becomes another performance. Another framework. Another toll booth between you and the actual thing. You start saying it with a furrowed brow. You start measuring whether you’re doing it right. And now you’re back in the stands again, watching yourself instead of swinging.

A Dory voice can’t be performed. Can’t be optimised. Can’t become identity. You can’t take it seriously even if you try.

So that’s the rule, I think. If you want a phrase to actually keep you moving, it has to be light enough that you can’t accidentally turn it into work.

I’m on the court. I’m hitting balls. The court will do the work.

Just keep hitting.