Happy

I am happy that I've brought my guitar with me.

I suppose there's no story in that statement yet, but it's a truth that I hope will make a story.

I've been able to play it, the guitar, in public on a couple of occasions since arriving here. Both times were on the same day, and both were the first since I lived in London while going to school.

Not the big London, the Ontario one.

In London a couple of people I knew would get together and let me play poorly with them. One had a masters in music, another guy had recorded an album (I think, but I may have invented that just now) and another guy just loved to play simple songs.

In China, we had a BBQ with the school staff, which was actually a sort of picnic catered by a hotel under the disguise of a small wedding. The Chinese do BBQ differently here, it seems. I had sat in on a couple of rehearsals with other musically inclined people earlier that week, in preperations for a sort of singalong. After twenty-one seconds I concluded I was amongst many people who were much better at being musically inclined, no one seemed eager to play simple songs that could make me look good, and that I was in need of a new word for what I did with music.

(I actually don't need a new word, the word I do use is play-poorly-and-only-for-m'Lady.)

I was pretty scared by everyone there, so I sat on a bench just out of the circle playing just loud enough for people not to notice that the guitar I held was embarrassingly out of tune.

I like playing guitar. It makes me happy. Even in this moment, out of tune, and barely contributing, I was happy.

A friend of mine whom I got to know in Mexico asked (nearly two years ago) if I played anything, and followed up with "how long?"

The answer I gave was
"seriously for about two years".

Seriously, I said seriously.

I hope you have rolled your eyes at old me. I do. Every time I remember that moment, including the moment after I said it, and them moment just now as i remember saying. That moment immediately after was super strange for me. I knew what I meant to say, which was something closer to "on and off" or "not very much" or "I can hold it in my arms thusly", but I didn't come out with any of those. Instead I said

" seriously for two years"

Who the heck was I? Certainly not anybody about to open to a concert hall, or a guy with a cool, sharp, rock star nickname.

Hell, I don't even know most of the names of the chords I play.

But to Matt-with-the-hat I said
"seriously for two years"

and, rightly, called me on it.

"seriously, eh?"
(He didn't actually say eh, he's an american. I honestly can't remember what he said instead)

"well lah di day"
(which I am sure he didn't say either, but the tale must go on).

At this point I was pretty ticked at myself for botching this first impression, and making a complete dork of myself. I was also ticked at Matt-with-the-hat for calling me on it, but it wasn't a genuine or justified ticked since I deserved it, and was actually just mad at myself and not him at all.

I should have said "I'm happy when I play my guitar", that's what I hopped what I actually said sounded like.

It's how I felt sitting on the bench with an out of tune guitar with people who are better at being musically inclined, even though I wasn't helping to make music; in fact I may have been making it worse cause someone came over and offered to tune it.

And at the bbq-wedding, when I sat just out of the circle and played in my play-poorly-only-for-m'Lady sort of way, well enough that one of the school maintenance crew came over to top off my drink, I was happy.

And later on the bus ride home when the topped off drink and I stood in the isle of the bus and sang and played Wonder wall, I was happy.

Because I'm glad that I brought my guitar with me, because playing guitar makes me happy.