I have played guitar for 50 years, come 2019. I still play the same guitar I bought when I was learning to play in 1969. I am left handed and so is my classical guitar.
From the time I started, I was aware that the Rolls Royce of acoustic guitars is the Martin. Other amazing instruments have come along in the intervening years and some would say some of them surpass the Martin. But Martin got burned into my brain and I always have wanted to play one, if not own one.
I have seen dozens of Martins at the weekly jams I have gone to over the years but I had never played one: They were all for right-handed players.
That all changed on Saturday when I sat down at our regular jam next to a woman I had never met (and haven’t seen in the years since). She is left-handed, like me, and she was playing a left-handed, Martin steel-string acoustic, the instrument I have always dreamed about.
Eventually, after I mentioned my fantasy to her, she offered to let me play it so we switched guitars.
I have a left-handed steel string at home. It is a quality guitar, a Martin knock off. But here, in my hands, was the real thing.
The next song got going and I started playing my dream come true. I don’t know why and I don’t know how, but it was simply amazing. The responsiveness of the strings, the crispness and warmth of the sound, the ease of depressing the strings to the frets.
It was like a car lover finally getting behind the wheel of a Rolls Royce. An experience not soon to be forgotten, if never to be repeated.
It has been suggested I cash in some savings and treat myself to a Martin. And after my experience finally playing one, I did ask about the guitar at my music store. I could have gotten a 1967 Willie Nelson Martin for about $2,500.
I didn’t part with my money. I finally sorted that out and realized that if I really had wanted a Martin all these years, I would have bought one long ago. The fact that I didn’t do that tells me I didn’t really want one. I wanted a house. I got that. I wanted a red sportscar. Got it. I wanted a nice stereo. Ditto. And I wanted to see the world. Off I went.
When I learned guitar, I was soon finger-picking. Someone suggested that skill would easily transfer to a banjo. So for 50 years I have told everyone I want to own and learn to play a banjo.
Once again, that twangy “want” never happened.
Because, for me, it never was a real want. And now I believe, complain though we may, we usually end up with the things we really did want all along.
Wife, son, daughter.
Check, check, and check.
As Mick sang, we can’t always get what we want. But it is hard to be happy if we don’t see at least some of our real wants fulfilled. My fertile mind entertains my fantasies; my heart contains my true desires.
And I am forever grateful for my good fortune.
©2018 Jim Hagarty
