The Midlife Crisis with a Reverse Headstock

At sixty-something, most reasonable men take up golf, cultivate an aggressive opinions-on-lawn-care personality, or quietly learn to bake sourdough. Me? Six years ago, I decided the time was ripe to strap on an electric guitar, plug into an amp, and publicly suffer through the blues.

It has been a gloriously humbling journey. Between navigating some heavy family and health struggles, playing guitar has become my primary form of therapy, catharsis, and hyper-fixation. It gets me through the dark stuff, even if my hands occasionally act like they’ve never met a pentatonic scale before.

Lately, I’ve hit a brand-new level of absurdity: I’ve officially become a Gibson Firebird fanboy. I’m currently offloading a few lovely, expensive guitars I acquired during an embarrassing tone-chasing phase just so I can “focus.” I own a vintage Firebird, but I’m too terrified of snapping its neck to actually play it hard. So, I’ve got a used, bright-red Firebird on the way. The plan? Make it my signature gigging axe. It’s loud, it’s red, and it’s impossible to ignore—much like an old guy clinging to a dream.

I absolutely love the blues—the deep history, the dusty forgotten legends, and the jaw-dropping young prodigies on the internet who tear through solos effortlessly while looking like they’re waiting for a bus. Meanwhile, I’m over here trying to grasp music theory while attempting to converse with "real" musicians who look at my lack of scale knowledge with open, polite contempt.

To document this circus, I run a YouTube channel (@blusicianmusic). Between buying new hats and swapping gear, I’m essentially playing high-stakes dress-up. But my biggest technical hurdle isn't my picking speed—it's my face. When the camera turns on, I get the intense, frozen stare of a man trying to land a commercial airliner. I literally cannot smile and play at the same time. Add the grueling hours spent editing videos nobody asked for, and I’m seriously questioning if YouTube belongs in my workflow at all.

Yet, against all odds, I love performing. I discovered I can actually sing—even if I’m still figuring out my true range—and I live for playing to a crowd. My favorite recurring gig is at a local senior facility doing memory care entertainment. I’m almost positive I’m the lowest-paid vendor on their books, and I don't care one bit. I also land about 1 in 5 private gig RFPs from online musician profiles, which gives me just enough time to panic-practice before hitting the stage.

I’m just an old guy who took six decades to finally find himself, complete with a red guitar, a hat, and a whole lot of heart. If a guy like me can step out of his comfort zone and make a glorious noise, you can do whatever it is you've been putting off, too.

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