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An ode to springtime in Nashville

This is what happens if you don't practice.
This is what happens if you don't practice.
Courtesy of myself.

I was going to post a new interview in this space, it’s taking me longer than I expected. So instead I will post an Ode to Springtime.
Hurray, it’s almost springtime! The buttercups and daffodils are here, the sun is warm, and it’s finally nice to be outside of the house for more than 10 minutes at a time. Oh wait. I tell a lie. It is frozen and cold, the cold, frozen part of the year when all you really want to do is sit around and complain, much like early man must have done in order to get through the long, cold ice age. All those cave paintings? Pre-language epics on The One that Got Away, That Early Woman who Wouldn’t Touch Me with a 10 Foot Pole, and How I Am Frequently Hungry But Can Do Nothing About it Because I am Stuck in this Cave All Winter.
 

I have relatives in the Northeast who could make an Olympic sport out of complaining, and in fact pretty much have. It’s like any other skill: best heritable and distilled over generations of passed-down wisdom and experience. Sure, anybody can walk up to me in the YMCA while I’m trying to do crunches on the exercise mat and start moping about how “they took away some of the other mats and stretching is so important and I don’t know why they did that.” True professionals take it to the next level. True professionals sneakily convince everyone around them that their viewpoint is actually valid and not just useless time-wasting. True professionals have their own websites.
 

I think you know where this is going. “Being professional” means “practice, practice, practice.” Never quit practicing, or you will wake up one day and try to do something you used to do and fall flat on your face and wonder what happened. Okay, lecture over. I wish it were springtime. Go visit Cheekwood before the month’s out.
 

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