Pretty in Pink

I've been "playing" the guitar for about 4 months now. I only know 3 chords and one song that consists of 18 picked notes repeated over. I'm not very good, needless to say. Last night after my failed attempt at writing some awe-inspiring genius for this very blog, I picked up my pink electric beauty. I carefully traced my finger along her curves, admiring her, wanting to make the beautiful music for which she was meant. I wanted to miraculously be able to play and not hear the buzz of the strings from my inexperience. I so badly wanted to close my eyes and let my fingers effortlessly dance over the strings in a blur of perfection. That didn't happen. I wasn't suddenly imparted with knowledge and talent that people work at for years.

It was just me. Angela Riley: amateur guitarist.

All my flaws were blatantly exposed. I couldn't run from them. I couldn't pretend they weren't there. I stared into the eyes of my inadequacies, but for some strange reason, I was so comfortable behind that amazing piece of musical equipment. All my uneasiness and awkwardness of the past four months faded away. And this time as I started to strum, it wasn't too bad. My fingers found the chords more naturally than before. It was easier than last time, noticeably so. Finally, I feel like I am making progress. It definitely didn't happen over night; it was actually work! (Who knew?) But last night, it was worth every blister, every frustration along the way. And even if that sense of immense satisfaction only lasted a few brief moments (precisely 18 picked notes), I know there will be more. I'm so looking forward to that!

Medocrity in Music

I picked up my guitar again last night after not playing for a few weeks. My fingers are a little sore, so typing this is a bit difficult (not to mention I pinched my finger in a pair of scissors). I didn't make it very far before I gave into the pain and decided to play the harmonica instead. You can't go wrong with "Amazing Grace", right? (It reminded me of the visions of the old soulful man playing his prized posession as he sits in a jail cell, dingy blue overalls, pouring out all he had left with every blow and draw of the tiny instrument. Hope fading as the sun sets across the yard, yet each note bringing a certain peace. Even though his physical prison will last the rest of his life, his soul is forever free. Amazing Grace. How sweet the sound.)

At any rate, music doesn't come as easy for me as for some, but I'm still trying, foraging the foreign forest in a rather feeble attempt at creating something wonderful. Maybe one day I will really be good at it. I would love that. For now, all I can do is try. I enjoy it, but sometimes it is rather frustrating. (Perhaps that is why so many, including myself, enjoy Guitar Hero. We BECOME a part of the music without having to know anything or have any special talent.) I am so far from reaching any kind of guitar goals, yet that is on my list of things to do. So I'll keep trekking, keep wandering aimlessly through the fields of amatuerity and mediocrity until I stumble upon something extraordinary. Although way too far in the future to predict, I know it is there. Somewhere. Somehow. Someday. But today, I have to hope for that, dream for that, work for that. I can't quit today. I have so much more to offer, even if it is only mediocre.