When I was in my thirties, I wanted to play guitar. Badly. But I knew my fingers were small and wouldn’t be able to handle a full-sized guitar. “No problem” said the man at Steve’s Music Store. He pulled out a three quarter guitar which was a significantly better fit. But when I brought it home, my fingers still wouldn’t stretch as far as they needed to. I was discouraged and the guitar began to build up dust sitting on the side of my living room floor. I stared at it every day and promised to play it for twenty minutes a day. But my fingers would not stretch across the frets. Frustrated and helpless, I succumbed to the fact that I wouldn’t be able to play guitar and signed up for singing lessons instead. Though I don’t regret that decision for one second, years later I was introduced to a half-sized guitar that fit my hands perfectly. It was as if it was made for me. I knew it would take work and, as the clerk in the store said without hesitation, “It’s going to hurt like hell for a good long while”, I had finally found a guitar that was within the realm of possibility of playing. My fingers fit across the frets. And now I can finally learn how to play my favourite songs and become the country/rock/folk star I was meant to be. Okay, well, at the very least I can play songs I can sing. And THAT CHANGES EVERYTHING!
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