[COMIC] Learning How to Ice Skate with My 4-Year-Old

Back in November 2024, I tried to write about a surprisingly emotional trip to the ice rink with my 4-year-old daughter. At the time, I wanted to turn it into a flowchart or a tidy framework about learning, motivation, and frustration. But something didn’t click. This week, when OpenAI dropped its new image generation tools, I decided to give the story another shot. Because sometimes, a visual (or a four-year-old in ice skates) can capture a learning curve better than any framework ever could.

Here's what learning how to ice skate with your kid can teach you about how you learn (and keep you motivated when you're falling down on the ice too.)

The first part of any learning journey begins with unlocking a bit of intrinsic drive and motivation to learn. For the case of Lydia (my 4-year-old), that began with watching Olympic ice skaters on TV. Little did she know that ice skating is a lot harder than it appears (for moms, too).

This is the classic learning journey from unconscious incompetence (where you don't know what you don't know) into a reality check: conscious incompetence (where you know exactly how much you've yet to learn).

Suffice it to say, I was also not an excellent ice skater, so when we hit the ice, I was as shell-shocked as she was. There were screams. There were tears. Unfortunatey, I had neither the vocabulary nor the physical skills to demonstrate what to do.

But the first step toward moving from learning stage of unconscious incompetence into conscious competence (being very aware of how much you are trying to do the thing) is to recognize the deficiency and start to actively practice a skill. After some quick trouble-shooting, we discovered a simple way to get a little more leverage on the ice was to make a "V-shape" with our feet. So we set out again.

Anyone who learns something hard knows that it often feels like two steps forward, one step back. In our case, once we saw other kids with ice skating helpers (little plastic bears that keep you balanced), we went for the cheat code and rented one.

In our case, I clocked three primary things that re-motivated Lydia:

1. Getting a little confidence back from seeing how she could stand without falling using the bolster.

2. Taking a break while I pushed her around the ice a few times

3. Noticing other kids here age skating way better.

Ultimately, this took us in a stage of active learning state of conscious incompetence back to unconscious incompetence. But hey, a little self-delusion is sometimes all you need to buck yourself back up again.

By the end, Lydia was successfully skating from the middle of the rink to the wall to greet dad, and then back again. We used the bear as a bolster, and we skated a little on our own. Pleased with her quick up-leveling, she ended the ice skating journey with a bold claim: “That was so fun! Next time we go ice skating I will do everything all by myself!"

Which brings us right back to the beginning: A new motivation to learn.

Watching and learning with Lydia on the ice reminded me just how bumpy and non-linear every learning curve really is. It’s never just a straight line from “not knowing” to “knowing.” It’s trial and error, tears and frustration, taking a break, then getting yourself back in the game. It's breakdowns that lead to breakthroughs, right at the second when you were just about ready to give up.

And it’s the same with learning AI, or any new skill, really. The most important step isn’t learning a single tool or memorizing the the best prompts. It’s understanding how you move through the process of learning. What motivates you? What demoralizes you? In other words: What gets you back on the ice?

One of the things that I think is so unique about this moment of widespread AI adoption is that it feels like the largest collective upskilling event since the advent of the Internet itself. And this is also a massive moment for each of us to ask the question: "How do I learn best?"

So if you’re feeling wobbly, overwhelmed, or like everyone else is gliding past you with perfect form, don't forget: You might just be at the exact right stage. So take a breath. Take a break. Maybe pay a little extra to rent the plastic bear. Then get back out on the ice.