We like certainty.

When we try something new, we want to know exactly what to expect.

How long will it take?

When will I be good at this?

Where will the challenges be?

I won’t look stupid in front of other people, right?

We want a clear path, but we don’t usually get one. The new and exciting experiences that make life interesting and vibrant involve some degree of risk and uncertainty.

I’m going to be reviewing books on this blog from time to time. This post is a review of Steven Pressfield’s The War of Art .

If you read a lot of books, you might agree with me that they generally fall into three categories.

I gotta practice.

I get to practice.

What’s the difference between these two statements? Here’s how I think about it.

I get some of my best practicing done in airports. When I get to my gate, I look for a spot away from other people, pull out my trumpet and a practice mute, and get to work.

The first few times I did this, I felt really awkward. It seemed like everyone was looking at me (which they were). But I now look forward to airport practicing, and I’m publishing this post from 35,000 feet having just finished a great airport practice session.

Some days.

I had one this past Monday. All the little things and a couple big things went wrong, and it was a struggle just to get through the day. I did not want to practice the trumpet, but I pulled the horn out, made a little progress, and felt a little better. It was the lone bright spot on a dreary day.

We all have to deal with bad days and low motivation. Here are some ideas that help me!

Here’s the situation: you’re performing, doing your thing.

Your thing could be playing or teaching music, speaking in front of a group, writing a blog, or anything else. The specifics don’t really matter. What matters is that you’ve prepared, practiced, woodshedded, polished, and gotten your ducks in a row. You’re ready, and you’re not taking any prisoners.

So what do you do about the person who isn’t paying attention?

How do you practice jazz? Are you a noodler? I am.

When I work on jazz improvisation, I mostly noodle, running through several tunes aimlessly with a play-along track: “There Will Never Be Another You,” “Joy Spring,” “I’ll Close My Eyes,” etc. It’s fun, but there’s no focus, and I tend not to get much better this way.

Noodling is not a very efficient use of practice time, and it needs to go.

Clark Terry passed away on Saturday at the age of 94. He’s one of my favorite musicians, and I want to take a moment to celebrate his playing and what made him one of the greatest jazz trumpet players.

A year and a half ago, I took up the keyboard.

My piano background was pretty meager: three years of lessons in grade school and enough scattered practice in college to get a music degree. No chops to speak of, and I’m not being modest. I did spend some time working on jazz piano voicings in grad school, but I’ve never been anywhere close to being able to perform on the instrument.

Teachers often say that they learn as much from their students as their students learn from them.

Let’s crack that open.