Skip to main content

Practiced Fingers

You CAN teach an ole' dog new tricks.

It amazes me that I still hear the platitude, “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

Really? People continue to use it as excuse for not being able to successfully learn or even attempt a new skill to their satisfaction or expectation. Agreed, learning a new skill is challenging. Let’s be honest, it’s downright hard. Well, I’m here to say that learning a new skill is not a bag of tricks and humans are not dogs. It’s simply a discipline that’s driven by a “want to” passion.

It’s been over one year now and I’m having more fun than ever exploring the world of music with my Fender guitar . . .

You see, in my experience, to remain young at heart, curious, and active, life is about learning and teaching new skills. The emotional and physical rewards are simply undeniable. And if I might add practically unexplainable, but let’s try.

Almost daily I meet customers at Home Depot who say to me, “No one teaches you how to be retired, I find myself lost for something to do.” Why? Have they lost their childlike enthusiasm for curiosity? Don’t they realize that teaching yourself new skills throughout life is what life is all about?

Retirement is not about finding something to do, it’s about doing what you’ve  always dreamed of doing but were afraid to try or lacked the time. Everything I’d listened to or read kept encouraging me; dare to dream to re-invent yourself go back to what you loved as a child. It’s never too late to learn something new. So, I did. Every morning I practice guitar. First it’s as simple as warming up your fingers; E Blues Scale, G Major Scale, or simply run the complete neck of the guitar over three octaves. Forwards and backwards. Then it’s practicing the transition between chords, F, G, D, C, and E in time.

I challenge you to try it sometime.

Little by little - by watching lessons on YouTube, trying out new blues riffs, strumming patterns, and playing (or should I say stumbling) through songs that have always moved me - melodic sounds began to ring from my guitar. Every breakthrough an epiphany almost magical.

Face the facts there comes a time when you, once again, like it or not, must adopt the *student mentality. Not because you’re expected to - because you have the desire to want to. No pressure, no grades, no criticism, no shit.

Granted it’s still early in my guitar learning curve. I can almost play something that resembles music.  Last week I purchased my first music book with complete songs. Magically I’m working out the songs in that book. It's a challenge. I'm engaged. And it's loads of fun! I’ll need a few more months before I debut on stage with my Fender Stratocaster.

No tricks - just consistent practiced fingers, balanced with relaxed, enjoyable, daily practice.

*Student: One who studies, an attentive systematic participant. A person formally engaged in learning a new skill. The key word here is engaged. This means dedication to daily practice. No matter what skill you are trying to master.

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

Confidently Wrong: The Art of the AI Tall Tale

In this episode, A chat with Adamas the Chef on hidden recipes causing digital hallucinations. Pull up a chair and pour yourself a fresh cup of coffee—and please, for your own sake, taste it first. We need to have a quiet chat about why your computer sometimes decides to reinvent reality with the confidence of a five-star chef who has clearly lost his mind. In the world of technology, we call it a  hallucination . It sounds pretty dramatic, doesn’t it? As if the computer decided to ignore your instructions altogether in favor of a vivid, technicolor imagination that simply hasn’t met reality yet. But in truth, an AI hallucination isn’t a breakdown; it’s just a very confident, very polite mistake. Think of it like our friend Adamas , the Chef. Adamas is a master of the kitchen, but he is also a bit of a romantic who refuses to say “I don’t know.” When you ask him for a classic recipe he hasn’t made in years, he doesn’t stop to consult a cookbook—that’s far too pedestrian. Instead, ...

Ode To Gemology

For over 80 years, students of gemology have struggled with spectrums, bewildered by birefringence, and simply plagued by pleochroism. The following sonnet is guaranteed to bring a smile to your face, a glow to your heart, and a simple reminder that students of life and gemology rediscover nature's gifts every day.  Ode to Gemology , by a GIA on-campus student. Dispersion, fire, adventurescence. Orient, sheen, or iridescence. Refractive index, high or low. The luster should indicate that, you know. Polarization, double or single. What to do now, they intermingle. Pleochroic colors you really should see. Was that only two, or actually three? Birefringence should help you a lot. Use your polarizer and watch the spot. Now, did it jump most on low or high? Sure, you can get it if you really try! Your liquids should be an aid, I think. Does it float, suspend, or slowly sink? Just use your imagination now. (He doesn't see me wiping my brow.) Solid inclusions or only bubbles? Huh, th...

The Cowardice of Corporate Jargon

Picture this: an email lands in your inbox. A colleague—maybe even a friend—needs a favor, a second set of eyes, a moment of your time. You sigh, stare at the glow of your monitor, and type: “I’d love to help, but I just don’t have the bandwidth right now.” Hit send. Problem solved. Conscience clear. Except it shouldn’t be. Most of us have said or sent that line at least once, hoping it would land gently. On the surface, it’s perfect—efficient, polite, even self-aware. And that’s exactly the problem. It lets you decline without ever quite telling the truth. You didn’t just say no; you softened the discomfort of being human until it barely felt like a feeling at all. Instead of admitting, I’m overwhelmed , or I don’t have the energy , you reach for the sterile vocabulary of a server room. You turn a feeling into a metric. A boundary into a system limitation. Apologies, my data transfer rate is capped. Please submit a ticket to my emotional help desk. It’s a clever little trick—and an un...

Tuck, Roll, and Rain

In this episode, the interactive obstacle course of the San Marcos bike path. (Sunday, April 12, 2026) It started out as a beautiful day for a ride—our usual 30-mile Sunday trek to Escondido. The weather was moody, with brooding dark clouds threatening rain, but the streets were mostly empty. The traffic was light, and the bike paths were eerily quiet. It gave off the distinct, yet entirely false, illusion of a peaceful sanctuary. We were headed home, and I had settled into a smooth, hypnotic cadence on the path across from Palomar College in San Marcos. I was listening to a Cubs game at Wrigley Field, minding my own business, and dressed to be seen. Between my colorful jersey and my cherry-red vest, I was illuminated like a human traffic cone. You could spot me from low Earth orbit. Apparently, that wasn't visible enough. Up ahead, I spotted another cyclist. He was cruising along in a state of pure, unhelmeted zen—completely unburdened by the earthly concepts of peripheral vision ...