Learning: the wisdom of the past passed forward; a bit of a time machine where we study the actions that made something happen in order to make it happen again. We learn, and then use that knowledge to learn more, our brains like… sourdough starter. And we don’t invent the things we’re learning - they are what we call established knowledge, tried and true, often of deep import like driving, or the instructions on a box cake.
But then, ah then, there is air guitar.
For me, it’s all Jack White, but you might prefer, let me see, Guns and Roses? Perhaps you’re an air piano player, smashing the break on a Little Richard track or unable to keep your fingers still when you hear Billy Joel opening “Only The Good Die Young”. No? How about a Mick Jagger croon of “She’s So Cold”, or Adele, or Aretha Franklin? A sassy R-E-S-P-E-C-T where you lean kinda forward, invisible microphone in your hand.
We have all performed an air instrument of some kind, but we never went to an air guitar class. Nobody teaches us how to pretend to be rock stars, just like they didn’t offer tutorials in pretending to be superheroes or animals or corporate executives.
So where do we learn how to imagine? ‘Cause back there a little bit ago I forgot how to do it right for a while. I could only imagine the worst of everything. I mean, the easiest dream, the lottery, right? I thought about taxes, and then not getting too flashy a car because somebody might steal it, and then how I’d finally be able to afford one of those full body MRIs – just to make sure, y’know…
Imagination done poorly.
Imagination, in the beginning, is paired with play: action without lasting consequence or even specific direction, where it doesn’t matter how high you fly because you haven’t learned that air thins and gets super cold the higher you go so you’ll definitely need a jacket and probably some kind of scuba gear which will be heavy and probably get frost all over it and THERE I GO AGAIN.
Adulthood, pulling imagination away from play and putting it on the shelf with The Odds, where we become, each of us, a beleaguered Han Solo demanding that C3PO stop telling him why he can’t fly though the asteroid field. That’s us, as adults, flying wild, LOGIC just over our shoulder, blathering on about how historically this hasn’t ever worked and there’s really no obvious reason that it should this time… You think since that voice is trapped in your head with you it would be a little more encouraging regarding the safety of it’s home, but like C3PO it keeps hammering away, like a scorpion on the back of a frog.
As kids we imagine and it’s all about the moment, not the future. Not about what might happen. Imagination was the point – that is what we were doing. Playing. Imagining. Having fun.
So to find my way back, I started having fun again. My gateway was Mattel Electronics Football II. The green one, with the ability to pass. If you haven't heard of it, it’s a handheld game from 1978 with three rows of 10 red LEDs, which light up either bright or dim – the goal is to move the 1 bright light down the field avoiding the dimmer lights. It’s amazing, because when you get sacked there’s this beeping sound and when you kick the ball it trills that melody you always hear before somebody yells “CHARGE!”.
My daughter caught me playing it and thought I was insane. I explained it to her, in detail, and she thought I was insane. I tried to put it in time / space context, described the state of digital entertainment in my childhood.
“Those are just lights.” she said, somewhat mirthlessly, yet still with a smile on her face.
“Yeah, I know, I know, but in my head it’s a whole football team. You kinda have to imagine it.”
“All the fun part’s in your head.” she said.
Mouths of babes, right?
I learned to imagine by watching others and reading books, but mostly by playing and making mistakes, particularly when studying something like guitar or drawing… something unexpected happened, and then I kind of went with it to see what would happen next, and before long there was a pattern, then a song, born not of intellect but mostly because no-one had ever made the exact same mistake before, and there was no lasting consequence, no specific direction. That’s probably why it’s called playing an instrument.
Now I keep myself surrounded by yo-yos and bubbles and tops and playing cards, and most importantly my guitar, which I don’t mind practicing, or making mistakes on. Although I fully understand that I’m probably never gonna play this beautiful piece of wood and metal as well as I can shred on my sweet, sweet axe made completely out of oxygen. Honestly, it’s pretty impressive. And not one single lesson.
Learning to Fly