Back to basics

Anything worth doing well is worth doing badly until you get better

It’s been too long since I picked up my guitar. Actual years will show my age, but suffice to say I haven’t played much since airlines stopped allowing water on flights. My guitar became a piece of furniture in the corner – a monument to a simpler time when I could play without fear of critique or the burden of the question ‘do you write songs?’ There was something so confrontational about that question. If I answered yes, would you want to hear them? If I answered no, would you think less of me as a musician? Why did it matter?

The guitar was put in the corner and only whipped out when needed. I had started to play only when required to, only in public – and the secret enjoyment of playing for myself took second place to validation and identity as ‘the muso’. Music became a commodity and at times a chore. I felt bad about no longer playing, and the longer I left it the harder it was – until it became almost foreign to hold it. I had an awkward relationship with my instruments – they helped define me, and yet they restricted me. I played only in public – pulling a stranger out of the case and faking familiarity. The secret artistic outlet suffered. A lot.

I wished that I wanted to play, because then I’d play. In my mind I constantly harked back to being a young musician and playing for hours, with no evaluation – just joy and desire. That had dissipated years before and I sat in regret, without it occurring to me that desire might come after a little persistence and that a creative outlet might lead to some much needed change in my life. For a self disciplined person, I’m a little slow in this area of self-regulation.

So I reached into the dusty case this week and tuned this now unfamiliar instrument. To sit? to stand? to walk around and play? I wanted to feel out the instrument again, examine its nuances and see what a new room did to the acoustics – without fear of critique or even validation. It felt strange at first – forced – and a little inconvenient to my tender fingers. Just a little persistence – you’ve got nothing to lose… Then it became a little primal – a little back to basics. Not a great tone, not a clear strum. Not a polished sound by any means.

But it was all me – and a few lyrics came. Maybe I’ll share them one day. Maybe I’ll even like them. But in a poignant moment, letting the guitar breathe let me breathe again. It’s not about whether it’s world-class or even audience-worthy. It’s cathartic – this permission to play without duty or care. And if it comes to anything grand, that’ll be nice, but it’s not essential. And always, I’ll remember that anything worth doing well is worth doing badly until you get better.