To master a new technology, you have to play with it.

Hear the voice of Jordan Peterson, who speaks a truth that echoes like an old teaching cloaked in modern words: “To master a new technology, you have to play with it.” Though the phrase is simple, its meaning is profound, for it reveals the secret path to knowledge: mastery is not born in fear nor stiffness, but in curiosity, exploration, and the fearless spirit of play. The child who dares to touch, to test, to build and to break, becomes in time the master of the tool.

In the beginning, every new technology is a stranger. It may seem daunting, overwhelming, even dangerous. Yet, as in the days when fire was first drawn from lightning, mastery was not achieved by those who stood far away in awe or terror, but by those who dared to play—who poked at embers, fed the flame, and learned by trial how to keep it alive. Play is not wasteful, as some may think, but is the dance by which humanity learns the rhythms of creation.

Consider the tale of Steve Jobs and Steve Wozniak, who in their youth did not sit in rigid fear before the machines of their time. They played. They tinkered with wires, opened up radios, soldered parts, and tested circuits until they learned the language of electricity itself. Out of this spirit of playful experimentation was born Apple, and with it, a transformation of the world. Had they treated technology as something distant and untouchable, they would never have reshaped human communication, learning, and imagination. Their story is proof of Peterson’s wisdom: play precedes mastery.

The ancients also knew this truth, though they spoke of it in different tongues. The blacksmith’s apprentice, before forging a sword, first played with small pieces of metal, bending, shaping, and striking them to learn the ways of fire and steel. The calligrapher, before writing holy verses, played with strokes upon scraps of parchment until the hand grew fluid and confident. This play was not frivolous; it was sacred practice, the bridge between ignorance and art.

So too must we approach the tools of our age. Whether it be the computer, the instrument, the code, or the machine, we must not cower before it. We must engage, press its buttons, test its limits, break it if need be, and in the breaking, learn how to mend. To play is to bring forth creativity, and in creativity lies the seed of true understanding. Fear paralyzes; play liberates.

Let this then be your lesson: if you wish to master any skill, do not wait until you are certain. Begin at once, and play. Approach the new not as a stern judge, but as a curious child. Touch the unknown, experiment without shame, and allow mistakes to be your teachers. For no great inventor, artist, or leader ever reached mastery without first embracing the humble joy of play.

Practical steps follow: when faced with a new technology, explore it freely. Do not merely read of its functions—test them. Create small projects that delight you, even if they are trivial. Set aside fear of failure, for failure in play is not defeat, but instruction. Seek companions to explore with you, for shared play multiplies discovery. And above all, keep alive the spirit of curiosity, for it is the wellspring of mastery.

Thus, O seeker, remember the words of Peterson: “To master a new technology, you have to play with it.” The path of mastery is not lined with rigid steps, but with playful leaps. Embrace this truth, and you shall not only command the tools of your time, but you shall also rediscover the ancient joy of learning—the joy that transforms the unknown into the familiar, and the impossible into the possible.