When I was a boy, my first musical instrument was a used cornet. For those unfamiliar, a cornet is a trumpet-like instrument, but has a few extra curls in the brass to mellow the sound from a standard trumpet. The extra curling made reaching the high notes a little more difficult, but the softer tones in the middle range made for an unparalleled smoothness, when done right. As a boy, however, the nuances of that marvelous instrument often escaped me, as I was more interested in getting done with band class and being able to go outside to play basketball. Little did I know then, however, that music would become something that would play such a large part in my current life, many years later. But I digress.

Growing up, my interest in music would very regularly wax and wane, and then resurface. In middle school, I picked up the tenor sax on a whim, and taught myself to pick out some tunes. The school jazz band needed a sax player, and the big-band jazz seemed more up-tempo and interesting than the standard concert band classics of the other band class. It would stick. I continued through the rest of my school-years primarily on the sax, and in the jazz bands for both middle school and later my high school. Those were good times, and some of the happiest of my youth. There were a lot of changes in my family life when I was growing up, and not all of them for the better. Music, and especially jazz music, gave me a lifeline to express myself in ways that were otherwise unavailable to me. Without my music, those times would have been nearly unbearable. And I was good. I thought very hard about pursuing a musical career, but I believed that the risk of failure was too great, and after all the family and financial uncertainties of the prior few years, I desperately wanted what I believed was a more secure path.

After high school, I gave it up, viewing it as an enjoyable but ultimately unproductive and risk-heavy endeavor to pursue any further, at least as far as trying to make a living. I instead pursued what I was taught to be the more steady and productive path of college, work, and the usual ladder-climbing to be able to afford the necessities of life. Music had to go, I thought. Given my childhood, I believed that if I stayed focused on the educationally and societally reinforced path of higher education and hard work, I would reap the many rewards society promised to those who stayed within the system. I sold my sax and started college (although I did use the money from the sale to buy my now-wife’s engagement ring – all in all it’s been a pretty good trade off). In my early twenties music left my day-to-day routine, and I focused on staying in my lane, as they say, and working only on things I told myself were productive. I have only much later realized the hole that left behind and how wrong I was in my outlook.

Throughout my adult life I continued to follow that systemic path. Work and family obligations took precedence, and in the ensuing decades music remained absent. Don’t get me wrong, that path has had its benefits. I have had a wonderful life, a loving wife, and raised four great, musically talented in their own right, children. All good things. But my penchant for risk aversion that led me to abandon music has only increased with age, as caring for and providing for them occupied my efforts and existence. This has not been as good, at least on a personal growth level.

While I strongly urged and encouraged each of my children to chart their own path, and embrace some risk in order to pursue their dreams, at times these admonishments rang hollow because I knew in my soul that I was, in many instances, afraid to take those same risks at their age and after. I have told myself I was doing it for them (that’s a part of our trained systemic thinking to fool ourselves, I believe), but in all honesty, I clearly was doing a large part of that for me as well. Growth is hard, harder for some than for others, and I am a living example. But without some risk, growth is impossible.

However, about eighteen months back I did reach out of my comfort zone and take a small risk, although it seemed very large at the time. In checking my email in the courthouse parking lot after yet another case involving angry people, I saw a junk email from a guitar store. Unlike the countless times before in which I would routinely delete unknown emails, I actually opened and read that one. To this day I don’t know why, but it turned out to be life-changing. I’m so glad that I did.

The email said that the local guitar store, only about 10 miles away from my location at the courthouse parking lot, was having a beginner guitar sale, including an acoustic/electric combination guitar, amplifier, gig bag, and picks. All for the low, low, price of…..well I won’t go into that since my wife is likely reading or listening to this. I called my office, transferred an appointment to another day, and turned my truck in the direction of the store mentioned in the email. It was only a few minutes before I arrived in the parking lot.

Now, mind you, despite having played trumpet and sax, I had never played a stringed instrument of any kind. I had no idea if I could or would be able to make any use of this thing if I went in and bought the set up. Heck, for all I knew it would be junk and useless. The negative, risk-assessing thoughts increased in my head, as did my heartrate. But for the first time in many years, I temporarily brushed those negative thoughts aside, ignored the little money remaining in my account at that time, entered the store and came out with the whole set up, lock, stock and barrel.

For awhile after returning to my truck, I started up again with my negativity. Old habits are indeed very hard to break. I repeatedly looked at the receipt, turning it over and over in my hand and in my mind, and considered how impulsive and unplanned this purchase was and how it might impact our budget for the next week or weeks. I must have sat there for near half an hour, very seriously contemplating walking right back in and returning the items to clear my increasingly worried conscience. I told myself I had to return the guitar, as this was an unplanned, and unnecessary risk, that would likely cause unknown future hardships. I should do the right thing, the follow-the-system thing, and return it, and get my hard-earned money back. I should play it safe, and get back to the office.

I had listened to this voice many times in the past decades, missing who knows how many opportunities. With each passing moment as I sat there in the truck, the thoughts of prudence and playing it safe grew louder, running in my mind like the ticker tape from a tumbling stock price. But this time, for once, I didn’t listen. I turned the ignition key, and headed home, guitar still in the back seat. I’m so glad I did.

The past eighteen months with that first guitar, and indeed another electric guitar I again purchased on a whim (who have I become!), has been wonderful. As it turned out, the same musical ear that I had in my youth that enabled me to switch from a three-valve cornet to a multi-contact point tenor sax, was still in my head and just needed to be again released. I have enjoyed teaching myself this wonderful new instrument, regularly playing cover songs from bands from my youth and early adulthood, and trying to improvise up and down the fretboard while accompanying some jazz background riffs. This bargain-basement guitar has wonderfully allowed me to reconnect, in a positive way, with much of that time from my life. Indeed, for the first time in a long time, my newfound musical gift has me looking forward to the future, to entertaining friends and family, and to learning new skills and techniques. I know that I will never master the guitar, but I have learned the hard way that is not the point. The point is to do , to create, to take risks, both in music and in life. If you don’t, you may just miss out on something amazing.

copyright 2021 by Djamesclark