Too many years ago, due to the crowd with which I was associated and a deep love for music, I decided to learn how to play the guitar. As I remember, by virtue of a tax refund or by purchasing it a few dollars per week, I was finally the proud owner of a classical guitar.
Because folk music was so popular, I took several lessons at the Old Town (Chicago) School of Folk Music. Ten years later, I was living in San Diego and pursued two courses in classical guitar. While Segovia had nothing to fear from my accomplishments, I was very proud to do what I did.
The guitar is still with me, lonely and unappreciated in the corner of my office. Rheumatoid arthritis makes it impossible to play chords and my musical endeavors are limited to vocal ones. As recently as last night, I began to wonder what lesson is to be derived from being unable to do something I loved.
There are no obvious answers. But because of my guitar background, I have a profound reverence for guitarists who craft magical musical melodies. While I’ve thought about other instruments, very few don’t include some level of manual dexterity.
Beyond observation and camaraderie, I remain an educator. Now and then I accept music teacher assignments and enjoy helping young people create and immerse themselves in music. And as in the case of so many abilities lost and saved, I remain grateful for what I can still accomplish.
For now, I am capable of an occasional 5k, singing as part of a professional choral ensemble and cooking a festive meal. A number of people around the globe call on me for editing. So many who are around me have fewer capabilities and depend on others for essential activities of daily living.
And so, my lesson is that of gratitude instead of the sorrow of loss. One day, my guitar will find a new home with someone who can retrieve the memories and secrets it preserves. Shalom.