Hippies Use Backdoor

I was taught how to play the guitar about 12 years ago by an old rock-star from London. He was a tall skinny man with long ratted hair and weathered fingers. I can still remember him handing over his full-sized electric guitar to my tiny 6 year-old self. It seemed huge at the time, heavy, and the strings hurt my fingers horribly. That was lesson number one.

Many fond memories are attached to those old steel strings and wooden body. Even my memories of playing from my home-on-wheels (’68 bug) are pleasant. There have been three guitars in my life and all three represent very different stages.

The first one was a little Wally-World guitar. It was a right-handed acoustic that we restrung for my lefty-self. I had it from the time I was 6 until I was 12. That was a hard period for my parents. They had recently divorced and between crazy lovers and finding new ground they were both struggling. It was the 90’s, and I was a badass in a Hanson cover band.

After skipping the 8th grade my grandpa sent me “congrats” money and I purchased a larger guitar, still a righty, still cheap, but to me the most beautiful thing. It was mine until I was 16. Those four years were definitely a challenge. To sum it up quickly: I partied too hard, drank too much, took too many pills. My parents were over-bearing and I was a brat.

Around my junior year I finally settled down. I finally met some friends who were actually decent people. We were a group of seven. So tightly bound, anyone could tell you we had something special. I’ll save the rest about that for a later post… But we were all musicians.

The spring of my junior year my friend M and I went out to get new guitars. Unfortunately I was currently supporting myself financially and could not afford it. I’m really lucky come to think of it. One of the guys in our group, A, worked at the guitar shop. He and the rest of the guys picked out my guitar while I was at work and J paid the down-payment for me. They were all supportive, and caring, that’s how we were. Without them I wouldn’t be where I am and I certainly wouldn’t have this guitar.

M and I wound up getting Art & Lutherie guitars. Same model, hers a righty, mine a southpaw. Both in a beautiful deep cedar. I can’t not think about M or the group when I play. Even after our group split up due to… unfortunate events … I still found/find great comfort in my new guitar.

The next year J was gone for the military and everyone else had moved away. That fall/winter I essentially lived in my car. -Some times more literally than others. I’d drive out to my evening camp-out location and would just sit in the back of my car writing songs for hours. And I felt safe, I felt secure, I felt comforted.

This past year has been busy busy busy. Between college, work, and my carpal tunnel (which, has gotten way better since my last day of work.) I haven’t been playing. But yesterday I pulled it out.

My wrists hurt, my finger tips are tender, and I suck… But jesus am I happy.

I’m trying to figure out what the purpose of this post is. Every blog I try to share something I’ve learned, or something that has somehow made me a more well-rounded person.

I guess… I hope that by writing this someone will be inspired to find something that can make them feel comforted, something that can make them cry tears of joy even when they’re living out of their car in the dead of winter.

Find that something, and don’t let it go. Even if it is just a chunk of wood and some steel strings.