Alex gave me a mandolin for Christmas and it came in the mail today, after he had already gone back to NYC. I opened up the box and found the mandolin setting on my tuning app, and flipped to the beginning of the beginner mandolin book that had been sitting on our shelf since Alex was in high school, learning to play a different mandolin.
I knew, somewhere in my brain, that a mandolin was tuned like a violin, but about 15 minutes into my exploration that bit of stored knowledge connected itself to the things that my fingers were doing. It was like a fireworks explosion in my brain: OH [said my brain] THIS IS A SIDEWAYS VIOLIN! THIS IS LIKE A GUITAR AND A VIOLIN HAD A BABY!!!
I am having so much fun -- I do some mandolin-specific stuff in my beginner mandolin book, and then I play some of my faves from Fiddler's Fakebook, and then I feel my way through some chords and practice my wobbly tremolo.
Once when I was in high school my grandmother said to me, "Imagine what kind of musician you could be if you had put all of your practice time into one instrument instead of spreading it around." I felt guilty about it at the time, and I still think about it when I am frustrated with my more amateurish efforts. But this is me: I love to dabble. I get so much joy from being a beginner. I think it is partially because trying something new, with modest expectations, is a powerful antidote to perfectionism. And of course it is also because there is something magical in the way that ears and fingers and brains and instruments work together to create music where there was only silence before.
I took a break shortly before I wore a raw spot in my index finger. I hope my calluses organize themselves quickly so I can practice some more.
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