The Broken Guitar

The Assignment of Frustration & Purpose

I sat on the broken stair steps, the clouds in the sky and the rain of doubt damper my mood. This guitar and I had a deep connection. It was how on the coldest and darkest winters, the heat and hell of summers, I suppressed this depression with the strum of its strings and songs. I was chasing to get my renewal and smile back. Depression has the art of stealing it without your permission. Today, it almost stole my soul when my guitar string broke. As a little girl, I was told this was my aassignment to deliver healing with my guitar and words. My father said, “Music was my blessing. The strumming of the strings would help me find my purpose in the frustration. When the strings popped, when my fingers cramped, the rhythm was off I would find the connection to continue.” How true he was because in the difficulty of life’s storm I play. I play my guitar when there is no audience to cheer me on. Imagine loving your gift so much you that even when it breaks your heart you continue. Unconditionally in love with guitar and music.

Some days I think it’s a curse as I chase these dreams and play in front of the Papaya to pay my rent for a tiny room, that’s I live in.

Alone in my thoughts, I sit in silence, never speaking of the color of my pain. Another technique I learned from my father is to always give it to the music and guitar. Sometimes I let my guitar gently weep for me, share the agony of the chasing success. While the street crowd applauds, and I bow, they have no clue it is the tears I release. It’s the moment I want to bury this soul, and guitar and take the L for the team. My broken guitar strings in my heart is how I tell self-doubt to shut up the hell up. So, in order to conquer it, I try to heal those with melodies that make them get their smile back. To allow my music and song to be their hope.

There are days like today when I hear the giggles and cackles at my shortcomings from friends and family. When the daggers from ninjas are coming for my soul. When I ponder, is this music thing failing me? When I write original songs and lyrics another executive or producer dismisses it as not good enough. The pressure of this purpose wondering if it’s my calling. Especially when the cents don’t make dollars. The mornings when the shower water is cold, and the taste of ramen…