No Regrets

41 years ago, I was standing in a music store, and held - for the first time as owner - a brand new 1967 Gibson ES-335, semi-hollow body guitar, deliciously cherry-red, with sparkling, chrome hardware. I felt a surge of exhilaration that still jolts to remember. This gorgeous guitar was officially, and unbelievably mine.

I was 19 years old and, at that moment, so full of promise and possibilities, and with that guitar as my partner, ready to embark on the quest for that mythical and singular guitar solo. We were ready to rock.

1967 was 41 years ago and I am now 60 years old and, long ago, sold my incredibly beautiful instrument for 100 dollars and a cheap acoustic guitar. A sale that somehow made sense at the time but is deeply regrettable in hindsight. I certainly never achieved the promise or possibilities that guitar gifted me with so long ago. The curious twist is that I never completely gave them away either.

I simply never came close to becoming the guitar player I originally set out to be but my affection for the guitar has not diminished over the past 40 years. I have owned many guitars and now have a 2007 Gibson ES-335, semi-hollow body guitar, deliciously cherry-red, with sparkling, chrome hardware that I occasionally pick up and attempt to play.

Life has tempered my original quest with the understanding that neither the special gift of improvisation nor technical proficiency will ever be mine. Aside from a lack of talent, the limitless, energy of spirit that fueled me 41 years ago has been gradually replaced by an exhaustible energy source, required to maintain the tick-tock rhythm of virtually indistinguishable days. Days, I might add, that are pretty good.

My current Gibson guitar might not be able to resurrect those electric feelings of that first red beauty but, time has passed, and I find that I appreciate the soft warmth of contentment far more than the white heat of exhilaration. I don’t expect the guitar and I to erupt into a “Comfortably Numb” or “All along the Watchtower” solo. The Gibson is certainly quite capable but requires the talents of a far more accomplished musician to produce those magical riffs and licks. That’s OK with me.

I still enjoy picking up this beautiful guitar and clumsily running scales to burn away the time. I elect to sit and aimlessly noodle, as actual guitar players might say.

41 years has passed far too quickly. I couldn’t see any part of 60 when I was 19. Looking back I can see only pieces of 19, but I still clearly see myself standing in that music store with that gorgeous red guitar and a knee-buckling sense of promise.

I hope I can find the same sense of balanced contentment with my future life that I have discovered with my current cherry-red. I never became the guitar player I set out to be but I am still happy when I sit down with my guitar. Happy softens the lack of accomplishment and constitutes a more than fair trade within the context of my life.

My life has been filled with unpredictable choices that led me to where I find myself today. Unlike my journey with the Gibson, I can’t remember exactly where I intended to go with my life, but nonetheless, here I am. I have a good life.

I know I am blessed with a wonderful wife and two wonderful children. All are healthy. Life’s been more than fair to us. I know my wife wearies of the constant and repetitive nature of the do-re-mi scale runs but she still finds the charity within her good heart to tell me I am getting better. A small white lie, 41 years old, that makes me smile and, once again, give thanks for her and the life she has so willingly and lovingly shared with me.

The nice thing is, that like my future, my guitar stands ready and willing to go where I choose to take it. I have options.

There still are unlimited possibilities and promises. I might step outside those repetitive scales runs one day and pursue that often overlooked, but oh-so-tasteful guitar solo in “Midnight at the Oasis”, so gracefully played by Amos Garrett.

I’ve suddenly glimpsed the fact that I might be all that I will be if I choose to sit and “noodle” with my life. Turning 60 offers insights. I’ve settled into my life and my rhythm is very predictable and measured. I still recognize that life, on occasion, and unexpectedly, can push me with the power of a freight train. The power of potential is hidden but out there. I might want to redirect my life and become a novelist, or a juggler. Philosophy has always been intriguing.

Whatever the choices, whatever the future, I hope the regrets will be mild and few.

I think I will be content to ‘noodle’ but you never know.