Skip to main content

Lessons at Sixty

Guitar Center, Sunset Blvd., Hollywood
“Your taking guitar lessons at 60?”

Absolutely! It’s my way of always learning something new and having some fun in the process.

“Haven’t you ever heard the cliche, You can’t teach an old dog new tricks?”

“Of course, but let me be completely clear,” Education is not a bag of tricks and humans are not dogs. Some resemble their  ole’ dog, anyway . . . 

For years I heard that platitude from students who would use it as excuse for not being able to successfully learn a new skill to their satisfaction or expectation. Agreed, learning a new skill is challenging. Let’s be honest, it’s downright hard. We tend to get entrenched in our comfortable ruts.

Think back a minute. Remember what it was like to learn to ride a bicycle? It was exhilarating! Well, maybe not at first. Did you have training wheels? I’m sorry. What happened when your Dad removed those training wheels. I’ll bet you fell - over and over again. But with a determination that refused to quit, you learned to ride. It was simply a matter of practice, or as some would say learning the tricks.

You see, to remain young and active, life is about learning and teaching new skills. In today’s educational lingo it’s called “skill development”.

I’m enjoying learning to play the guitar. Admittedly it’s a formidable way to practice skill development. It's a craft I’ve always dreamed of doing but were afraid to try. Everything I’d 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 began practicing guitar. At first basic chords, G, D, C, and E, man was that tough. And rather boring. I struggled to play some Buddy Holly tunes. Simple enough, three cords and a few straightforward licks. Not so. It took me eight months to develop the strength, flexibility, and coordination to play a G chord with consistent results.

Try it sometime.

Then the breakthrough came. I overcame my stubborn nature and enrolled in guitar lessons. Yes at 58 years old I decided it was time to stop dreaming and start playing.

Face the facts, there comes a time when the teacher becomes the student. One who studies: an attentive and systematic observer. A person formally engaged in learning a new skill. The key word here is engaged. This means dedication to daily practice. Directed instruction from an observer who can correct for inconsistencies in technique. And a fresh perspective on what works. That’s what my guitar tutor provides.

I’ll admit he exceeded my expectations from the first lesson. He did not say, “Here is the fretboard, here are the notes memorize them, then we will get started.” Not at all.

My first lesson was a question and observation session. “What chords do you know. Play them for me.” Then an amazing thing happened. He asked, “What do you want to play?”

“Blues guitar, maybe some Jazz,” I responded.

“Ok, let’s get started.” He took out a blank sheet with eight sets of six lines. This represented the guitars fret board and in handwritten symbols gave me the tablature notation to play Basic Blues in “A”.

He played it to demonstrate the rhythm and fingering. Then he asked me to give it a try. I could not believe my ears. Was I really playing a blues riff? It was magical.

“Good, practice this. Next week we will begin to build on this foundation,” he said.

Granted it’s still early in my guitar learning curve. I can almost play something that resembles music. Thank goodness my coach doesn’t treat me like a dog and his systematic approach to guitar is not a bag of tricks. Give me a few more months before I debut on stage with my Fender Telecaster.

No tricks - just consistent, persistent practice.

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, ...

Opening Day Magic 2026 . . .

It’s back. Baseball—yes, baseball ! If you’re someone who finds themselves inexplicably drawn to this peculiar ritual, let’s be honest with each other: it’s a bit odd, right? I mean, 162 games. That’s a lot of hot dogs, a lot of standing around, and a lot of grown men in oddly tailored trousers spitting with remarkable precision. And yet, here we are, poised on the precipice of another season. Thursday, March 26, 2026, to be precise—Opening Day. It’s a curious thing, this Opening Day. You walk into a stadium, or turn on the TV, and suddenly, everyone is infected with a highly contagious strain of . . . Optimism . It’s a spectacular form of collective amnesia. All of last year’s fumbles, the endless losing streaks, the existential dread of watching your bullpen implode in the eighth inning—poof. Gone. It’s entirely replaced by a wide-eyed, childlike belief that this year, finally, the baseball gods will smile upon us. The Cycle of Hope and Despair As a Cubs fan, I know this cycle intim...

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...

Overcooking the Grid

In this episode, terrified of smart toasters, yet demanding infinite electricity for potato personality tests. Pull up that chair again, and let’s hope your coffee is safe this time. In our last chat, we talked about our well-meaning but occasionally delusional AI friend, Chef Adamas, and his penchant for hallucinating blueberries into your Carbonara. We learned how to manage his quirks by keeping our “digital pantry” organized. But today, we need to look past the chef and take a hard look at the sheer size of the kitchen we are building for him. And folks, that kitchen has gotten completely out of hand. Down in Louisiana, tech companies are currently building an artificial intelligence data center the size of 70 football fields. It is a four-million-square-foot digital brain that requires so much electricity they are building three new natural gas power plants just to keep the servers from literally melting down into a puddle of expensive silicon. And what are we using this god-like, ...