"What Did You Enjoy Doing at Age 10?"

I would like to start this post by pasting in a section from an Entrepreneur Magazine article I recently read. Also a word of caution to my usual visitors. This article is less about guitars and more about what it might mean to be a guitar player. Read on and I think you will understand.

Eric Maisel, a psychotherapist and author, agrees, adding: "The things we loved as a child are probably still the things we love." He suggests drawing up a list of favorite activities and interests from childhood—"and see what still resonates with you today. And then it’s a process of updating those loves. You may have loved something that doesn’t even exist now, or doesn’t make sense in your life now—but you may be able to find a new version of that.

I uncovered the article with a quick google search worded "identifying your passions".
Of course a ton of hits came up as this is a very en vogue topic to be reading on these days.
I would say particularly among aging Gen X kids such as myself. 
Perhaps this stems from a growing feeling that I am running out of time. Time for what? Time to grab deep happiness and be able to look back and feel as though I made good use of a life! John Mayer maybe asked it directly when he sang, "Am I living it right?"
At any rate, I find that I am wanting to spend more and more time in activities that I connect with on a very deep level. Interestingly enough, many of those activities are directly or evolutions of activities I enjoyed as a kid.
So I ask, "What did you enjoy doing at age 10?".
Now, this is not to say that one can make a living playing hopscotch or collecting bugs, but only maybe. If you found yourself playing hopscotch and kickball while the neighbor kid collected bugs then perhaps you should have studied kinesiology and the kid next door should have studied entomology or biology. Now, one can certainly make a living in those areas.
I know this is a road weary topic to some. However, I, at 47 am just now slowing down long enough to really look at this issue and answer some of the the questions honestly.
When I think of the things I enjoyed as a 10 year old, I was certainly, BMX and skateboarding, listening to rock and roll, and trying to mow enough lawns to buy a dirt bike.
Childs play you say? My father certainly thought so, and did make efforts to point me towards ways of making an honest, hard earned living. The thought of being a professional moto-cross racer or surfer would have never been encouraged, let alone supported. Its a shame too because many kids do grow up to make a living surfing and racing and playing rock and roll and skateboarding. So why not me?
Somewhere along the way, between the innocence and wonder of childhood and the knowledge of the responsibility that comes at adolescence, the dream just gets derailed I think. "Ha! He is too young to have any idea as to what kind of job he would want", I remember hearing the adults say. Maybe that was wrong. Maybe the passions of our youth had us right on track. Now I hear myself saying, "He is too old to remember what type of job he really wanted." I think that is more accurate than the former.
Now don't lose me here. I'm not saying that at age 50 we should quit our jobs and go and make a run at pro surfing. Or am I? Silly kid stuff right? Only maybe.....
I remember a good mentor from my post college days once told me, "Jon, you can do almost anything you want to do if you are willing to make all of the necessary sacrifices to get there."
I think that comment has relevance in this conversation because it points back to the concept of pursuing a dream or ambition. At age 50 can I be a professional surfer? Sure can. There are masters class contests all over the place. Now will I make a ton of money? Maybe not. But that was not the question was it? I have grown to hate the money question anyway.
Oh sure, I know we have to pay the bills. I get that. We all should get that by now. However, that dang money question did not play in at age 10. It came along later when we had to choose between dreams and money. So I am trying to factor it out again. Trying to get it (as much as I can) out of the equation and get back to that wild eyed wonder of being a child again. That is to say I am changing the question back to something closer to the questions we asked ourselves as children. Follow me if you will on this. If it were a bright, clear, warm Saturday morning, and you were 10 again, what would you go do? 
The honest answer to that question is helping me find direction again. Perhaps it can help you as well.

The Stoke

Perhaps I have commented on this before. "The Stoke" as it were. That is to say the process of getting stoked. Like, totally stoked! It is not the same as say, getting happy or excited. It is it's very own thing.
The Stoke is not something that happens to you or even an emotion really. It is, in my opinion, a universal energy that will, when conditions are right, make itself a home inside you for a time.
True, it does respond to certain situation better than others. Like a salesman making a sale for instance. I'm not sure the elation he might feel is "The Stoke". I think that might just be short term happiness. However, if he is happy because he finally has enough money to buy that bitchin' '76 Les Paul Deluxe, then that is for sure "The Stoke". Fine line distinctions but I believe them to be true and accurate.
So, when were you last STOKED? My friends, it is an important question to ask yourself. We simply cannot continue our day to day lives with out a measure of Stoke.
I have a Stoke dispenser at my house. A few in fact. The Inverness Green Les Paul Custom Pro that my wife bought me for our 15th anniversary always brings on The Stoke.
Also, I can grab a longboard (skateboard because I live inland now) and find a little bit of Stoke by simply rolling down my driveway.
I suggest you all find that little something that lets you connect with The Stoke. Think about it a little.
Maybe you like to paint or draw, or perhaps you are working on a difficult piano piece. These types of things are corridors to the wonder of being stoked.
I hope that you take some time out this weekend to find a little fun. A little stoke.
Check out the images of folks being stoked. Dig it!

Are you kidding me? Totally Stoked!

Yep, Stoked Again...times two! Sweet rollers and a Fender Jag!

Now I'm Stoked!

Thanks guys for checking in and have a great life until we talk again.

Sometimes Technology is Not an Advance

I will start this short article by conceding very early on that I am simply old. Old school (so old in fact that I refuse to use the spelling "skool") is not something new to me. I have been this way for as long as I can remember. When I was a teenager and New Wave and Punk were all over the place, I was listening to The Beatles. When it came time for me to get my first car, all I wanted was my dad's old jeep (you would have to see it to appreciate exactly how 'old school' that was).

To this day I still want an old '65 Mustang and I still drool over old Triumph Bonnevilles and Trophies. When it comes to my guitars, you guessed it, Fender and Gibson all the way. In fact, the older and more beat up the Strat', the better I like it. I don't know why….wait, I do know why. Because they are better! They are full of character and color and life. Old guitars and gear are experienced. They bring with them a certain feel and, dare I say it, mojo. Yuk, I almost cringe to see myself using that now worn out word. Mojo. Still, it is really the only word that works when it comes to expressing the feel of older instruments. 

In addition, the old stuff just looks cooler. Not pared down and digitalized. Good old fashioned analog stuff. Yeah man! Capacitors, rectifiers, filters, circuits! 

My case in point, look below at the images of Roland's early Space Echo units. Awesome stuff! Big and bulky, with cool knobs and switches to mess with. A 'vu meter'? Are you kidding me? Sweet! 

Then look at the advance of technology and how the current Space Echo unit looks. What? Lame! Tiny, plastic, boring, digital reproduction of what was awesome and unique. 

So march on technology. March on without me in fact. 

Just get me to a good analog yard sale and let me dig through the old treasures.

To Experience the Magic

The South Texas sun beat down on me as I doggy paddled around that massive pool that Summer day many years ago. I'm not exactly sure of the year. Had to be in the early 80's. Likely 1980 or 1981 if I were to guess. I cant even recall why I was at that resort. It was not the sort of place my family would frequent. 
Still, by some turn of the universal fate, I found myself floating around in a pool and an ocean of suntan oil, red faced kids, intoxicated middle aged executives and their brown skinned bikini clad wives. Me trying to look as though I fit in. Me sort of chubby, bathing suit too tight because it was purchased two Summers ago, needing a hair cut, and baked a painful red, as I was not the kind of kid that exposed his torso to sunshine very often. A recall being a spectator of sorts. A spectator to this other world of weekending and excess that I had never before seen or been a part of. Amid that flotsam of silky, self and and sun worship, I was a castaway. Alone on an island of natives.
Then like the roll of an approaching thunderstorm, a sound so immediately intoxicating and familiar, hit my water soaked ears. The band.
The sea of natives, with their plastic martini glasses raised, their heads rocking to and fro like strutting chickens, all headed towards the far end of the pool.
I was drawn as if pulled by a Siren song. From my vantage point I could see the band under a large sun shade. 
I will never forget how the singer's Strat glistened in the Texas sun. Fiesta red! That wonderful Fender color that has transfixed thousands of would be gun slingers. The lead guitar player behind him with another Strat in Lake Placid Blue. Oh how that was a site to see! As I recall, they ripped through Tommy Tutone's Jenny and launched right into Sultans of Swing. As that rich, Stratocaster, switch position #2, tone poured from the edge of the pool, I knew that I had been changed. Well, I probably did not understand it then but as the years progressed, I always recalled that day at the resort when I first heard the magic.
I am a rare bird I guess. My musical journey has never been guided by glitter and lights. For me, the possibility of stardom as a musician is not something that ever occurred to me. Once I saw that little 4 piece band and how they seemed to capture and control that entire pool of holiday heads, I simply wanted to be in a cover band. I wanted to step up to that microphone and perform that magic. However, for me, like musicians that strive for fame, the quest has been no less consuming. 
Now 35 years on (or more really) from the realization that I wanted to be on stage, the excitement and anticipation of experiencing the moments of magic is as strong as ever. I suppose that was a calling of sorts. Somehow the universe put me in the right place and the rightest of times. The opening of chord of Sultans still floors me. After singing Jenny's phone number thousands of times, I still get a chill when those weekenders sing along.
I'm a lucky bird really. I have had a Lake Placid Strat and one in Fiesta red as well. My little bands have channelled the magic many times. Today, as I sit and look at one of the Statocasters that is passing through my life, I cant help but think about that kid bobbing around in that pool that day on Padre Island. He is still there, with his arms over the edge of the pool, trying to look as though he belongs, watching and listening, waiting for his next day under that umbrella.