Forty-Seven Tabs Later: Learning Curves, Rabbit Warrens, and the Long Way Around So What Is a Learning Curve, Anyway? We all say "learning curve" like we know exactly what it means. Most of us don't, and I didn't either until I went looking. (Yes, that's another tab.) It goes back to a guy named Hermann Ebbinghaus in the 1880s, who memorized piles of nonsense syllables and tracked how fast he learned them and how fast he forgot them. About fifty years later, an aircraft engineer named Theodore Wright noticed that every time a factory doubled the number of planes it built, the cost per plane dropped by a predictable chunk. Practice made everything faster and cheaper, just never at a steady pace. Put either one on a graph and you get the same shape: a big jump at the start, smaller and smaller gains after that, and long flat stretches where it feels like nothing's happening at all. Here's my favorite part. When people say something has a "steep learning curve," they mean it's hard. On the actual graph, steep means you're learning fast. We've been saying it backwards for decades and nobody cares. I kind of love that. Why Isn't It Just a Straight Line? If learning were a straight line, every hour of practice would be worth the same. Your hundredth hour on the guitar would teach you exactly as much as your first. Anybody who's ever picked up a guitar knows that's not how it goes. Your first hour teaches you where your fingers go, which is a massive leap from nothing (the second hour your fingers hurt). After that, every new thing has to sit on top of the last thing, so you can't move forward until the basics stop feeling like work. And those maddening plateaus? A lot of the time that's just your brain quietly doing its filing, hooking the new stuff into the old stuff before it's ready for more. So a learning curve is basically what progress looks like if you stay on one road and measure how far you've gone. Which is a problem for me, because I have never once stayed on one road.