A girl and her guitar

I already told the internet that I have been writing since I was a young girl. Later in life, I taught myself how to play acoustic guitar and started writing songs. I have an account with BMI and the big dream was to sell my songs and have mega stars sing them and live off royalties for the rest of my life. I would have other people record the songs and I even got some airplay on an internet radio station (back before Brent when I was flirting with the owner). Of course, like most of my big plans, life happens and I set my own wants to the side to take care of others around me. (I didn’t mean to make that sound quite as mopey as it came out).

For the most part, my music was an outlet for me when I was sad or depressed and couldn’t find words to express how I was feeling. I would sit down with my guitar, start strumming a chord progression and eventually words would come out. If I was lucky, I would remember the tune and the words later and would record it on my laptop. But sometimes (most times) the songs were my prayers - a way to let go and give the burdens to someone else who could carry them for me. Fast forward to Brent coming into my life and my guitar started collecting dust.

When I am happy or when I have a partner, I don’t typically find myself in those deep places of hurt or speechlessness. Instead, Brent got to hear all of my ramblings and was left with the burden of sorting through my crazy and helping me find my status quo so that I could function each day. Don’t let him fool you - he liked it and still likes it…or at least he pretends to.

But today, I was watching a video from Facebook posted by an old friend that recently reconnected with me. We used to sing together every Sunday and most Wednesdays, and he was singing in this video. I closed my eyes and I remembered. I could feel the strings under my fingers and remembered the nights we’d hang out in his house with his wife, cousins, friends, and all the kids running around while we would sing anything from worship songs to Journey. I remembered having a phone conversation with his wife and talking her through a moment of hurt and how her pain inspired one of the best songs I’ve ever written (in my oh so humble opinion).

I went and grabbed my guitar, threw the capo on and started running through a chord progression of one of my favorite songs. I’m rusty…good grief I’m rusty. After one song, my fingers are burning for my non-existent callouses and my voice sounds like a whole family of frogs live there…but I did it. I played for nearly a half hour and I remembered how good I feel when I am letting go even if I don’t have words.

As a writer, this is extremely difficult - but three weeks into my “two blogs a week” promise I have already missed two posts. Sometimes the words won’t come. They are utterances…they are silent tears - they are melodies that I hum to myself that help me find strength to do the things I need to do to care for my husband who has no strength of his own - even when I’m running a fever, have a sinus headache, and when my body tells me that I need to rest.

I don’t know what happens next or how long I will feel inspired to create music again, but I have ordered another new guitar. I’ve got my old one all tuned up. I set-up my piano and I’ve ordered a fan so that the music room is cool enough to actually hang out in again. I don’t anticipate writing very many upbeat dance numbers in the coming days or weeks, but maybe - just maybe - I will add a few more possibilities to the catalogue that could fund my retirement. (or at least cover the cost of a burger someday).

If by chance you read this….thanks Mike. Hug your wife and girls for me and know that even with all the years that may have separated us, the simple act of sending the friend request helped this girl find a little hope again.