Six String

Six string

This isn’t the beginning of a five-and-dime romance novel.It’s a story about connecting with your inner self and the tools you need to get there. My tool was a $10 yard sale guitar riddled with road wear. The sixth string had a bad case of fret buzz, but I was oblivious to her shortcomings. She was new to me, so we formed a bond. Our souls connected. We would test each other’s limits. She brought out the best in me, while I wished to give more.

My Journey With A Six String

That obsession started a journey that has lasted well over thirty years. I can’t explain the positive vibe generated by simply stroking a single string. It’s electric, even when it’s acoustic! The energy I mean. It is an unsolved mystery that inspires me.

I wanted more, so I bought another one. And another, and another and another. My collection grew to the point that I finally opened a music store. Calloused fingers and a crippled bank account were small prices to pay for the joy of instant gratification.

Six string
A boy in jeans and a shirt is sitting in the field with a guitar. Black and white. Matte stylization.

My Obsession Took on Life of It’s Own

I started to notice each of the guitars subtle differences. Their shapes and colors were unique; their sounds and feels were special. Like the trees that birthed them, these seemingly simple pieces of wood took on a life of their own.

My path however, led to a Martin D-16. She eclipsed my first love. How could that be? I found myself helplessly falling down a rabbit hole in my search for the perfect guitar.

Early morning ramblings were the best. Everything seemed to flow once I allowed the muse to enter. I finally figured out the secret of life is not really a secret at all. It’s finding something to encompass you. It has to be something bigger than yourself. You can find it by sitting still.

But don’t think too hard. Let your inner self rise the occasion. It’s waiting to be found, brimming at the top, ready to explode if you allow it.

It would stand to reason that I stumbled upon my muse. However, I don’t believe in coincidence. There were reasons I found that yard sale, reasons it took place well over thirty years ago, reasons for my journey and reasons for the rabbit hole.

I don’t pretend to know the ending. I do believe to have filled in some of the blanks. Whenever doubt begins to settle, I pick up the Martin. She comes alive in my arms. The vibe, the muse and the energy start to churn inside me. As comfortable as an old pair of blue jeans or sixth string, the music feels right.

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *