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There’s no going back to change the past, but reflecting on the musical path traveled reveals that it turned out to be the perfect one, after all.

For many, the best way to learn an instrument is by starting lessons at an early age. Plenty of adults either regret not continuing their music lessons as kids or find themselves embracing a new instrument later in life. There’s no single right or wrong way to approach music—only the contrast between wishes and reality. The familiar refrain of “could’ve, would’ve, should’ve” often shapes these reflections.

As a 12-year-old, the decision to avoid music lessons wasn’t hard to make. Watching others take lessons and focus exclusively on ratta-tat-tats on a lone snare drum felt uninspiring. The goal wasn’t to learn rudiments; it was to play the drums—plural! That’s the dream for most kids, and it was no different here. When given the choice, it was easy to turn down lessons in favor of figuring things out by playing along to the radio.

Decades later, taking lessons as an adult has brought surprising validation. It turns out that what was done naturally with bands was more legitimate than expected. Encountering highly technical drummers who excel at ratta-tat-tats but struggle to blend with a group was both disappointing and enlightening. It forced a reevaluation of personal abilities and the path taken. Playing drums in a group came naturally, even if the technical precision of rudiments wasn’t a strong suit. What once seemed like a limitation now feels like just another part of a unique journey. Everyone’s path is different.

Still, it’s easy to wonder: What if lessons had been part of the equation from the start? Could things have been different—maybe even lead to greatness or fame? Reflecting on that brings some sobering realities into focus:

1. Growing up in central Montana didn’t exactly lend itself to becoming a world-renowned professional musician—or much else on a global stage.
   Strike one.
2. Coming from a non-musical family meant minimal support. When practicing in my basement bedroom, no one ever came down to offer encouragement or feedback. The only response to hours of playing was the loud stomping of feet on the floor above, the unspoken but clear signal to “shut it down.” Maybe the playing wasn’t great back then, but it was still a tough environment.
   Strike two.
3. Above-average talent is one thing, but without the right environment or extraordinary ability, breaking out of rural Montana would have been nearly impossible. Playing alone in a basement didn’t offer much opportunity for professional critique or recognition.
   Strike three—you’re out!

Looking back, though, this was the perfect path. Learning technical skills like paradiddles or five-, six-, and seven-stroke rolls as a young teenager probably wouldn’t have held much appeal or staying power. It might have led to burnout instead of the incredible experiences behind the drums over the last 40 years.

Today, the journey continues with new challenges. Right now, it’s working through 30-Day Jazz Drummer, a course by Juilliard Jazz Professor Ulysses Owens Jr. on Drumeo. Ulysses’ charisma and character make the experience enjoyable—even for someone who’s not a big jazz fan. Jazz is hard. Without a childhood soundtrack of jazz to draw from, every step feels like starting from scratch. Progress comes slowly, alongside a sore back and some less-than-stellar results.

Still, there’s no one stomping on the floor above anymore, demanding that the noise stop. Life in my basement studio in northern Idaho—with two horses and three barn cats for company—is blissfully peaceful.

~ Mike

Psalm 119:105
Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a lamp unto my path.

On the “Lessons” page, I mentioned—half-jokingly—that the reason for taking lessons at this stage of life is to figure out what went wrong during my career. For decades, playing with confidence and achieving a degree of success made it easy to laugh about the idea with friends and band mates. But the truth runs much deeper than a simple joke.

There was always a sense of missing something vital—an ingredient that could elevate a drummer from being decent to truly exceptional. While others may not have noticed, I did. There was a gap, a feeling that the language of this instrument wasn’t being fully mastered. The rhythms spoke, but not fluently—not on an advanced level. Lessons became a way to uncover what was missing before it was too late.

On a deeper level, this journey is about gratitude. The raw talent to “fake it” for so long wasn’t of my own making. It was a gift, and learning the true extent of that gift became a responsibility. Honoring it properly meant devoting the time and focus it deserved—something I didn’t do earlier in life.

Now, this part stings a little, but it needs to be said—just once. I could have been a great drummer. There’s no telling the heights that might have been reached if my instrument had been approached with the devotion it deserved from the beginning. Timing and an instinctive understanding of the drums came as a gift, a profound foundation that allowed me to do what I did without the structured learning to match. But that talent wasn’t honored the way it should have been.

Later in life, like many others, the realization struck: there was no reason not to take lessons. But above that practical realization was something far greater—the opportunity to finally honor the One who gave me this gift. To say, with sincerity, thank you, Father. Thank you for the incredible gift of music and the ability to express it. As an act of gratitude, this stage of life is now devoted to learning and appreciating what has been given—and to finally taking lessons.

Yes, the thought crosses my mind: If only I had started at 8 instead of 58. But those words don’t need repeating. No regrets. Only lessons to be learned and efforts to be made—before it’s too late.

~Mike

May God bless you like He has me. Seek Him. Look for His blessings. They’re in your life. They ARE your life.