How to Practice Any Skill So Fast It Feels Illegal (and Master It Quickly)

Bishal Lama

Let’s stop kidding ourselves.

You don’t need more motivation.

You need truth.

And here it is:

You can practice for 10 years and still suck…

if you keep practicing the wrong way.

That’s what I realized the hard way.

I used to believe repetition was enough.

“Just keep going,” they said.

So I did.

Until I hit record.

And choked.

Voice after voice—rejected.

I couldn’t get it right in one go.

Each line felt like a mountain.

My flow was off. My tone was shaky.

I thought:

“Maybe I’m not made for this.”

But the truth?

I was rehearsing, not practicing.

I was surviving the take, not sharpening the blade.

Then came animation.

I opened After Effects… and my mind went blank.

No story.

No hook.

No frame in my head.

I wasn’t stuck because I lacked creativity.

I was stuck because I didn’t know how to fix what was broken.

Deliberate practice changed everything

Most people don’t practice.

They rehearse.

They repeat.

They scroll tutorials.

They copy someone else’s flow.

They say “I’m improving”—but deep down, they know they’re on autopilot.

Deliberate practice kills autopilot.

It says:

“Find where you're weak. Then drill that spot until it's bulletproof.”

You’re not here to “feel productive.”

You’re here to become undeniable.

Now zoom out—

You’re trying to write better.

Design better.

Market your own product.

Or build something from scratch.

But you keep running the full song…

Instead of stopping at the off-key notes.

And you wonder why it’s not improving.

Stop polishing what’s already good.

Drill what’s broken.

Here’s what no one tells you:

• You can do something 1,000 times and get worse at it.

• Your brain stores mistakes like it stores wins.

• Muscle memory doesn’t know what’s right or wrong—it just copies what you feed it.

  
  

So feed it precision. Feed it truth.

Feed it corrections, not just repetitions.

Look, I need you to understand this.

Most people are just “doing stuff” and calling it practice.

They’ll rehearse. Repeat. Clock in time.

But nothing’s really improving. You know why?

Because the brain’s sneaky, man.

It sees you doing the same thing again and again—and goes, “Oh cool, I’ll turn this into a habit so you can stop thinking.”

And boom, you stop paying attention.

That’s the exact opposite of how you actually get better.

Now let me tell you what deliberate practice looks like.

It's not fancy.

It's not fast.

But it works.

Deliberate practice means you sit down and focus—not just “do the thing,” but zoom in on exactly what’s not working… and fix that.

Remember how hard it was to learn to tie your shoelaces as a kid?

You had to think through every single move: loop this, pull that, tighten here.

And if you learned it wrong—like, if the knot kept coming undone—you had to relearn the whole thing. That was frustrating as hell, right?

But once you got it, you didn’t even think about it anymore.

It became automatic.

That’s the point.

But only if what you’re making automatic is actually correct.

That’s where most people mess up.

They repeat their mistakes without even realizing it—and lock in those bad habits.

Deliberate practice is different.

You take a skill—whatever you’re working on—and break it into pieces.

Then you do the whole thing once or twice. Just enough to see where you suck.

And then—you zoom in.

You isolate the problem.

And you keep drilling that one part until it’s clean.

Let me give you a real example.

When I first started recording voiceovers, I couldn’t even get one sentence right in one go.

My voice would crack. I’d mess up words. I'd restart 20 times in 5 minutes.

At first, I thought I just needed more time.

But time didn’t help—focus did.

I listened to my recordings. Found the parts I always fumbled. And just practiced those.

Now? I still stumble sometimes, but it’s way better than before.

Why?

Because I didn’t just repeat—I fixed.

Same with making reels.

At the start, I was blank. Couldn’t even think of one good idea.

But instead of scrolling for inspiration or waiting for a “creative mood,” I broke the whole process down: idea, script, voice, animation.

And worked on each one separately.

Bit by bit, it clicked.

So yeah.

Don’t just practice.

Deliberately practice.

Find your weak spots. Attack them. Fix them.

Otherwise, you’re just getting better at doing it wrong.

And that’s not progress. That’s just looping.

Interleaved Practice: The Secret Weapon That Doesn’t Feel Like One

Most people still study like school taught them to.

One topic at a time. One skill at a time. No distractions. All serious. All neat.

Like finishing your spinach before you touch the dessert.

Sounds noble. But for your brain? That’s just... boring.

Here’s the truth:

Your brain learns better when things are a little messy.

Not distracted messy. Not "checking WhatsApp between every sentence" messy.

But varied. Interleaved. Mixed up on purpose.

Here’s what I mean:

The way we’re taught is block-style learning. It’s like this:

You do Skill A → Skill A → Skill A. Then move to Skill B → Skill B → Skill B.

It feels productive. But that’s the trap.

Now picture interleaved practice:

Skill A → Skill B → Skill C → back to A.

Your brain has to work harder to switch, recall, reapply. And that effort?

That’s where the learning actually sticks.

I didn’t believe this at first.

When I was just starting out, making reels felt like lifting a hundred kilos with no warm-up.

One day I’d try to think of a script. Blank.

Next day I’d try to animate. Again, blank.

I thought, “Maybe I need to get really good at each part separately before I put it all together.”

But nope.

What helped?

Mixing it up.

One hour I’d brainstorm hooks. Next hour I’d record a voiceover (and stumble through it 10 times). Then I’d sketch scenes. Then go back to scripts.

And slowly, something clicked.

My brain stopped freezing. Ideas started to connect.

Each skill started feeding the others. That’s interleaving.

Science backs this up too.

Studies show interleaving improves retention by 43%. That’s not a small edge. That’s a game-changer.

Why? Three big reasons:

1. It breaks autopilot.

   Block learning gets easy too fast. And when it’s easy, you’re not learning — you’re coasting.

   Interleaving keeps your brain guessing. That guesswork builds muscle.

   
   

2. It forces active recall.

   You can’t zone out. You can’t fake it. Your brain has to engage, again and again.

   That’s like doing mental push-ups every time you switch.

   
   

3. It connects the dots.

   You stop seeing skills as isolated chunks.

   You start building bridges between them. Suddenly, English literature informs your reel writing. Music theory sharpens your storytelling rhythm.

   It all blends.

   
   

Here’s how to actually use this:

Don’t go from chemistry to ceramics to Amish Tripathi and back. That’s chaos.

Stick to 2–4 related skills or topics. Things that stretch your mind without snapping it.

Example:

Reel ideas → Voice recording → Scene sketching → Visual design.

Or: Writing hooks → Editing visuals → Reading top creators → Rewriting old ideas.

If one’s feeling stale? Switch.

Set a timer if that helps, or follow your gut.

The goal is not discipline — the goal is deep connection and repeated retrieval.

Now let me say this loud: This is not multitasking.

Multitasking is checking 5 apps while pretending to read. That’s just digital self-harm.

Interleaving is intentional variation — one focus at a time, but switching smartly.

So yeah, if you're the type who gets bored easily or burnt out doing one thing for too long — try this.

Mix. Switch. Link. Repeat.

You’ll be surprised how fast your skills sharpen — when your brain finally gets the challenge it secretly craves.

Let me tell you about the ghosts

Not the ones in old houses. Not the kind that rattle chains or hover in the dark.

These ghosts live in your mind. Bits of knowledge. Flashes of memory. A History war here, a math equation there. You meet them once—maybe during an all-nighter or a five-hour study binge—and then, poof. Gone by morning.

Why?

Because the brain doesn’t remember what it’s forced to swallow in one sitting. It remembers what returns.

Spaced repetition is like calling a ghost back, again and again, until it has no choice but to stay.

You see, most people treat learning like a horror movie marathon. They cram everything in one night, their eyes burning, their fingers scribbling until they can’t feel the pen anymore.

They think endurance equals progress. But learning doesn’t reward exhaustion. It rewards rhythm.

A better way?

Don’t hammer the nail once. Tap it every day.

Five minutes here. Ten minutes there. One thought, repeated over days, sticks deeper than twenty hours dumped into a single Saturday.

Why? Because the brain isn’t a sponge.

It’s a path in the woods. Every time you walk it, the trail gets clearer.

Miss a few days, and it disappears under weeds.

Let me give it to you straight: Spaced repetition is how you carve highways through your brain.

You don’t need a PhD to get it. Just a schedule.

Monday morning: Reflect on a core belief—say, “Discomfort leads to growth.”

Monday night: Recall where you resisted discomfort that day. No sugarcoating.

Tuesday morning: Revisit the same belief. Ask yourself: Did I live it? Did I dodge it?

Tuesday night: Write it down. Make it real.

By Wednesday? You’re not just learning the idea anymore. You’re starting to live it.

Each reflection is another visit. Another ghost of who you used to be, invited back—not to haunt, but to teach.

You want real transformation?

Stop giving yourself one pep talk and hoping your life turns around.

Show up for yourself every damn day. Quietly. Relentlessly.

That’s the secret.

The good stuff—the habits, the confidence, the clarity— It doesn’t stick because you had one great day. It sticks because you returned to the work again and again, like a writer haunted by the story of who he’s becoming.

So next time you sit down to learn,

don’t ask: How long should I study or try to learn a new skill?

Ask: How many times will I return?

Because what you touch once disappears.

But what you revisit daily?

That becomes legend.

Want more articles like this mailed directly?