Recently, I happened to catch Malcom Gladwell, a columnist for The New Yorker, on a television interview as he shared the concept of "deliberate practice."

In his research into highly successful people, he discovered that most of them — no matter their profession, hobby or pursuit — had in common several compelling things.

One was that each had "practiced" about 10,000 hours, which equals about 10 years.

He said society "greats" such as Michael Jordan or the Beatles became successful because they got an early start on their 10,000 hours, playing music or basketball long hours, every day.

That deliberate practice meant they focused efforts and fine-tuned weaknesses.

As they improved, these successful people continually looked to what needed more improvement, then got busy.

I began thinking about motherhood, because after almost 16 years of mothering, I wondered if that part of my life had been that of deliberate practice.

Like many mothers do at some point, I reflected upon whether my daily activities added up to something measurably meaningful.

And meaningful to me personally — have I been marking time so far or have I been truly engaged? Have I rejoiced in my triumphs and consciously improved the not-so-triumphant?

Then I considered what Gladwell added to the mix.

He said that for those mega-successes, talent ultimately didn't matter. It helped, but it was not more important than constant practice.

He noted that those who wanted it more, who sacrificed more and felt more passion about their chosen field became more successful.

He also found that working harder and creating a hunger to succeed added to the mix.

The "hunger" could be derived from negative or difficult experience; perhaps someone had said the person couldn't succeed, thus creating a feeling of hunger, of "I want to make this happen."

Recently, we hung new family and individual portraits on our wall.

As my husband and I gazed at the faces, I couldn't help but feel emotional.

All that we had been through with each of these children so far — the sleepless nights, behavior challenges, instilling personal values and learning matter-of-fact life skills.

I thought of all the loving, living, and learning we have shared.

Did that count as my 10,000 hours? Was I, in fact, a successful mother?

Experiences flashed through my mind:

Watching as our 12-year-old got his four-wheeler stuck in the snow and our 15-year-old calmly hooked it up to a winch and pulled the four-wheeler out.