For a week now I’ve longed to create something of a magnificent scale. Not something great to men, but great to me. Of particular interest, and one that strikes me from time to time, is music. I really want to create music and I want it to be beautiful. While I am able to pluck around on a guitar, or strike some keys of the piano, or even slap the skin of a drum, I am unable to quench a thirst for something better. So my inability frustrates me. On an uplifting note, the frustration does keep me practicing daily during these bouts.
I have been playing the guitar for about 25 years and have fewer skills than most players after about six months of lessons. How much of In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida must my family endure?
I suffered for my art – now it’s their turn
Could be worse I suppose, at least I am not playing the first few bars of Stairway to Heaven over and over.
I know what you mean. I, too, have the urge to create something greater than my own life. When I was younger, it was so easy. Just get pregnant, have a baby, and there you are. I am writing small books and intend to learn to play the fiddle. Don’t forget to bring it to me, OK? When you bring Yang. Guitars and pianos are fine, but for REAL pain, one needs to take up the violin.