Saturday, March 12, 2011

On A Solitary Saturday Evening

When it's quiet and I'm alone I indulge in contemplation. It isn't odd that one could just sit there "doing" nothing - just thinking. Einstein reportedly liked to sit and think, and well, we all know what all that thinking led him to. I'm no genius, unfortunately (OBVIOUSLY), but I do so love to exercise my mental faculties.

It started earlier in the evening. A neighbour was practicing on the piano. I noted that it was the same song I'd heard the (presumably) same neighbour play crappily since some weeks ago. It sounded much like a beginner's piece, and I wondered why after so much of practice it still sounded like it was just learned the day before.

"Kinda like how I am with my guitar pieces..."

He laughed.

It's true, though. I hardly play enough, and pieces I've started learning a year ago still sound like I'd just learned them last week.

I got to thinking about it later. I am know that I am not very passionate about playing, or I'd be splitting the skin of the fingertips on my left hand on it every minute I could spare. I'm not indifferent either, or I'd have long given up. It's crossed my mind a few times before - I simply love the feel of my guitar on me, even though I could not play a decent tune on it. The body is pressed to my chest and as I pluck the strings, I can feel the vibration just as I can hear the notes. It is as if the music flows from the instrument straight into my heart - and I find that extremely affecting. Laugh if you will, but the sentimental me loves the idea, absurd as it may be. It must be one of the reasons that have been keeping me playing - irregularly as I do, poorly as I only could.

I've never yet been asked directly, but one could very well question what the point is - I will never get anywhere on my guitar. Well, I am aware! I am also aware that I'll never be anyone to the world - I'll never write a great book, or make an important scientific discovery, or come up with solutions to mankind's problems - so what would I live for? To amuse those who care to listen to or read me? To bring joy to and share laughter with those who care to go crazy with me? To love and care for those who I could? Or do I live only to be happy?

My thoughts did not end then, but that will suffice for this.

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