Back in the day for me was a great time in my life - I was in my

In these words of Herbie Hancock, we hear the melody of youth, the forging of identity, and the guiding presence of a teacher. He speaks of his twenties not as a fleeting decade, but as a crucible of transformation. It is in those years, he says, that one develops one’s own way, one’s own sound, one’s own identity. And for him, this path unfolded under the gaze of a master—Miles Davis, whose genius became both compass and fire, shaping Hancock into one of the great voices of music. Thus, his memory of “back in the day” is not mere nostalgia, but a recognition of the sacred period when life’s deepest roots take hold.

The origin of this reflection lies in the universal truth of becoming. The twenties are an age between unformed youth and mature mastery, a time when energy surges and possibilities spread wide. It is when one dares to experiment, to fall, to rise again, to risk the forging of something wholly new. For Hancock, this meant not just playing notes, but discovering his voice within the grand symphony of jazz. Guided by Miles Davis, he learned that to create was not to imitate but to find the sound that only he could bring forth. Thus, the twenties became his “great time,” a season of awakening.

History offers us echoes of this truth. Consider Alexander the Great, who by his twenties had already carved an empire that reshaped the ancient world. His conquests were not only of lands, but of self—each campaign refining his courage, his strategy, his vision. Or consider Mary Shelley, who in her twenties gave the world Frankenstein, a work born of bold imagination that redefined literature itself. Like Hancock, their youth was not idle wandering, but a stage of fiery discovery, where their identities crystallized into enduring legacies.

There is also within Hancock’s words the reminder of the teacher’s role. No greatness flourishes in isolation. Miles Davis, a titan of jazz, became the elder who challenged, provoked, and nurtured. The teacher does not hand identity to the student but draws it forth, like a sculptor chipping away at stone to reveal the figure hidden within. In every age, the presence of such mentors is the difference between wasted potential and enduring brilliance.

The ancients knew this rhythm well: the disciple learning at the feet of the master, the apprentice absorbing the ways of the elder artisan, the warrior learning under the seasoned general. Hancock’s remembrance is not only of his youth but of the lineage of wisdom, how one generation shapes the next, and how, in turn, the student must one day become the teacher. To ignore this chain is to lose the inheritance of human greatness.

From this, let us draw a lesson: do not waste your twenties, nor any season of life, in aimless wandering. Seek out the mentors who challenge you, who see in you what you cannot yet see in yourself. And when you find your own sound, your own path, do not hide it—let it sing, let it shape the world around you. For identity is not discovered in comfort, but in striving, in struggle, in daring to stand apart.

Practical actions flow from this wisdom: in youth, be bold, experiment, and learn with humility. In maturity, become the teacher, lifting others as you were lifted. Never forget that greatness is a shared melody, composed across generations. If you are young, search for your Miles Davis; if you are seasoned, strive to be that Miles Davis for another.

Thus, when Herbie Hancock speaks of his twenties with reverence, he offers more than memory—he offers a teaching. The years of youth are a sacred furnace, where identity is tempered by experience and mentorship. Treasure them, use them well, and remember: the sound you discover in that season may echo through all the ages to come.