“If you keep doing what you always done you keep getting what you’ve always gotten. Change will not happen in your life unless you change first”
That same old grip, the same tired tempo, the same setlist scarred into your hands? You’re not playing the song; you’re prisoner to it—repeating the bars like a ghost on a treadmill, wondering why the crowd’s eyes glaze and the bass player shoots you that “again?” glare. If you keep slinging what you’ve always slung, you’ll harvest the same wilted applause: polite nods from the faithful, silence from the souls you could’ve swayed. Change? It ain’t a guest list addition; it’s you kicking the door down first. Swap the paradiddle prison for a polyrhythmic detour. Ditch the dive-bar default for a dawn practice that scares you. The kit doesn’t evolve; you do—or it stays a relic, gathering dust while the music moves on without you. Your life’s the canvas, the canvas the kit: paint over the familiar, or fade into the frame. The first change? Yours. The ripple? The revolution.
Stuck in the same old stomp? You’re not grooving; you’re grinding gears in a ghost parade. Shift the stick, and the march morphs—suddenly, the crowd’s clapping to your chaos.