Heart and Mind

Old Dogs, New Tricks

I think the expression, "You can't teach old dogs new tricks," is a great one. Truthfully, I never really have know much about dogs—old or otherwise—so I have no firsthand experience to know whether or not the expression is true in a literal sense. Still, I have to assume it is, because it certainly seems like it would be that way.

I do know, however, that there are many instances where the implication of the expression is totally true in a figurative sense. So I use it all the time.

I mostly use the expression to describe people that are much older than I am, particularly when it comes to issues where old timers are stubbornly unwilling to get on board with technology issues. But, unfortunately, I've come to realize that I and pretty much everyone I know in my peer group is at least partially an "old dog" of sorts, albeit for different reasons.

You see, the "old dog/new tricks" situation is usually associated with inflexible people who are set in their ways. But that's not entirely what I'm talking about when I say I'm an old dog. Before I explain further, let me go on a tangent and spout off another cliché:

"You're never too old."

For many idioms, there is another idiom that means the exact opposite. For example, "Absense makes the heart grown fonder" vs. "Out of site, out of mind."

Well, the opposite of the old dogs expression is "You're never too old."

That, folks, is kind of bullsh*t. Or, at the very least, it's overly idealistic and eschews practicality. The reality is that there often is a very limited window of time for many activities, and once you're past that window, you're semi-screwed.

Now, this is painfully obvious when it comes to competitive, show-bizzy type accomplishments where other people make the rules. For example, we know that it's near impossible to become a pop-star when you're 40 or a professional hockey player when you're 30.

However, even for things that you could chalk up as being "personal goals," it's only reasonable in an idealistic sense to try "to be all we can be." Even if the goal was to become the best hockey player I could be, regardless of the fact that I'd never be a pro, well... it's not so much that I couldn't do that, but, rather, why the hell would I even try to do that at this age?

Let's use a more realistic example. Most people don't want to be hockey players, but a lot of people would like to, say, learn to play music. People generally don't decide in their mid-thirties that they should become guitarists. They feel like they've missed that window of opportunity. And they're usually right. It's not so much that middle-aged people can't learn to play guitar, but it seems they don't. And even those that try more often than not don't stick with it or take it beyond a very basic level. But the kid who started when he was—well—a kid...he seems to do much better.

I can play the guitar, though I'm not a "guitarist" and never will be. Why? Because I'm a drummer and that is what I was doing when I was in that prime "window of opportunity." Every once in a while I think, "I should add to my repertoire and become a more accomplished guitar player to better help my songwriting and recordings." But that probably won't happen, because I'm passed that age where I'm going to have a desire to read guitar magazines and dedicate myself that fully to something like that.

As for drumming, even that has diminished. There was a time in my life where I cared a lot about improving my drumming skills. I used to read lots of drum magazines. I was up on all the latest equipment, I studied with people more skilled than I was, and I used to dedicate a good chuck of mental energy to this spiritual kind of things, where I really felt like I was in some sort of fraternity, proudly wearing gold drumsticks around my neck. I don't do any of that stuff now, and, frankly, I'm OK with it. One might argue that my skills have not improved in the last ten years, and I'm actually OK with that. It sounds uninspiring, but I'm actually as good as I need to be and as good as I want to be. My current bag of tricks does me fine.

This attitude could change, but it probably won't. I'm still—you might be surprised to know—an ambitious person who learns lots of new skills, but there are only 24-hours in the day, and why should I care about getting better at drumming when the reality is that it might never benefit me as much as it would have when I was in my prime?

I still care about playing. A lot. I still take myself seriously. I still think that in a crowd of music types, I can hold my own and deserve respect. But I don't care about getting better than I am. I don't care about learning new tricks. Doesn't that kind of make me an old dog?

Look at yourself. Honestly. It doesn't matter what the situation is. It could be something as big as changing careers or as small as buying a new baseball mitt. If you ever are faced with an opportunity that you once would have welcomed but you, instead, reason that it just seems irrelevant to the age you're at right now, then you have become an old dog.

You don't have to be old to be an old dog. We're all over the place.

posted by Steve @ 3:16 PM