What Knowledge, Wisdom, and Capacity Have in Common

Mastery isn't a spark. It's a slow fire built through repetition, real-life struggle, and staying when you'd rather run.

I started writing this piece at the right time — when I didn’t feel like working.

It’s a shameful thing to admit, how often that feeling visits me. But it’s true. And maybe it’s a good place to begin.

I watched an interview with Beyoncé recently, where she spoke about how her workdays often stretch to 18 hours. When asked how she manages it, she simply said she loves what she does.

But I’ve seen this kind of devotion in someone else too — my CEO. He once mentioned that back when he worked in investment banking, he regularly clocked 12-hour days. He didn’t particularly love the work, but he was committed. He’s one of the most inspiring people I’ve worked with.

The day he told that story, I quietly whispered to myself, “Well, screw that. Screw capitalism.” In my head, of course. I’m not trying to die for productivity.

Still, something about these two people struck me. It wasn’t the love or the lack of it. It was this: both had poured long, obsessive hours into something. Long enough for it to become real. Long enough for it to bear fruit.

There are, of course, other factors — environment, privilege, personality, access. But if we strip things back to what we can control, the common denominator is time. Time spent. Time endured. Time applied.

Let me tell you another story. I recently stumbled across an old series I was obsessed with as a teenager — Legend of the Seeker. In one of the episodes, the main character, Richard, discovers he has magical powers. He needs training to harness them, but the people who were meant to teach him had been imprisoned during wartime.

Now that they’re free, he’s eager to begin. But once he starts, he learns that mastering his powers would take ten years. Ten years. He’s frustrated and eventually chooses to give up the training so he can return to his quest.

But before he leaves, one of the mentors tells him something I haven’t forgotten. They said, “There is a difference between knowledge and wisdom.”

Knowledge, you can study. You can read, take notes, pass exams. But wisdom comes from application. From failing. From trying again. From being embarrassed and showing up anyway. From learning which battle to fight and which one to walk away from.

Wisdom is what happens when you do something for the thousandth time and suddenly see it differently.

That’s why I love this quote by Seyi, the CEO of PaidHR. He tweeted:

“It is wise to find smarter ways of working and hacks to accelerate your growth. But always remember — to achieve true mastery in any field, you have to do your 10,000 hours.

Sure, you can get by and be peripherally skillful in many areas, but to become a true person of value, you can’t remove the impact of continuous and consistent practice.”

Even in the age of AI, it’s still important to learn the craft. To understand the why behind the what. To write and think about why you're writing. To sit with boring datasets and connect them to the bottom line. To deal with tough people. To fumble through awkward meetings. This is where mastery is born — not in curated tutorials, but in real moments that are messy and human.

But let me ask: does mastery even matter to you? That’s something only you can answer.

For me, it does. I want to reach that place in my craft. I want to become deeply good at what I do. I’m willing to take the hard road, even in small steps. And if you’ve ever thought, “I want to do exceptional work,” then this is for you too.

Spend an unreasonable amount of time learning something. Practice until you don’t need to rehearse. Not for anyone else — for yourself. Do it even if you don’t completely love it yet. Because sometimes, the act of staying with something will lead you to what you eventually love.

I don’t believe everyone who thrives in marketing grew up dreaming of marketing. Maybe it was storytelling that drew them in. Or the psychology. Or the chase of a good message. The point is, the seed doesn’t have to look like the tree.

Still, let’s be honest. The spirit is willing, but the flesh wants to scroll, nap, and disappear. I’ve had days where I’m just staring at the clock, begging it to hit 6 p.m. so I can shut my laptop and disappear into sleep. Some days, I want to slap anyone who mentions "capacity" or "showing up."

So, how do you build that capacity when you’re running on fumes?

I saw a quote from a therapist recently that helped me push through, even just for one more minute. She said:

“We overcomplicate the how because we’re still looking for steps instead of identity shifts. Capacity is built through how you respond to real life.

You strengthen it by choosing responsibility over blame.

Showing up when it’s inconvenient.

Regulating in the moment, not in perfect conditions.”

That line stopped me.

Because capacity isn’t built in silence and comfort. It’s built while juggling too much. While navigating hard conversations. While making decisions you’re scared of.

That’s where the strength lives. In the middle of the mess.

Beyoncé wasn’t built in a day. She started when she was a child. She had structure, guidance, and endless hours of practice. Same with Serena Williams. They are where they are now because someone helped them build capacity when it mattered.

Their lives may feel far away. But I believe that if I put in even a fraction of the hours they’ve poured into their craft, I can live a version of a Beyoncé-level life — one that is mine, full and rich in its own way.

So the question is: would you?

This isn’t about working yourself to the bone. You’re allowed to push hard on some days and rest deeply on others. Even Beyoncé takes breaks between projects. The deeper message here is that greatness in anything requires a degree of focus. Of endurance. Of sacrifice.

If you ever find yourself doing something that challenges you in the right way, stay a little longer. Study it. Tinker with it. And see who you become.

As for me, I’m getting back to work. I plan to spend the next five hours reluctantly pushing through this low-energy day.

The fact that I wrote this essay in that state?

That’s a kind of magic.

I hope you find your own magic too.

See you in my next torture session.

PS: You might’ve noticed the name change. This space is now Torture Sessions

The purpose of the name change…

Torture Sessions
For most of my life, even being in my own skin has felt like a battle. In the world, I’m a great marketing professional, helping others build bold careers. But underneath the mask, I am afraid. I’m deeply introspective, curious about everything and nothing all at once, and yet, I love that I’m alive.

This Substack is a record of that tension. These essays are reflections from the moments I’ve suffered through something long enough to understand it, and eventually outperform its grip on me. I write for those who are wrestling too. The goal is honesty, not perfection. It’s showing up when things feel unbearable and recording the lessons in real-time.

If you haven’t yet, join me?