I first learned to learn from my mother; a librarian with an insatiable appetite for books. Because she reads so much, she knows many things. She impresses at trivia, tells gripping stories, has memorised the platitudes of history’s greatest philosophers and is well versed in all current and “newsworthy” affairs. Most would agree, she is extremely well learned.
My mother taught me that learning was a process of acquiring; of reading and memorising; and of exposing oneself to the wisdom of others so that it becomes our own. I learned that the surest way to know if you knew something, was whether you could recall it in conversation. Years of schooling and a University degree in (ironically) education reinforced these notions. This was how I learned; or thought that I did. Up until The Apprenticeship.
I’ve always had an affinity for the intellectual; the sophist with a vast academic resume and a command of vocabulary. I was compelled to listen and heed their advice. Michael Blevins and Mark Twight are both highly astute and articulate – especially contrasted against the backdrop of many in the fitness industry. This is part of what attracted me to nonprophet. I hoped my subsequent investment in The Apprenticeship would grant me the same degree of sophistication and mastery over my clients and myself; and that finally I would learn and possess the thing I felt that they had, and that clearly I did not.
I often described learning in these terms: of a thing that I could take, or get; possess or acquire. This extractive philosophy seems so typical of Western cultures. I was so bent on “getting” some thing from The Apprenticeship and to make the most of my time in Salt Lake City. But it seemed in doing so, I missed the point. “You came in here being very eager to start learning” Michael tells me at The Apprenticeship’s conclusion… “But you did the equivalent of banging your head against the door to open it as opposed to just waiting to push it with your hand”. If I spent far less energy concerned with what I could take – attempting to hurry along the process so as to get more from it – and more with how I could best fit in – by building closer relationships with the clients and the coaches, and adjusting my routines and behaviours to mimic theirs – I would have paradoxically gotten a lot more. These are better conditions – or as Michael would say, a better state – for one’s learning; someone who is patient and calm; resonant and harmonious. I have paid very close attention to this since.
Recounting my experiences of The Apprenticeship, some believed I had been ripped off – after four weeks, I returned home with only a nonprophet branded hackey-sack to show for it. Others were convinced I’d joined a cult. Truthfully, at times throughout The Apprenticeship, I had felt the same. Only due to a lack of perspective however, because if nonprophet were really a cult, they should have given me exactly what I came for: a special thing. Cultists maintain that these things exist, be it the sole connection to a higher power or a secret methodology that only those initiated have access to. I should have paid closer attention during 300 Training Actual, the first podcast I listened to from nonprophet; a 2 hour tirade explaining how the fabled 300 Training Program was alone mostly useless; that the thing itself was not at all important or special.
Our education system teaches us to value these things. It teaches us abstract principles and inconsequential theories. It teaches us that these things are the things that make us educated, and that learning them is in our best interest if we hope to be a successful and productive member of society. We expect these things as the product – and evidence of – our learning. And this leads us on an endless search, relentlessly pursuing these special things; the magic pills and the quick fixes that promise to cure us of our ignorance, deliver us from mediocrity and bestow some semblance of satisfaction in our otherwise unsatisfactory lives.
Learning like this for years did the opposite of what I intended. Instead of garnering autonomy, it only strengthened my dependency. I learned to look outside myself for solutions to intimate, uniquely personal problems and invest in countless experts and products I was told – or sold – had the answers. The further I searched for this supposed thing, the more reliant I became on it’s proxy, which was the next thing (a smarter expert), and the next thing (the latest product), and the next thing (another course). It became a perpetual cycle.
I’m tempted to draw a connection between what our education system imparts on us and how big corporations capitalise on such, feasting on ignorance and insecurity. This is best simplified in the old adage: “Give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime”. Dependency ensures a repeat customer. Whereas, autonomy is bad for business: how does one sell fish to someone who already knows how to catch it themselves? But this is what actual learning does; what a real education should deliver. Our current system is designed in a manner that is ultimately not in the learner’s best interest, but in other$. This is why I did not learn a single thing from The Apprenticeship. And why I don’t believe I have learned very much thus far.
These days, I pay closer attention to the telling of stories and the sharing of experiences. I have become far more interested in those narrated in first person prose, or evidently rooted in some form of personal experience; something that the author themselves has done and felt and lived. It is a decent barometer for one who has actually learned as opposed to one who has just read a lot. I am interested, as Friedrich Nietzsche said – as referenced in an earlier nonprophet article – in “He who writes in blood”. This filters out much of the content I used to consume, and so I consume and acquire far less.
Prior to my arrival in Salt Lake City, I sought to understand how to change myself, and by extension clients. Until then, I had managed to adequately navigate some changes, but in retrospect, these were more-so accidents of circumstance or luck, as opposed to a conscious and methodical undertaking. What I failed to see was how change and learning are inextricably related, and how an individual’s capacity for transformation is directly tied to his/her understanding; their learning of themselves. Because I hadn’t learned how to learn, I hadn’t learned how to change; only to collect and store information which created the illusion that I had.
Rather than just “knowing” things, learning is about becoming what you learn; embodying it; someone who has learned is what they have learned. Examples of such are evident in nature: the caterpillar that enters a cocoon and emerges a butterfly; the snake that outgrows and sheds its skin; the tadpole that sprouts arms and legs and leaps to a frog. They are demonstrations of physical transformations fundamentally having changed what they are.
The environment dictates these transformations and makes them inevitable. Learning, in this sense, is just another word for evolution. The Space in Salt Lake City serves as such a container, providing one the opportunity for growth and exploration; and stability and nourishment, both of which are necessary to learn. Too much novelty leads to burn out; too little risk to stagnation. In this way, the 300 Training Program is only an abstraction; an abstraction of a curated environment; of personal metamorphosis; and the awareness each player developed as they were taught how to learn. I didn’t understand this during The Apprenticeship. The Space felt alien and unpleasant to me, and I did little to shift this.
I learned: either your environment changes you, you change your environment, or you get spit out altogether. Spiteful and disappointed, I left as the latter. For six months, I blamed the environment in The Space and Michael for my failure to change, and for not teaching me what I sought to learn. But neither was ever at fault. Each was only a mirror that revealed my own inadequacies. Michael had been tempering and turning the conditions in himself and The Space all along for me to – eventually… hopefully – realise this. It was an environment that demanded my learning because it demanded my change. And it only happened once I recognised the need to do so, then accepted the responsibility and the burden of doing it myself.
We expect learning to arrive in flashes; in a series of powerful “A-ha” moments. But much of what I have come to understand of The Apprenticeship has taken me months to unpack. (As I write, it is 18 months since its conclusion in August 2023). But learning takes time and it takes patience. And it requires an undeniable and wholehearted dedication to each lesson, more symptomatic of endurance than the spark of instant gratification. I started this piece as soon as I left The Space, earnestly typing away at Salt Lake City’s airport, blissfully unaware of the painstaking journey ahead. For this has been the most difficult creative project I have undertaken to date. But it is my commitment to learning – quite literally, this piece is my learning – and so I had to see it through to the end.
Undeniably, I needed some time to recover from my experiences which had been mostly intense, uncomfortable and overwhelming. My first attempts at writing were bound to fail; I was still too close to the events to decipher with any objective clarity what I learned. For 3 months I didn’t go near anything nonprophet related; I couldn’t stand the sound of Michael’s voice. It reminded me of my frustrations and disappointments; my failings and shortcomings. But doing so allowed me to adapt.
We’ve been taught that this can be short-cut with specialised techniques and biohacking devices. For the most part however, this is a natural and organic process, with the health – or the state – of the organism determining largely how efficient this process becomes. Physical training is in essence a practice; of balancing workout stimulus with recovery to produce adaptation. The greater the stimulus, the greater the recovery, the greater the adaptation. Learning is the same. Given the intensity of The Apprenticeship, my prolonged seclusion was an inevitable necessity, allowing me to properly integrate – and learn – much of what I have come to understand now.
As I was leaving Salt Lake City at The Apprenticeship’s close, I asked Michael how I could best leverage this experience. He replied simply with “Do good work”. It is another aspect of learning easily overlooked; a compulsion that pushes one in the direction of “better”. I started this piece to honour that.
So if you ask me what I learned from The Apprenticeship, I would say very little. For I don’t believe I have learned very much thus far. But it is a better place to start I think. At Chapter One.
CHANGE IS THE POINT 