Practice makes…
Practice makes perfect: the wrong promise
Every life rests upon a premise. If that premise becomes a false promise over time, then the life built upon it risks futility and an emptiness grows within. I don’t know where this phrase originated, but for me it appeared early, embedded in childhood. It is often handed down with the intention to inspire, yet its effects can be quietly pernicious.
It shapes expectations of ourselves—expectations we can almost never reach. When perfection becomes the goal, inadequacy is inevitable: we miss the mark repeatedly, overlooking both the effort invested and the growth already achieved. What if the self-mastery that emerges from regular practice also requires acceptance—acceptance of the gap between the ideal and the real?
Perfectionism: an interference with learning?
Perfectionism shapes behaviour in subtle but powerful ways. It drives over-preparation and procrastination, keeps us clinging to “safe” choices, and makes feedback feel threatening rather than useful. It encourages harsh self-criticism, constant comparison to others, and difficulty celebrating even small successes. Over time, it fosters anxiety, burnout, and a need to control every detail—often at the expense of growth and creativity. In chasing an impossible ideal, we end up limiting the very progress we hope to achieve.
I’ve seen students suffering from perfectionism make an enemy of mistakes. Yet mistakes—or falling short—are precisely the opportunities for growth and insight. These students often become overwhelmed by their errors, hiding them or ignoring them completely. I often ask: Do we learn beforedoing - or because we did? For we need energy. Chasing perfection drains both the endurance to try again and, worse, the joy of the endeavour. Losing the thrill of the process while striving toward an ideal is, in my view, the greatest tragedy of all.
If not perfection, then what does progress really mean?
Progress is the movement from where you were to where you are now, measured not by flawlessness but by learning, capability, and understanding. It is human because it allows for error, adjustment, and emotion. Progress honours effort and reflection, not just outcomes.
Improvement is rarely sudden or linear. It accumulates quietly through repeated exposure, small corrections, and lived experience. Because change happens incrementally, we often fail to notice it until we look back and realise how differently we now think, respond, or act.
Confidence often grows before competence feels real. Developing first as a type of familiarity: knowing what to expect, what to watch for, and how to recover when things don’t go to plan. Competence follows with time and repetition, but confidence grows through action and reflection, not waiting until mastery is achieved.
Progress shows up in subtle ways: decisions feel less overwhelming, mistakes are met with curiosity rather than shame, recovery is quicker, and discomfort becomes tolerable rather than paralysing. These shifts are easy to dismiss, yet they are the clearest markers that growth is already underway.
Nowadays I gently challenge my studens who use the phrase “practice makes perfect” and change the last word to “progress” for there is always the ideal and what is real.
