In 1962, Thomas Kuhn published what would become one of the most significant works of philosophy in the 20th century, or least of the niche field of philosophy of science. The Structure of Scientific Revolutions offered a novel account of how natural science, maybe the defining enterprise of Western civilization, progressed over the centuries. Previous theories had tended to present the development of science as a gradual process of refinement and accumulation in which new discoveries and insights incrementally added to the existing body of knowledge. Kuhn held a different view according to which the progress of science was not cumulative but periodic.

The history of science was, in his view, a series of long, stable phases, where “normal science” was practiced, separated by short but profoundly significant revolutions. During the normal phases, an accepted disciplinary matrix, or paradigm, was applied in a routine fashion to solve problems. Progress was made in the sense that the paradigm was solidified and corroborated, but the problem-solving capacity of science did not really increase. As time went by, deficiencies in the paradigm would be exposed, and science would be confronted with its current limitations. Eventually a revolution would occur, during which the prevailing paradigm would be replaced by a new paradigm that would initiate a new era of scientific activity. In other words, there would be drawn-out periods of stability punctuated by points of radical change. Real progress was confined to these pivotal moments, though it was foreshadowed and prepared in the intervening periods.

Tennis has taught me that Kuhn’s framework applies not just to science but to life in general. Progress and development follow a non-linear logic. Just as in science you have paradigms, or a framework of thoughts, theories, habits, and practices, so in tennis your game is at any time imprinted with a technical paradigm. You improve strokes by moving to higher paradigms, which is achieved by making radical breakthroughs as opposed to gradual, steady improvement. My serve, for example, has developed considerably since I started. It started in the paradigm of the straight-arm, outside-the-body serve, which was extremely awkward and weak. The next phase was characterized by a more fluid throwing motion with a bent elbow, but I still pushed the ball. Next I started hitting serves with side spin, whipping the racquet rather than pushing it. Finally, I unlocked the topspin paradigm, which has allowed me to hit with more consistency, pace, and efficacy than ever before.

While working on my serve in practice, I noticed something. Despite my regular efforts, there were long periods where it seemed as if I weren’t making any progress: I would frustratedly battle the same bad habits and fail to secure better results. Then, seemingly quite suddenly, my mind and body would “get it”; there would be a moment of insight where I learned how to do what I had been striving for. At that point, the new technique became unlocked, and I could confidently replicate it again and again. Sometimes it was a particular visualization technique, sometimes a salient physical tick, but it was always a discrete moment of fundamental change.

From these experiences, I’ve learned to approach practice, both in tennis and in other pursuits, with a different mindset. I don’t expect to have the satisfaction of observing progress continually, in step with and proportionally to my practice. Instead, I put in the work trusting that, though it might seem to be yielding nothing, it is laying the groundwork for the next eventual breakthrough. When the breakthrough does happen, I see it as the culmination of all the effort that I’ve invested in working on the old paradigm. Re-examine your own development with different skill sets and you might notice the same pattern.