Taking Risks: Play that Funky Music, White Girl
Alternately: While my Guitar gently weeps in pain and begs me to stop for the love of God.
I really pride myself on doing things well. I like to think that I do most things I set out to do with reasonably proficiency. Then in October, I set out to learn how to play the guitar that has been stashed in my closet for 8 years.
It has been a humbling experience to say the least. Every time I think I’m closer to a breakthrough, I’ve cracked the code, I’m getting better, something happens and I feel like I’m a fresh noob all over again.
It’s like learning a new language, while making your hands contort in a way they weren’t meant to go. Don’t press the strings so hard, press harder than that. Don’t worry about the chords sounding perfect, well at least learn the chords. Don’t strum so hard, did your guitar make you angry…do we need to try some punk songs?
Lately I’ve been trying to tackle “Hey Jude” and “Wish You Were Here” with a metronome. I have no rhythm. I am so painfully devoid of rhythm. I’m trying to keep a clear picture of where I started and where I’ve made it already. I’m like that student that started at 5% and is working to 25%. I remind myself that 4 months ago, I couldn’t remember any of my chords and now I can remember all the chords to “Hey Jude” without looking at my cheat sheet.
Take a Bad song and make it Better…
Like lunches, I am trying to get into the habit of practicing more, knowing that this will be my key to success. I usually have time for two days a week. I’m shooting for three days this week. Spring break, we will increase to four or five; changing my behavior for better results is the ultimate goal. That and rhythm; although that might be a lost cause.