In April 2023, I picked up my son’s alto saxophone and took my first lesson.
This past Friday, I performed in public for the fifth time. An eight-piece band — Dire Straits, Pearl Jam, the Eagles, the Rolling Stones. The set closed with a two-minute sax solo. It was mine.
I play tenor now. I am not yet good. I am much better.
That distinction matters. In fact, it is everything.
Improving is Not About Perfection
I love the process of improving. It’s not clean. In fact it can be incredibly unpredictable.
One of the strangest thrills I’ve discovered is screwing up on stage and recovering in real time, surrounded by people I’ve practiced with for months.
That used to terrify me. Now it’s oddly satisfying.
Because that’s the real skill, isn’t it? Not perfection. Recovery.
The capacity to lose the thread, find it again, and keep playing.
That is music. That is leadership. That is life.
Happy (and Never Satisfied)
Was I happy after the show? Incredibly.
Was I satisfied? Never.
There is always more to learn. Always more to practice. Always something I could have played better.
But if you only measure yourself against where you are going, you will always feel behind.
So I try to pay attention to two things.
First, how far I’ve come.
Second, the occasional moments of bliss along the way.
I cherish the moments when I forget myself and the music is just happening. When the band locks in. When nobody is thinking. When the song plays us.
There’s nothing quite like it.
I enjoy the practice. The practice is necessary. The bliss is the gift.
Forever a Beginner
I will never be an expert. I started at 58. But I can get better. I can pull more satisfaction out of my playing every year for the rest of my life.
That’s enough.
Actually, I think that’s the point.
There Is No Hack
Early on, I was talking to a friend a little older than me. He was winding down his business and had more free time.
He told me he had always wanted to learn guitar.
I told him what I was discovering — the strange joy of going back to the beginning with something I loved.
I asked him if he thought he might start playing guitar. He said: “I’m not willing to suck for two years.”
He couldn’t remember the last time he had done something where he wasn’t already competent.
And I remember thinking: Then you’ll never feel this.
Not because he lacked talent. Because he wasn’t willing to begin.
Whatever you actually want — the band, the book, the company, the relationship, the conversation you’ve been avoiding — there will be a stretch where you suck.
There is no hack for that.
The willingness to suck is the price of admission.
At my first concert, I spent the first song and a half trying to get something, anything, to come out of my horn. Mostly squeaks. Then I finally got my footing and played something. Badly out of tune. Because that’s where I was.
Last Friday, I improvised a two-minute solo. Mostly with good tone. Mostly in tune. (Or at least much more in tune than that first time.)
As my teacher says, there is no substitute for playing in front of people.
And there is no substitute for what that teaches you about yourself.
So here’s the question:
What are you not willing to suck at?
And what is that costing you?
Stuck Deciding?
Hesitating to move forward on something you know you want to do?
Try this for thirty days, and watch everything change:
#PickNow