Get great with bad gear

I learned to play guitar on a hunk of plywood with action high enough to fit a phone book between string and fretboard. I remember feeling embarrassed whenever I opened my gig bag at jam sessions, pulling out my eBay-caster with the sanded-off brand name ("Maxine"), surrounded as I was by wealthy middle-class bandmates with Fenders and Gibsons.

But the embarrassment only lasted until I played those first few runs, fast little triplets and sweeps, and it became abundantly clear that I was a good guitarist - great, even, and in spite of my gear, not because of it.

As a child I had bad gear out of necessity, not choice, but even into adult life I've adopted the mantra as a personal belief: good gear is a privilege that needs to be earned, and I start all of my hobbies and interests with basic gear.

Today it is easier to buy than do; easier to exchange money for the possibility of doing something amazing than to actually go and do something amazing; easier to buy an £800 MIA American-made Telecaster than it is to sit and practice scales for 3-hours a day.

Getting great with shit gear is a commitment to skill and practice, the inverse of "all the gear and no idea." It minimizes the cost of abandoning new hobbies, and it builds a real appreciation for good gear when it's eventually earned.