I have had the same guitar for 16 years, which implies that I am good at playing the guitar. I am not. I kind of suck. While I have owned a guitar for a decade and a half, I haven’t played it that much, even though I toted it around the globe with me. It was there when I lived in Tokyo, there when I worked in Belgium, and now stands proudly in my living room in DC.
I remember sitting in my parents’ backyard with other choir dorks belting out “Uncle John’s Band,” while I strummed away on the guitar in high school. If I had just kept up that act, I bet I would be pretty good and have mastered doing a B chord without grimacing from pain. But I didn’t. In fact, the number one thing that has kept me from being good at the guitar has been vanity. I just hate chopping off all my nails so I can strum away. Isn’t that sad? It’s like a girl not wanting to be a ballerina so she can have beautiful feet. Or not reading because you don’t want to strain your eyes. Basically, I am a narcissistic gal who plays bad guitar.
But that’s all going to change. I’m turning 30 in 19 days and I think it’s time I can embrace short nails and strum my days away. Or at least a few minutes a week. Maybe I can increase my repertoire from three Indigo Girls songs and a Joni Mitchell tune I sang at camp, to well, a whole Indigo Girls album. I’ll finally become the folk guitarist I should have blossomed into in 1995. It’s never too late!