You Can't Buy Skill

In Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist, a shepherd named Santiago keeps dreaming of treasure hidden at the Egyptian Pyramids. He sells his sheep, sails to Africa, gets robbed, and crosses the desert, only to be beaten by refugees at the Pyramids. Then one of them tells Santiago about his own dream: a treasure buried beneath a sycamore at an abandoned church in Spain.

Santiago realizes the treasure is buried where his journey began.

Life gives us plenty of journeys like this. We go searching for a hidden treasure—a skill, a goal, a desire—only to learn, after trials and tribulations, that the answer was where it all began: with us, within us.

That's how practical shooting went for me.

It's a vicious circle. You start out trying to get better, and somewhere along the way you take what looks like a shortcut: gear. You try to buy yourself skill.

One platform, then another, deluding ourselves that the next one will put fast, effective rounds on target.

I'm convinced the firearms world hands this journey to everyone who decides shooting will be more than a casual craft. For the few of us, it becomes a lifelong obsession: the pursuit of being the best, for competition or for the mission.

I modified everything. Triggers, barrels, holsters, magazines, magwells, optics. Lighter, more "ergonomic" guns, and much heavier ones. The lighter the trigger, the better; it was all about competition.

I told myself it was for good reasons: to become a better, more responsible shooter. When that didn't work, some of us took a destructive turn and tested more gear. Who knows what treasure the next piece might hold?

It was all lies.

Years ago, a good friend—a world champion shooter—convinced me to drop everything and stick with a regular Glock. Best decision I ever made.

I've had access to wonderful equipment for years. My go-to is still the most basic gear you'll find.

The whole game is raw skill: handling almost anything you're given. Yes, focus on your preferred platform. But mastering shooting means doing well with anything you put in your hands.

If you're just starting out and you've caught the bug, you already know this is for you. Whatever your circumstances, you won't stop. Dry fire is something you look forward to every day.

I'd say 99.8 percent of firearm owners don't know what dry fire is. The ones who do would rather get a root canal than do it, let alone call it training.

But that's exactly what it is: training.

My best advice: try a lot of things, find what works, and stick with it. Keep it simple. Don't fall into the gear trap. The best shooters do exactly that. They stick to the meat and potatoes.

If you fall into it anyway, don't worry. Stick with it, and you'll come to the same realization as the rest of us: true skill isn't hidden in gear or gimmick courses. You build it yourself, through hard work and practice, like everything else in life.

And like Santiago, you'll find the answer was always where you began: simple equipment and a willingness to practice forever.