“I can’t do it,” I announced getting into my mother’s car and slamming the door vigorously. I was talking about playing the guitar. My guitar class just got over and I knew that after five months of trying to learn it, I was finished.
“Oh honey, I know you can do it,” my mom replied in a reassuring voice.
“I’m done with it. I am not coming back to another one of those classes ever again.”
From that point on, I never returned to my guitar class. After all, I was only eight years old at the time. My fingertips were awkward and I couldn’t remember the notes or techniques. I kept my guitar in its case in the corner of my room and avoided it like the plague.
One summer day when I was fourteen years old, I was sitting in my room looking around. I glanced over at my guitar. After looking at its fancy black case that had collected dust over the years, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So, I walked over to it and gently took the guitar out of its case. I instantly smelled the indescribable smell of my guitar. It smells almost of freshly cut wood. I ran my hand over one side of it and felt the smooth glossy texture I have always remembered about it. I picked it up slowly and strummed the strings slightly. From then on, I knew I wanted to play the guitar again.
I spent the rest of the summer playing my guitar. I relearned all of the notes I once knew and new ones by looking up tutorials online on how to play all of my favorite songs. I continue to play it every day, sometimes for up to five hours.
I learned that you should give everything a second chance. Just because something doesn’t work out the first time, doesn’t mean it isn’t meant to be. I have a special bond with my guitar as if it is a close friend.Playing the guitar is my passion.