Why I Recommend Guitar

  January marks six months since I began playing guitar. I am in no way proficient yet. I'm not even good. But I am better; better than I was three months ago or even three weeks ago. It is a process I am glad to have stuck with for benefits and lessons from it I hadn't been aware of the first time I picked up Mom's old '89 Martin.

  I started playing at the end of last July. Actually, now that I look back, I realize that my motives for starting weren't all that healthy.

  I got back from a short one week trip to find that life had exploded while I was gone. When I got home, expecting to rest from that week, I found that it was the opposite - that those past seven days had been restful. Comparatively, at least. I was offered no break, no explanation from life, just thrust into the midst of a situation that had finally reached a breaking point.

  I'm not all that good at conflict. I've put many hours of thought into how I deal with it, and learned that I handle it one of two ways:

    1.) I hide. It's not a "I-hope-nobody-sees-me-in-this-hole" kind of hiding. It's a mask, the idea that maybe if I act my part well, no one will think to ask what's wrong.

    2.) I explode. I end up saying hurtful and not-too-well thought out things that I don't mean. I upset the people I love the most. I always regret my lack of filter after it's too late, because words said can never be taken back.

  In this particular case, it was the first. The first time I heard a song and thought, "I could play this," I simultaneously thought, "Oh look! It's something to hide behind! No one can accuse me of retreating when I'm so obviously being productive!" This may not make sense, but when you're a person who needs far too much time to think through and understand things, privacy is something of the greatest value. Add a load of pain and confusion to the situation and it just becomes that much messier.

  So I picked up guitar. It was my escape, the only one in view. I retreated to music - as I often have - to tell me what to think, to try to make sense of the emotions and motives that swirled around in my mind. I played until my fingers bled, and when I found out that you couldn't chord with band-aids, I pulled them off and kept playing. I felt like if it hurt, it had to be a good thing, because so many other things in my life were hurting, and people kept telling me they were good.

  It's strange to look back and see just how little self-esteem I had at that point. Though I have slowly reached a healthier view of myself, those feelings of self-hatred were very real. It wasn't so much that I wanted to be hurt, only that I felt like I deserved it. I resented God for not resenting me, His was the only love I could never disprove to myself. In public I said the right words, in private I cried over those same words that felt like lead in my mouth. I was tired. I was bewildered. I was angry.

  And through all of it, I kept playing. I found that I had begun to improve, that real skill was slowly but surely replacing clumsy efforts. Most of all, the songs were changing. I didn't want to pity myself any longer. I didn't want to be angry at people who weren't affected by how I felt. I wanted to talk about struggling and depression and messing up, but I didn't want to stay there. There was a light at the end of my tunnel. There's a lyric by Switchfoot that glibly suggests, "If we're adding to the noise, turn off this song." I heard that song. I listened to that song. I didn't want to stay where I was. I needed to move on, past the chaos of my situation, past the chaos of my own mind.

  What changed? Well for one, I got right with God. When I knew for sure that He was always backing me in my endeavors to change and to realize my own potential, it gave me the determination to do those things. But another thing that I think had a huge effect on me was simply playing my guitar. I learned what a beautiful form of self-expression it is. I started putting my own thoughts and feelings into words and melodies, instead of only mouthing what other people had written. I worked hard, and had the satisfaction of seeing it pay off. I grew in confidence in my ability, and I discovered an entirely new purpose for music. Yes, music can drag you down. But it can also be the rope that keeps you from falling. It connects us to each other with a magic we cannot understand. It shows us a life beyond ourselves, it brings us to realizations, it slips around our biases and opinions. It brings hope. It brings joy, genuine joy. And best of all, I was now a part of that magic. I was connected in soul with my fellow humans. Soul, which is our constant and only commonality. I was able to worship or to weep, knowing that no matter what form the outcome took, it would be beautiful. This was me. This was what I was capable of creating. These ties that draw us together, through the boundaries that push us apart.

  As I look back, I see how my motive has changed. I am no longer hiding behind this six-stringed wooden instrument, I am using it to attract attention. I am not trying to be quiet, I want to be loud. I want to shake the world up! I want to be around people who do. Music is something outside of myself, something directly from God, something that I am vastly privileged to be part of.

  I am not a proficient human. I'm not even a good one. But I'm better. Better than I was three months ago, or even three weeks ago.

  You see, the greatest secret of music is not its beauty, it's not how it draws us together, it's not its entertainment value or anything else of the sort. Music has the power to inspire - the greatest power any of the arts possess. The songs themselves are not changing me, but they are showing me how to change. It is a path I continually strive to follow: one toward beauty, toward acceptance, toward God. As I look back on the past six months I see that not one day of it was pointless. Though I couldn't see it then, it was a journey - it is a journey. Just as a song swells and fades, so does life. And just like a song, we all seek that eventual crescendo, the climax, the completion, when all the loose ends will be tied up. Unlike a song however, when the conclusion of our life comes, when that final note rings - it is only the beginning.

~Margaret