Measure of Desire

I got a guitar for Christmas. I was quite surprised by the gift, though I’d been talking for months about wanting to learn a few chords so I could write music on something other than a piano. Apparently, my wife and mother, the two-woman cabal responsible for engineering this surprise, had been listening. Getting the guitar was great, but there is the issue of learning to play it. In my mind, I had believed it would be easy, though experience had already taught me otherwise.

I tried learning 30-some years ago. My mom had played since I was a child, and I told her I wanted to also, so she sat me down with her acoustic and told me where to start. It was frustrating and painful. I’d taught myself plenty of things and was used to frustration, but not so much pain. It’s the strings, you see. You have to press them hard against the neck of the guitar with the tips of your fingers to get a clean note. Our fingers are not naturally built for guitar-playing; they must develop callouses through some hours of uncomfortable practicing. I quit after 20 minutes of this torture.

I am happy to report that I am typing this with fingers already developing the dulled sensation of toughened skin. Either that, or I’ve done some irreparable harm. I believe it to be the former, however, and look forward to another 30 minutes of painful but interesting practice later today. It is also frustrating, by the way. Should you lightly touch the A string with your finger on the E string the chord will sound like crap. My daughter jokingly challenged me to learn the opening riff to Smoke on The Water, which I did, so that’s at least something.

Still, pain and frustration will likely be my practice companions for a little while longer. They are helpful, I suppose, as a measure of one’s desire. It was a desire strong enough to attract the attention of gift-givers, and strong enough still to lead me back to the guitar case, though I remain aware of what awaits me once I resume practicing. Strange, I keep thinking it won’t hurt so much this time. I am so far always wrong, though one day I won’t be, though I’ll hardly notice because I’ll just be playing.

If you like the ideas and perspectives expressed here, feel free to contact me about individual coaching and group workshops.

William KenowerWRiting, learning, music, desireComment