It felt good. I always feel good when I pick up and strum out a few songs - something about it is relaxing and fun. The effect is magnified when I haven't played for a while. You can imagine how euphoric it was when I got home from my mission, after 2 years of playing almost no guitar. To a lesser degree that's how I felt Saturday.
I started playing guitar when I was 12 years old. My family and I were visiting the home of my oldest sister and her husband, Sean. Most of us were sick as dogs that week, so we were all bumming around their house, finding ways to amuse ourselves in between the horrible puking sessions. It was a day or two into this that I saw Sean's guitar. Just a simple acoustic, but it caught my attention; so I dinked around with it a bit. Sean saw me messing with it, and he offered to show me how this cool instrument was played. Being a young boy who had a habit of listening to Boston's Greatest Hits and wishing he could rock like that, I readily accepted. And that's where a deep-rooted passion began for me. I don't know that I've ever properly thanked Sean for that. He gave me something priceless that day.
A couple years later, I eventually got a guitar of my own, and I practiced tirelessly. Which, for me, is incredible. I'm not the kind of guy that applies himself to rigorous, daily training in..well, almost anything. I'm generally pretty content to get by being okay at things on minimal effort. But something drove me in learning to play the guitar. The better I got, the more I enjoyed it.
Eventually, I got to put my skills to work. My younger brother, two friends and I started a rock band together. We practiced a lot, played a few shows. It was during that time that I began songwriting. I... well, I've never considered myself a poetic person. I feel like I slip over my words constantly. I have trouble expressing myself to others. But I found I could do that in songwriting. It was...quite a release, actually. It's hard work, definitely. But I rarely feel as accomplished as I do after I finish a song that I have labored over and struggled with for days upon days. Those days in the band, writing music and just enjoying the whole experience of "music making" are some of the fondest memories I have in my life.
So why did this all come back to me on a Satuday morning while I played guitar (a bit rustily, I might add)? My bandmate Pace and his wife April moved up to Rexburg that day. I didn't actually remember that when I picked up that guitar. But apparently, my subconscious decided I should properly celebrate the occasion. That Saturday, my mind, my hands, and a six-string had something to sing about.
Oh...and Sean: thank you.
You are a great guitarist man keep it up!
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