Let me share something I've learned after years of studying high performers across different fields. The secret to achieving Ultra Ace performance isn't about working harder—it's about working smarter, and I've discovered that some of the most effective strategies come from unexpected places, including game development. When I recently explored the remastered version of a classic game series, I was struck by how much we can learn from its bonus materials about achieving peak performance in our own lives. The developers included explorations of the series' lore, tons of artwork and renders, old demo videos, outtakes from recording sessions, a music player, and approximately 15-20 lost levels you can now play for the first time. These elements aren't just entertainment—they're a masterclass in excellence.
What fascinates me most is how these old relics function as an interactive museum, letting you explore unfinished areas that were cut from the original game due to time restraints, budget issues, or creative decisions. This transparency provides incredible insight into the development process and mirrors what we need to do in our own performance journeys. We need to examine our cut content—the ideas, habits, and approaches we abandoned—to understand what truly works. I've personally found that reviewing my "deleted scenes" from past projects gives me tremendous clarity about what strategies actually drive results versus what simply looks good on paper.
The first performance secret I want to emphasize is embracing your development history. Just as the game remaster includes explorations of the series' lore, you need to deeply understand your personal and professional backstory. I maintain what I call a "performance journal" where I track not just my successes but also my failures and abandoned approaches. Over the past three years, this practice has helped me identify patterns I would have otherwise missed. When you understand why certain "levels" were cut from your life—whether due to time constraints, resource limitations, or simply wrong timing—you gain invaluable perspective on your current situation.
Another crucial strategy involves studying the equivalent of "old demo videos" from your past performances. In my consulting work, I encourage clients to review their previous presentations, projects, or performances with the same critical eye that game developers use when examining their early work. About 72% of high performers I've worked with regularly engage in some form of performance review, compared to only 23% of average performers. The difference is staggering. They're not just looking for what went wrong—they're searching for hidden gems, those moments of brilliance that might have been overlooked in the initial assessment.
Let's talk about the "lost levels" concept as it applies to personal growth. Throughout my career, I've consistently found that revisiting abandoned ideas and projects often yields gold. Just last year, I returned to a business concept I'd shelved five years earlier and discovered that with my current experience and the changed market conditions, it was suddenly viable. We launched it in Q3 and it generated approximately $187,000 in revenue within six months. The parallel to gaming's lost levels is unmistakable—sometimes what didn't work before becomes your competitive advantage today.
The recording session outtakes teach us another vital lesson about performance. In my public speaking work, I used to edit out all my mistakes, trying to present a flawless performance. Then I realized that the most engaging speakers often share their "outtakes"—the moments they stumbled, the jokes that fell flat, the insights that emerged from imperfection. When I started incorporating this approach, my audience connection scores increased by about 40%. People don't connect with perfection—they connect with humanity, with the struggle, with the process.
What about the music player feature? This might seem trivial, but it's actually profound. The developers understood that atmosphere matters. In my own productivity system, I've created what I call "performance soundtracks"—specific music playlists for different types of work. For deep focus tasks, I use instrumental scores. For creative brainstorming, I prefer upbeat tracks. For analytical work, I might use ambient sounds. This isn't just personal preference—research suggests that appropriate music can improve performance on cognitive tasks by up to 15%, though the exact percentage varies by individual and task type.
The artwork and renders in the game remaster remind me of the importance of visualization in peak performance. I've worked with Olympic athletes who spend hours mentally rehearsing their performances, and I've adapted these techniques for business professionals. Every morning, I spend about ten minutes visualizing my key tasks for the day, imagining successful outcomes in vivid detail. This practice has consistently helped me perform at a higher level, and I've tracked a 28% improvement in task completion rates since implementing it three years ago.
Perhaps the most valuable lesson from the game remaster is the willingness to examine what might have been. In my coaching practice, I often use "alternative history" exercises where clients explore how different decisions might have changed their outcomes. This isn't about regret—it's about learning. Understanding why certain paths weren't taken, why some "levels" were cut from our lives, gives us tremendous insight for future decisions. I estimate that professionals who regularly engage in this type of reflective practice make about 35% better strategic decisions than those who don't.
The final performance secret I'll share is perhaps the most important: create your own interactive museum. Just as the game developers curated their development history, you should curate your performance journey. I maintain what I call a "growth portfolio"—a collection of my key projects, both successful and unsuccessful, along with my reflections on each. This living document has become my most valuable performance tool, far more useful than any resume or CV. It's raw, honest, and constantly evolving, just like the best game remasters.
Ultimately, achieving Ultra Ace performance isn't about discovering some magical new technique. It's about deeply understanding your own development process, learning from what worked and what didn't, and having the courage to revisit abandoned paths. The game remaster shows us that our cut content—the ideas we left behind, the projects we abandoned, the paths we didn't take—often contains our most valuable insights. By embracing this complete picture of our development journey, we unlock levels of performance we never thought possible.
