From the age of six until I was twelve years old, I was a student of the piano. My daily weekday schedule invariably contained fifteen to forty-five minutes (depending upon my age) of mandatory piano practicing time, and I participated in the annual piano recitals which are the duty of any child engaged in piano lessons.
Although I always enjoyed the sense of accomplishment that accompanied a successful performance, a love for the piano failed to grow inside my heart primarily because of my distaste for practicing and its consumption of my "personal" time. Conspiring with my distaste for practice was a fear of public performance. My young brain, replete with its vast wisdom and insight, decided that if I was to become proficient in my playing I would be forced to perform in public on a regular basis, even facing the horrific possibility of accompanying congregational singing. This combination of facts was sufficient to deter me from continuing my lessons, and I selfishly retired from my pianist career at the ripe old age of twelve.
When I gave up the piano, my parents assured me that I would one day regret my decision. For years I thought they had been mistaken, as I found myself quite content apart from the piano and the ability to play an instrument. The occasional sit-down session at the family piano, stumbling through an old song I half-way remembered, was sufficient to appease my musical ambitions. This pleasant reality changed, however, after living in the same house with
Caleb Hayden for about eighteen months. Caleb, an accomplished pianist and one who truly enjoys performing his music, would often sit at the piano of an evening and play through selections of his musical repertoire, tickling the ivories with every enthusiastic fiber of his fingertips. His great love for the piano infected my heart as well, and the prophecy of my parents came true: I regretted giving up the piano, and earnestly desired to make music.
What to do? For several years, even prior to rooming with Caleb, I have been considering the purchase of a guitar. Although not as complete an instrument as the piano, the guitar is infinitely more portable and personal. One can strum a melody almost anywhere, and guitars easily add sing-along music to campfires, picnics, parties, and all manner of fellowship. (Some of my favorite childhood memories are sitting around a campfire with family and friends, singing hymns and songs of praise to the Lord. All that was missing was a guitar!)
With these thoughts in mind, and after weighing the idea for several months, this past Friday I bought my first guitar. Driving to a local music store I walked in, asked a few questions, and selected an Ibanez guitar (not an incredibly scientific approach, but one I thought sufficient for my first guitar). My purchase included a kit with several picks, extra strings, an electronic tuner, chord guide, tutorial DVD, etc. I also purchased an additional chord book and a guitar stand. With my newly acquired guitar and accessories in hand, I departed the shop and returned home.
During my childhood the piano served its purpose and gave me a sound foundation, teaching me to read music and to understand basic concepts of music theory (although I must admit that the definite number of theoretical concepts I have retained is dubious at best). Now, making a conscious decision based upon practicality, enjoyment, and changed purpose, I have officially forsaken the instrument of my youth and turned to what I hope shall be the instrument of my maturity: the guitar. My hope is to attain a level of proficiency that will allow for instrumental accompaniment to the singing of family and friends, as well as provide a fulfilling outlet for personal music making. In stark contrast to my days with the piano, however, this time I purpose to compliment my instrumental ambition with concentrated dedication.
The romance of my new guitar has already been tempered by the realities of finger positioning, picking, and major, minor, and diminished seventh chords. One does not attain proficiency without sore fingers and much physical and mental repetition, and I have quickly recognized that many hours of consistent practice are required before I will be ready to provide any sing-along opportunities. :) However, this time I am willing and prepared to persevere through the drudgery of practice, and my past fear of public performance (accompaniment or otherwise) is now lessened by age and a more accurate perspective on what should cause fear and what should not. Regular guitar practice shall, God-willing, equal success and afford me the pleasure of good music. (I am not yet counting upon the agreement or the pleasure of others. Que sera, sera.)
I’ll keep you posted. . . .
