Me Play Pretty One Day

I'm grudgingly teaching myself guitar. My true love is the piano, and I haven't touched one in years, but my 16-year-old brother doesn't have 4 pianos lying around; he has guitars. (Before you think he's spoiled--well, he is a little, as all youngest siblings are, compared to my coming-of-age experience--but those were all hand-me down guitars. He's not THAT spoiled.) Anyway, guitars are practically begging me to take them home, while electric pianos with weighted keys (all I can see myself playing with these thin townhome walls) are making themselves extra scarce--and expensive.

So, there it is: I'm learning guitar, but I'm ambivalent. On one hand, I'm taking a semi-serious go at something that kicked my butt in college until I sighed "Uncle." On the other hand, I'm tackling something that already kicked my butt once (twice, actually: we had a forgettable sparring match when I was about 10 and my aunt was dating a guy who gave lessons at the local music store), and I'm a little embarrassed to ask it for another bout.

The good news is that I'm actually getting decent. Well...less terrible. My fingers still feel weaker than a newborn babe's, but I'm starting to recognize chords, put them together for songs, and I can almost tune my guitar without my old pitch pipe from choir (or the virtual tuner I started using). To wit: at least it's not submission in the first round, this time.

But I can't quite love it, and I still can't see myself being truly good. Nonetheless, as long as I'm just piddling around, appeasing my musical urges a little, I continue to get a little better without feeling like I'm trying. 10 years at this pace, and I'll be as good as my baby brother is now. Oh, well.