Something happened this week that hasn’t happened for too long. I walked into my study and actually saw the guitar that’s been hanging on the wall neglected for months. And I played. And sang. And relished in it all. It’d been such a long time since I played this old thing that those ever-so-important callouses have vanished from my fingers (oh boy were they useful), but I was happy to discover that my hands still remember what my mind has forgotten.
This guitar is the first thing I bought with my own money. For months I squirreled away all my earnings from my first job at the library, and proudly purchased the guitar with every intention of being in an extremely cool band. Shortly after that, I moved away and the guitar changed hands a few times before finding its way back home to me a few years ago. I’ve been learning to play at the slowest, most laborious pace possible since then, demonstrating absolutely no natural talent, and savoring every single moment.
It’s been one of those days, one of those weeks. And making music has been such a solace, a genuinely sublime experience. There are fewer ambitions this time around. I don’t want to be in a band any longer (well, maybe that’s not entirely true)—I just want to play and sing with friends, with Janne (on those extremely rare occasions when I can coerce him into a duet), and all by my lonesome too.
The next few weeks will be filled with friends and family, visitors and visiting, and my poor, neglected guitar will see more action than it has in a long while. You’ll hear a bit less from me around here as I navigate the busy social calendar that is the Finnish summer (how can I convince foreign friends that winter here really is extraordinary?). But I’ll be in touch now and then as the mushrooms rise from the ground, the berries ripen, the garden delivers its gold, and as we finally finish assembling the big, beautiful crafting instrument that’s recently claimed half the basement.