Holding An Old Friend

My fingertips have that familiar sting. This is the consequence of neglecting my guitar for such a long time. A couple of days ago something just came over me. I had the sudden urge to cut off my fingernails, tune my guitar and resurrect my repertoire.

It always amazes me that my fingers remember where to go. A few days ago, I tried to picture in my head how to play a G chord. I couldn't think. I could see the shape my hand should make, but could not have told you which strings to mash down. When I picked up my guitar, my fingers went immediately to the chord. Five minutes later I was flipping the pages of my notebook re-visiting song after song.

Which brings me to WHY I would even want to subject myself to playing a writer's night before my next birthday. You see, I haven't had very many cuts. Maybe 7 or 8 of my songs have gone on to have their own "life". But I have written close to 150. There are probably 20 that are near and dear to my heart. These are the ones I have learned to play. These are the ones that I will "perform" someday. I am not guaranteed another cut - ever. But I didn't write these songs just to have them sit in a drawer somewhere. If I can learn to play and sing them, then they will be heard.

That's all I really want. I want what I have written to be heard. It's so easy to become jaded in this town. So easy to become hardened and to stop believing. I welcome the calluses that will soon form on my fingertips, but I will try hard this time not to have a callused heart.