The Mind Never Stops Learning
Written By: Dan Hetrick CHt.
Just recently, I taught myself how to shuffle a deck of cards. I’m 55 years old. I’ve been playing since about age 5—starting with “Go Fish,” moving into “Slap Jack,” then “Rummy 500.” Later came Hearts, hesitant forays into Blackjack and Poker, countless hours with friends swapping change, chasing flushes and inside straights, and arguing endlessly about whether five wild cards really counted as a hand.
Now you might ask, “In 50 years of cards, you never learned to shuffle?”
Of course I did—riffle, Faro, pile shuffles. As a kid I was fascinated by the beauty and power of a perfect shuffle—how it could intimidate players or add flair to my card tricks. I loved how technique could walk a card through the deck to the exact spot for a dramatic reveal.
“So what do you mean, Dan, when you say you just learned how to shuffle?”
I mean this: In the last week, I learned to do it one-handed. With my right hand. The only hand I have fine motor control over.
On August 14, fourteen years ago, I survived a major stroke to the right hemisphere of my brain. In 45 minutes, I lost about 9 billion brain cells—oxygen-starved, gone forever—leaving the left side of my body severely impaired.
I say “survived” rather than “suffered,” because I’m still here. The stroke was painless, unnoticed until friends pointed out the left side of my face seemed to slide away, numb and lifeless.
Recovery was my crash course in neuroplasticity—the brain’s magical way of rerouting functions. Every day was a discovery: a finger that moved, a nerve that sparked, a step regained. Not everything came back, but enough to walk, to move, to live. I learned to do with one hand what I once did with two.
My return to drumming was inspired by Rick Allen of Def Leppard, who plays with one arm. I mastered the “gravity drop” drum roll with my right hand—indistinguishable to most ears from two.
Every adaptation became a “little victory.” And little victories, stacked over time, become achievements. My favorite compliment: “I didn’t even realize you were playing with one hand until the music stopped.”
Life after stroke has been a constant reminder: the music isn’t over. Each day brings the chance for new victories, for learning old things in new ways.
So after 14 years of being unable to shuffle cards, I can today. One-handed. It’s not perfect, but with practice—and a few games of “52 Pickup”—it’s getting smoother. The snap of the deck coming together is deeply satisfying.
And it occurs to me: this one-handed shuffle is a reminder to all of us—especially hypnotists—that we can learn to do old things in new ways and it's our calling to teach our clients this as well.
If you’re facing an obstacle, perhaps the path isn’t to push harder, but to find a different way. Sometimes hypnosis is the catalyst that helps us discover those little victories… and bring us closer to our goals.
