Amish Guitar

I've sat in front of this screen for nearly an hour now. I know what I want to say, but the words just don't seem right. I want to talk about the movie I wrote about previously. I want to talk about how it has crawled under my skin and taken residence in the smaller rooms I keep in the back of my head. I want to talk about how beautiful the music is in that room, how the story replays leaving me pleased. I want to tell everyone how that film has made me feel. But the words aren't there.

I am depressed.

The story of the film has demonstrated to me that I will never, ever be a true musician.

And as much as I've claimed on this blog that I never aspired to be, nevertheless I have nurtured the notion that I am, at the very least, a novice—an amateur.

Now I am afraid that I am a wanna be. I know music. I know the theory. I know the rote and rhyme. I have some amount of talent with my voice and with my instruments. But I will never create music of my own.

Bullcrap you say. I hear you. I have written songs. I have recreated the songs of others. I know. I'm very proud of what I've done. Still, I know my skills are limited, my knowledge is scant. I am a dabbler.

And usually that suffices.

But I watch a movie like “Once” and my spirit falls. Yet at the same time so inspired.

So, I am resolved. I will stop being half assed in the songs I teach myself. I will learn one song, front to back, inside and out. And then I will learn another. I will push myself to the limit of my technical skills and see how far I can go.

Why not start with the song from the movie that haunts me? Falling Slowly? And actually learn the finger picking and how to move between all the chords and between picking and strumming and the odd strumming pattern and all that?

I have a goal.