Learning Something New

Andrés had wanted to learn the guitar since his teens, but there was always a reason to put it off. At first he was too busy with exams, then too busy at work, and later he decided that lessons were too expensive or that he was simply too old to start. Only at thirty-five, more weary of excuses than of effort, did he finally enrol in an evening class.

On the first night he carried a second-hand guitar across town in a battered black case. When he walked into the classroom, three students who looked about half his age were already tuning their instruments with enviable ease. Andrés felt his confidence drain away, and for a moment he seriously considered turning round. Then the teacher caught his eye, asked his name and steered him towards an empty chair.

The first exercise was a single chord. He pressed the strings as carefully as he could, but what came out was an unpleasant buzz. He tried again, with almost the same result. “I think this instrument has a problem,” he joked, in the hope that someone would agree with him.

The teacher smiled. “The guitar is fine. Your fingers just haven’t learnt the position yet.” She adjusted his hand a little and asked him to play each string separately. One note rang out clearly, then another. Andrés was surprised by how disproportionately pleased he felt about so small an improvement, as if he had been handed something he had been owed for years.

At the end of the lesson she recommended ten minutes of practice a day, which sounded less like homework than like a permission slip. On the bus home he set a reminder on his phone. The next evening he played the same chord again; it was still far from perfect, yet he could hear the difference. For the first time, the guitar was no longer something he might do one day. It was something he was doing.