Near 40th and Medical Parkway, on the second story of a building not-so-new is a small studio. A method for teaching classical guitar--Childbloom--is offered there. It’s not giving too much away to reveal the very first lesson. How to hold the guitar, and how to walk the forefinger and the middle finger against the first string. The child learns a song--one note, one open string—the very first day: “I like peanut butter. I like peanut butter.”

Fire lights the child’s face. The student is on his or her way. A routine is established. Along with the rest of life, the soccer, the Nintendo, reading Wayside School, there is a guitar lesson on Tuesday afternoon and an irregular pattern of practice. The kid gradually learns a complex skill.

When adults take on something new, the teacher starts in the middle. Assumes you’ve been around awhile, that you can skip steps. The student expects to be Yo Yo Ma. To learn to speak Korean in just six weeks. To apply paint like van Gogh. To make a quilt without a teacher. Most feel like failures well before the end of a year.

Grown-ups could stand to give themselves more time, say, four or seven years, and take pleasure in the learning.

And grown-ups need small steps with immediate successes just like children do. “I like peanut butter. I like peanut butter.”