I’m learning to play the guitar. The curious thing about this is that I’ve been learning to play one for the last two years. I still haven’t learnt much.
I’m not being philosophical. I’m not referring to the vastness of knowledge and how a mortal can spend her entire life learning and yet never be complete master of anything. I’m referring to my inability to stick to a steady schedule and actually retain what I infrequently force into that dungeon in my head.
But recently this has changed. I’ve acquired a teacher. He’s a decent guitarist, unimaginably patient, horrible at spinning similes (“keep the beats with your toes like butterflies do with their wings. The flutter flutter? Yes, make your toes flutter.”)
I find that I want to practice everyday (and sometimes several times a day) now because every week when I walk into his class I want last week’s assignment to flow so easily from my fingers that he can’t help but be impressed. I’ve never been a teacher’s pet before (well once, in class 12 – I was really good in math, but I fell into disfavour when I wouldn’t work hard enough to push my 84s and 85s into 90s – it drove her crazy), but this is fun.
I love watching my fingers flying across the fret-board. It’s those up and down strokes that bugger me. But I’ll tame them by next week, see if I don’t.