Skip to main content

Welcome 2020

It's a New Year once again! 2020 how can that possibly be? The Y2K (2000) computer scare was just yesterday, wasn’t it? Impossible . . . 

No matter who you are, what you do, where you go, or what you plan - time simply slips away. Don’t believe me, let's take stock in what you may or may not recollect, as a reader of this blog and count the years.

High School, remember those days? August of 1970, I became a freshman (50 years ago)!

Songs always make an impact, “So tonight I'm gonna party like it's nineteen ninety-nine," 1999 by Prince. That song was released September 24, 1982 (38 years ago). Or maybe for you, it was Stairway to Heaven, by Led Zeppelin (1971).

Greg LeMond is the only American to win Le Tour de France, in July 1986 (34 years ago). After moving to Los Angeles in 1985, I met my hero at Two Wheel Transit Authority in 1987.

Radio Shack launched the Tandy 1000 computer in November 1984. This was my first personal computer. A 7.16 MHz 8088 processor, dual floppy disk drive with a revolutionary 300 baud Modem, which I purchased used in 1989 (31 years ago).

On January 31, 2014 (6 years ago) I became a Free Agent after 27 years of loyal service to the Gemological Institute of America (GIA).

And of course, we cannot forget August 16, 2016, my 60th birthday. The day we made the trip to Los Angeles where I received my new Fender Telecaster.

It’s going on four years now and I’m having the time of my life exploring, the world of music with my beautiful guitar . . .

You see, in my experience, to remain curious, active, and young at heart, life is about learning and teaching new skills. That reminds me, I need to get back to my YouTube video channel Guitar Gems (launched May 23, 2019). The emotional and physical rewards are simply undeniable. And if I might add practically unexplainable, but let’s try.

Lately, I’ve been reading on FaceBook a number of my high school classmates from the class of 1974 (46 years ago) are retiring.  I can’t even believe that. What exactly does that mean - retirement? 

Is retirement about doing what you’ve always dreamed of doing but we're afraid to try - or lacked the time? Or is it about walking away from a job that you’re tired of? Most would like to believe the former. Throughout my life, I’ve been an avid listener of many motivational speakers; Earl Nightingale, Zig Ziglar, Robert Schuller, all gone now.

Everything I’d listened to or read kept encouraging me. Dare to dream! 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; A Blues Scale, G Major Scale, or simply run the neck of the guitar over three octaves. Forward and backwards. Then it’s practicing the transition between chords, G, C, F, D, A, and E in time.

Little by little - by doing; trying out new riffs, practicing many different scales, and just doodling on the guitar I’m getting better. Every breakthrough an epiphany, simply magical.

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.

So as we move into this new decade, embrace your inner child. Go out and DO something different today. Learn a new skill, meet new people, play an instrument, volunteer at a foundation, work at what you love to do and you too will welcome in the New Year.

Happy New Year!

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

Sunflowers, French Steel, and the Yellow Jersey

Watching Le Tour de France this year, I found myself transported back to August 1983 as the Peloton in Stage 10, Bastille Day, flowed through the French countryside like a brightly colored ribbon. I was in my twenties, visiting family in the Charente-Maritime region of France, completely obsessed with bicycle racing—and convinced I was much stronger than I was. My connection to cycling—and to France—runs deep. I was born in France, and my very first real road bike, at age fifteen, was a Mercier . To me, it wasn’t just a bicycle; it was a work of art made from beautiful French steel. I rode that bike for miles, through high school, into college, and until the day someone decided they needed it more than I did. I hope they at least appreciated the craftsmanship. Its untimely disappearance led me to a Schwinn Voyageur, and later, when I started racing around Illinois, to a Raleigh Competition . But during that summer of ’83, while staying with my Uncle Jean Paul in Lagord, just north of L...

Morning Coffee

In this episode, Morning Coffee . . . Now, I’m not saying everyone needs coffee. Some folks get by just fine on, I don’t know, sunlight and positive thinking. Me? I’m pretty sure I started drinking the stuff sometime around the Reagan administration. Reading John Gierach’s "Ode to Campfire Coffee" in Trout Bum (a book that should be required reading for anyone who sees sleeping on the ground as recreation) got me thinking about how we’ve managed to complicate something as fundamentally simple as boiling water and adding grounds. Taste, you say? Look, black coffee is an acquired taste, like tequila or cilantro. I just don’t get it. Gierach, bless his heart, mostly drinks his java streamside, probably while wearing wool socks and waders and contemplating the mysteries of the universe. As for me? My outdoor coffee experience is a bit different. Picture this: the High Sierra, where campfires are banned (to avoid agitating Smoky Bear), and I’m huddled over a Whisperlite , coax...

The Endless Work of Wisdom

It always makes me smile. The moment people learn I've officially entered what I like to call the Great Un-Working (retirement), they almost immediately ask the same question: “So . . . What do you do now?" I think they're expecting me to say I'm restoring a vintage sports car, hiking the John Muir Trail, or finally becoming fluent in French.   Instead, I tell them: "I live life deliberately." That's usually the point when I get a polite nod, followed by the unmistakable look of someone wondering whether I've simply found a more sophisticated way to say, “I’m becoming a bum.” Apparently, "living deliberately" sounds suspiciously like unemployment, just better branding. The truth is, what living deliberately looks like for me right now is taking time to synthesize a lifetime of experiences into these weekly reflections. It's slowing down long enough to ask what those experiences have taught me, while keeping the door wide open to the poss...

A Tucson Typewriter Tale

One of the great joys of wandering without much of a plan is that the universe occasionally rewards your lack of organization. During my recent visit to Tucson, AZ, Robert and I were strolling through the Annex this afternoon, doing what tourists and newly minted retirees like me have elevated to an Olympic sport: meandering. The Annex is one of those places where every few steps there's another handmade candle, artisan coffee, or vintage object someone rescued from a garage sale and convinced the rest of us was always destined to become art. Then I saw something that genuinely stopped me. A young woman standing quietly behind a manual typewriter. Not a laptop designed to look like a typewriter. Not a quirky Bluetooth keyboard. An honest-to-goodness mechanical typewriter—the sort of machine that once announced every sentence to the entire office with a satisfying clack and enough force to wake nearby pigeons. With an iPhone 16 sitting in my pocket in an age when people write novels...