Pushing limits

The banjo. Why I chose this instrument to begin learning at 41 is still an enigma to me. I enjoy bluegrass, but am not necessarily an enormous fan. No one in my family has ever played the instrument. I didn't grow up anywhere rich in bluegrass or banjo history. No country or bluegrass radio stations blasting from our old, yellow Dodge Aspen (what a fabulous car that was) when I was 10. In fact, years ago when I did imagine myself playing anything, the piano was the frontrunner in all my dreams.

But that did change, and here I am with a banjo and three pics fumbling my way through strings, chords, and strange looking music. At least once a day I curse that I didn't begin sooner, that I didn't have to squint and refocus my eyes just to see the strings 10 inches from my face. But I didn't begin sooner. An offer to borrow a banjo brought me to this place 7 months ago and surprisingly now it's not reading that is pushing me to get my old lady glasses, but the burning desire to play the banjo better.

Passion is a simple thing. If we love something enough, the idea is that we will stop at nothing to go for it. Even if it means we have to suck for awhile (a long while) before we get any good at it. We will give up having nice fingernails, develop ugly fingertip caluses, and endure our own crappy music playing just to get to the heart and meat of it all. It means that our comfort zone is not the endzone and frustration is actually a sign of self deconstruction and evolution. It means realizing that standing beyond our limits actually feels good. It means that in these moments, we are becoming something that not long ago was only just a dream.  That, I think I can do...

Happy Friday to you...

xoxo