The Hills Are Alive

I'm learning how to play guitar.

It is an ugly, ugly thing. My fingers are sore. No. Sore is an understatement.

They hurt like hell. Even as I type. Particularly because I'm typing.

I can play Smoke on the Water in the wrong key and one string at a time, which is an accomplishment. A major accomplishment.

The Honey asked me why I wanted to learn to play guitar... As I watched him go through song after song, doing with several notes what I can barely do with one finger on one fret. It's interesting, learning how to play. I haven't quite figured out what this will mean for me. Will I learn to be better and bust out the guitar when my musician friends start playing around? Will I start my own band? Will I just fiddle with the guitar in home only and around close friends? I don't know. Is this my third life crisis? I started knitting when I was 28. I start guitar now that I'm 34. What will I start 6 years from now?

Is there something about getting old that leads us to reinventing ourselves? I know that I'm not always happy with who I am. I want to change. My hair, the languages I know, my sense of style, my "fount" of knowledge, etc. There is almost an aching need to know more, to move past the old boundaries that existed in my mind. I sang karaoke for the first time, although sing might not quite be the word. I'd like to convince myself that my cold was to blame, but who am I kidding? The thing is, I did it. I embarrassed myself in front of a room full of children and it was liberating. I felt invincible. Now, another goal is before me and I can only respond to the sound of music.

Oh, and it doesn't hurt that I actually know what fret means now.