Say the price ten times

A man in Kuwait has started giving guitar lessons from his flat. He plays well and he teaches well. The hard part is the moment a parent asks how much.

The first time, he mumbled. He named a number, apologised for it, and offered a discount nobody had asked for.

It is tempting to treat that as proof that he is simply not good at the money part. Some people have it and he does not. But almost nobody is good at anything the first time, and the money part is not a talent. It is a thing you do.

So the useful question is not whether he can say his price calmly. He has already said it once, badly. The useful question is whether he will say it ten times.

By the third, the number comes out without the apology. By the sixth, he can hold the silence after it. By the tenth, it is simply what a lesson costs, said in the same voice as the time and the address. Nothing about him has changed except the count.

The same holds for nearly everything we put off because it feels unnatural. Writing to a customer who went quiet. Asking a happy buyer to tell a friend. Admitting a mistake before someone else finds it. Turning down work that does not fit. Once is an event, and it feels like one. Ten times is a habit, and habits stop asking how we feel about them.

Ten is not a magic number. It is just far enough past the first try that the first try stops being the story.