trust the process

  

 

Here’s something I’ve had to relearn: the more I obsess over the end result, the more the whole thing falls apart. Every time I sit down with a picture of the “perfect” outcome in my head, I might as well hang a “mental block” sign on my brain. Because nothing shuts down creativity faster than trying to make something flawless before you’ve even made anything. It’s like expecting the first pancake to be the good one. No. It’s always lumpy and weird looking. but that its job

But when I stop grading myself in advance, the work suddenly becomes… well, workable. I loosen up. I play. I try that idea I was half-afraid of, because it might not look polished. And you know what? Sometimes it doesn’t. But sometimes it leads to something unexpectedly good. Curiosity has a way of unlocking doors that perfectionism would rather keep sealed shut with industrial-strength glue. 

And this is exactly what I wish we could bottle and sprinkle around every classroom. Because somewhere along the line, a whole lot of students started believing their worth is measured in points, percentages, and whether the rubric says they’re “proficient.” They get so tangled in the scoreboard that they stop actually learning. Instead of asking, “What am I figuring out here?” they ask, “Will this hurt my grade?” And once that happens, the goal isn’t growth anymore—it’s damage control. Nobody learns well in damage-control mode. 

The best learning moments I’ve ever witnessed had absolutely nothing to do with grades. They happened when a student took a wild swing at a new idea or asked a question that changed the whole direction of the lesson, or boldly said, “I don’t get this… yet.” Those moments don’t fit neatly into the grading software, but they’re the moments that build thinkers. And ironically, when students stop chasing the A and start chasing understanding, the grades usually rise anyway—because the learning finally comes alive. 

So maybe the challenge—for teachers, students, and the rest of us wandering through this life—is to shift the spotlight. Let grades be the byproduct, not the target. Let the process be messy and interesting and full of “Wait, what if we try this?” Give students permission to learn instead of performing. And maybe give yourself that permission, too. Because results matter, sure—but learning? That’s the part that stays with you long after the gradebook closes. 

Nuggets from Buck

 Buck Showalter once said, “Some coaches practice until you get it right. I believe you should practice until you can’t get it wrong.” That quote really stuck with me. It made me think about the difference between just doing something correctly once and truly mastering it. There’s a certain level of confidence and precision that comes when you’ve practiced so much that mistakes become almost impossible. That idea really challenged me to think differently about how I approach teaching and learning. 

One day, I decided to put that philosophy into practice with my own students. Normally, once most of the class seemed to understand a lesson, I would move on to the next topic. But this time, I kept going. I didn’t stop when they “got it right” a few times—I wanted them to reach the point where they couldn’t get it wrong. So we reviewed, practiced, and discussed the material over and over. At times it definitely felt repetitive, and I could tell some students were getting bored or restless. 

Even though repetition can feel tedious, I’ve learned it’s a key part of mastery. It’s in those repeated moments—the ones that feel a little dull—when understanding really sinks in. The students began to show more consistency, and their answers started coming naturally instead of hesitantly. I could see their confidence grow as they realized they didn’t have to second-guess themselves anymore. That was a powerful thing to watch. 

By the end of that day, I truly felt that the class had reached a different level of understanding. They weren’t just completing tasks; they were owning the material. It felt rewarding to see that steady effort pay off, both for them and for me as their teacher. It reminded me that learning isn’t always about speed—it’s about depth. 

Showalter’s words continue to resonate with me. Practicing until you can’t get it wrong takes patience, persistence, and a willingness to push through the boring parts. But that’s where real growth happens. Whether it’s in sports, academics, or life, that kind of dedication builds lasting skill and confidence. It’s a lesson I’ll carry with me in my classroom from now on.