Another Year Older, Still Practicing

Three years ago, my practice looked very different than it does now.

Back then, I mostly practiced what I wanted to play. I cycled through the same eight or so songs — the ones I loved, the ones that felt good in my hands. I wasn’t thinking much about vocals or clean strumming or picking. I trusted that those things would improve naturally over time, and honestly, they did.

Practice often happened in community. I’d go to ukulele jams, play for a while, and go home with sore fingers and a full heart. I didn’t have much stamina yet — not physically, and not musically — but I didn’t need it. Getting there was enough.

That version of practice felt free.

But it wasn’t my first relationship with music.

Twenty-five years ago, I was preparing for my senior recital on tuba at Colorado State University — a one-hour performance required to complete my undergraduate degree. My mottos then were Perfect Practice Makes Perfect and Leave No Stone Unturned. I practiced with a metronome, in the dark, isolating difficult measures until muscle memory took over. I played for friends again and again, aiming for precision and control. The goal was perfection — because perfection was the expectation.

That kind of practice did what it needed to do. But it asked for something I don’t have to give anymore.

Now, practice has more shape — and more mindfulness.

I have a much larger setlist to pull from when I sit down to play. Some days are about reps — keeping familiar songs confident and ready. Other days are about maintenance, running pieces so they don’t quietly slip away. Sometimes I work on brand-new, rough songs that aren’t ready for anyone else yet. And sometimes, practice looks like making decisions: building a setlist, adjusting transitions, thinking about how a group of songs will live together in a room.

What’s changed most isn’t the number of songs I know — it’s the intention.

I practice with more awareness now. Of my voice. Of my timing. Of my endurance. I think about flow. I think about what it means to play something well enough to share — even if it isn’t perfect.

As I head into another year, I’m still practicing. Not to arrive anywhere in particular, but to be the best musician I can be.
To keep the songs alive in my hands. To keep listening.

Another year older.
Still practicing.