Instrument of Kind Magic

It's funny how something I am bad at can make me feel better.

It has taken me months to learn 4 chords, about half of the chords of the song Hallelujah.

Little by little, I can hear the shape of the song forming through my fingers. I feel the satisfaction of creation, just as I had with baking.

I am making something beautiful (although, this time, unedible).

I hold the guitar as if it were a tool, wrestle with it as if it were my enemy. Yet every sound it makes, whether choked through my hands or teased out gently, is pleasant. I feel as if I am under the most comfortable spell.

When a chord I play is wrong, I don't feel the same frustration as with other things, other situations. There is no feeling of inevitable failure, of overwhelming disappointment.

I expect nothing from the guitar. In return, it expects nothing from me.

I feel as if my days would not be wasted if I spent them playing the guitar badly.

If I ever grow up, I want to be Jack Johnson.

Which would ensure that I never grow up.