Lug nuts and late bloomers

Frankly: I am weak in a lot of adult skills.

(I suppose skill gaps are probably common among people with fraught family histories like mine. Maybe you relate?)

The adulting stuff I do know how to do, I typically learned late--and usually with lots of help from music community pals.

An example: I was nearly 30 when I finally got my driver's license. I have lost count of the number of bandmates who helped me learn to drive. Eight? Ten? My first car was also a hand-me-down from someone I was in a band with. (Any of you reading this: thank you, truly.)

If you're a music learner, mostly here for my teaching content: well, perhaps you're starting to understand why I am constantly encouraging you to plug into musical community.

Whether or not music is a professional pursuit for you, and however hard or easy your life has been, making music socially opens you up to all kinds of potential support for the whole you.

That's why I focus my teaching practice on the stuff that helps you connect with other musicians: improvising, crossing genres, understanding and communicating the structure of music, and combating social anxiety.

Anyway, as I was saying: cars.

I have always claimed that I wanted to know lots about cars. Theoretically, my goal has been to get comfortable working on and in them. I don't mean "comfortable working on cars" the way a professional mechanic is comfortable working on cars. I mean something closer to the way I am comfortable cooking really good food without a recipe, even though I am unlikely to get a job as a professional chef.

My car could kill me, and could kill others. I just don't like the idea of being dependent on others to understand and maintain it.

And yet. A few days ago, when I discovered that a tire had gone flat in my driveway overnight, what was my first thought?

“Oh, no. I’m helpless. I need to call AAA.”

And in the past, that's more or less what I've always done. I've called AAA. Or a boyfriend. Or a housemate. Or accepted help from a random non-creepy stranger.

Of course, I always had excellent excuses. I was in a hurry; surely someone else could fix this faster. Also, I might mess it up, and put myself and others in danger. Also, this whole thing was upsetting me too much to think clearly.

Part of the charm of these excuses--as with so many excuses--is that they were often, inarguably, true. But they weren't helping me move in the direction of my goal of autonomy.

This time, I slowed myself down. I slumped down in the backseat of the car with my legs sticking out the door, deciding what to do. And I realized something that might have been obvious.

I wasn't helpless at all. I had every tool I needed. I knew how to change a tire. I had just never tried.

As a refresher (and also as a procrastination method), I pulled out my phone and searched “how to change a tire."

A sweet gray-haired YouTuber who went by "Dad" reminded me that I should use a star pattern to loosen the lug nuts before jacking up the wheel. Ah yes; glad I asked.

Naturally, it was only a few minutes later that I was googling “how to loosen a stuck lug nut.”

Another gray haired YouTuber screamed at me, with used-car-commerical enthusiasm: "Use your foot! If that doesn’t work! Find a piece of pipe! You can use it to make the wrench longer! That way you get more leverage!!!"

I had already tried using my foot. I couldn't find a piece of pipe. I considered giving up and calling the roadside assistance number after all.

Instead, I propped my hands on the hood of the car, and climbed up onto the lug wrench with both feet. I danced around on the wrench for far longer than seemed reasonable. Eventually, the wrench and I both fell to the ground, and the lug nut was loose.

Then I jacked up the front of the car, replaced the flat tire with the spare one, and did the whole star pattern situation again, per "Dad's" instructions. The job was done.

Did I feel confident? No!

Did I do it as fast as a mechanic, or my partner, or your wife would have? No!

But I did it.

And that means now I’ve done it. And next time I need to do it, I will have done it before.

I couldn’t help think about all the adult music learners I teach and/or rub elbows with in community.

Everyone approaches music their own way, usually pretty similar to how they approach most other things in life. How you learn is unique to your personality--of course.

But y'all are also people who hang around me. Which means a lot of you have a lot in common with me. You're highly discerning. You want to be really good at the things you choose to do. And maybe you're a little neurotic. (Maybe more than a little.)

You also like that I actually engage you in honest conversations about mental obstacles, and suggest strategies for managing head trips, instead of just telling you to get over them and "be confident."

And maybe... just maybe... you also approach your big music goals the way I've been approaching my car owner goals.

Are you waiting until you are 100% positive that you will do it perfectly, before you let anyone see you try?

If so, I see you. And you are not alone. I have seen so many students stuck in this loop over the years I've been teaching. (As I said, like attracts like? Takes one to know one?)

Learning about how things work is obviously important. Using the internet to find the information that helps us do the things we are trying to do is awesome. But doing things is how we learn to do them.

You can watch every random YouTube video out there about how to play music with other people. You can take all my online courses, and you can take years of private lessons. You can memorize every tune on The Session, and Traditional Tune Archive, and in the Quail Book, and all the Suzuki books, and every other music book on Amazon.

You'll pick up a lot of good, useful ideas, and build a great repertoire.

Similarly, I could have given into my desire to sit on my front steps and watch every single balding man on YouTube show me how to change a tire. I could have let myself click on all the suggested videos in the sidebar and learned about spark plugs and headlamps and fan belts and fixing paint scratches and how to install a catalytic converter shield and, I don't know, hydraulic lift systems?

I think this actually sounds quite fun. I'd pick up a lot of good, useful ideas, and build a great repertoire.

But if all we do is watch and read, I will still have a flat tire, and you will still be at home by yourself wondering why music isn’t bringing you the joy you hoped for when you started.

Knowledge is important, but studying is a different activity from practicing.

If your goal is to play music with other people, and you've been playing for more than a month, then it's time to play music with other people.

Now, look. If your nervous system is in a state of dysregulation that makes this advice to “just go jump into a jam” feel really, really tone deaf: I've been there and I feel you.

I am not here to be the fitness coach who exclaims “you can do hard things! Just five more sets!” while you are having an honest-to-god panic attack and the hardest thing your capable of is staying in the room instead of running away.

Take care of business, friend. The music community will be here for you when you’re ready.

But if you’re in a place where you can do most things that you want to do, and you’re still telling yourself that it’s not time yet to jump in and say yes to opportunities to play music with other people…

Well, you only have to do it for the first time once. And then, you will have done it before. It only gets better from there.