Trending
You've heard the clichés. "Age is just a number." "You're as old as you feel." "Age is a state of mind." And on and on.
So, to fend off Father Time, I decided to stimulate my aging brain and take up a new and challenging hobby. I have always wanted to play a musical instrument. But since the opportunity did not present itself as a child, I decided to learn how to play the guitar.
I had visions of siƫng around the campfire playing some songs from the 70s while others sang along. Just a casual commitment. I had no intention of playing in coffee shops or joining a band. How hard could it be? I would soon find out.
My adventure began with a purchase of a beginner's Epiphone acoustic guitar complete with a case, accessories and self-instruction books. Since I couldn't read music and did not want to devote time to learning it, I bought music books for guitar based on tabIature, or "tab" which is a simpler system that indicates where to place your fingers on the guitar fretboard to form chords. Easy peasy. I was ready to begin.
My daily practice routine included pentatonic scale exercises for finger dexterity, learning new chords, finger picking and playing basic songs. Calluses on my fingertips formed as a defense against tenderness and pain from pressing on nylon guitar strings.
While I was making slow progress trying to teach myself, it was time to seek out individual instruction. I signed up for lessons with a local guitar teacher who came highly recommended by a nearby music store.
Kevin was a flower child from the 60s. Perfect! This guy will know my kind of music. When I brought my music book containing Eagles songs, he frowned and said, "I don't know any of this music. I spent 10 years in South America during those years." Although I was disappointed, I decided to see what direction the lessons would take.
We started with an easy song like "Row, Row, Row Your Boat." But as I followed the tab and strummed the appropriate strings, Kevin said, "You have to sing. You can't play guitar without singing."
I told him that I could not sing. In fact, when I did sing at home with no one around, I could hear the neighbor dogs howling in protest. No way was I going to sing.
Kevin said, "You have to sing. You have that Joan Baez look."
Looking like Joan Baez and singing like Joan Baez are two different things. I did not return to the class.
Over five years of devoting myself to various methods of instruction and practice, I decided the guitar was not meant for me. Perhaps I lacked the natural rhythm and dexterity required to be proficient. Or maybe I was not willing to devote the time necessary to acquire them. So, I did the dreaded thing. I gave up!
Do I regret quitting? Occasionally, maybe. However, I hear music differently and experience it at a higher level now. I understand harmonies, rhythms, melodies. I can replace the guitar strings and even tune it. I know what a capo does and how to use it.
Although my original goal did not pan out, I acquired something totally different but just as valuable. A greater appreciation and understanding of music.
I'm not getting any younger and I still find ways to challenge myself. In fact, I recently joined a community singing group. Joan Baez would be proud of me.