A ski accident had brought me to this place. My left arm and shoulder were immobilized and
for the next couple of months I could only move my left hand – the rest of my
arm had to stay in place to heal. Forget
skiing - I could no longer practice yoga, write my book, use a keyboard …. My new wardrobe consisted of baggy button-down shirts. It was a time of
deep distress for me until I saw that my left arm – slung in a perpetually
raised position - looked like I should be holding
the neck of a guitar.
I have wanted to play the guitar for a very long time; to be
that person who was making the music instead of listening with admiration and singing
along as my brother strummed with abandon and friends played Crosby Stills
songs around the fireplace. Many years
had passed and I never followed through on my desire. My inner dialogue went something like this… Only certain people have musical talent, and
I am not one of them. The other side
of me said… I should turn this accident around and learn to play the guitar. I
hesitated, full of self-doubt, … Will I be able to do this? I don’t even know
how to read music. Yet, after the
initial idea, my mind kept coming back to it strongly enough to make the three-and-a-half-hour
trip to a guitar store in Phoenix and spend the money.
At the music store I turned myself over to the guitar sage,
who sized up my arm situation and led me to a rack of ¾ sized Martin guitars. Lifting down the one with the prettiest wood
pattern, I saw that guitars have only six strings, which I took as a good sign
for someone with no musical training. How hard could it be to learn six strings,
I asked myself. Playing a musical
instrument would be totally new for me, but the expert at the store assured me
that I did not have to know how to read music, “Here is a music book with chords
– you’ll be playing songs within days.”
I resolved my doubts by telling myself, with so many people on this earth playing the guitar, how hard can it
really be?
It was so hard it nearly broke my brain. But I kept at it every day, torturing Glen in
the winter and the animals in our yard when it got warm enough to play in the
sunshine. Soon, three chord songs like “Sloop John B” did not satisfy - I wanted more. The songs I wanted to sing were more complex and required individual music notes as well as chords. I needed to learn
to read music, a new language for me.
Learning that language is arguably harder for guitarists because any given note on the guitar can be played
on different strings of the instrument. I also needed to know the most
efficient way to play the note and then transition fast enough to the next note
so that it sounded like real music. During
those wobbly first months my fingertips bled, and I despaired more about my
music than my lack of arm function.
At the beginning the challenge of learning to play the
guitar seemed too much; there were daily low-lows, occasional middle-middles
and rare high-highs. Oh the elation when I could play a decent Southern Cross.
I have been playing guitar for over a year now, and it is still
hard. On my worse days, when I finger
the wrong string or forget to play the sharp, I console myself that a year ago,
I couldn't have done this. On my best
days, I close my eyes and sing along with so much heart that nothing else
matters but those three and a half minutes of flowing music.
