I got my first guitar when I was 14. On Christmas Day.

A cherry red six-string electric, with a Les Paul looking body. But it wasn’t a Gibson Les Paul. It was made by DeArmond.

There was a sticker on the headstock: no better cause. The volume and tone knobs were little skulls.

Rock and roll.

I played that guitar for like six hours a day. Every day. I played it until my fingers bled, literally. And I played like that for years—into my 20s. 

It was more than a hobby. It bordered on obsession. It was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. A professional musician, a real life rock star.

A fisherman’s pipe dream, really.

I wrote songs and recorded demos. I played in bands and booked gigs. Some of it was good, some of it had potential.

Most of it was average. At best.

Time went by. Responsibilities changed, relationships changed. Reality set in.

The dream would stay a dream.

Fact is, I didn’t have what it takes to make it as a professional musician. I wasn’t destined to be a famous guitarist and I’d never make it as a session player. 

So, I played less and less. Until I barely touched my guitars. Until the “blisters on me fingers!” softened and disappeared.

Now, my guitars collect dust more than they crank tunes. Now, the passion feels pointless—turns out I’m not rock and roll enough for no better cause.

That’s some depressing shit, honestly.

So what if I’m not a rock star? So what if music isn’t my career?

That’s not the reason I loved to play when I was a kid.

Making music is fun. One of the most fun things in the world, in my opinion. And playing guitar is cool as fuck! So is writing songs.

Plus, music is like a life force to me. Seriously, I’d rather die than live without music.

Okay. But why don’t I play guitar anymore?

I have plenty of excuses, not much for an answer.

I could blame hustle culture, those who believe every hobby must be monetized. I could blame adulthood and bills and not having enough time.

But the truth is, I’ve forgotten how to enjoy something just for the sake of enjoyment. I’ve forgotten how to be creative off the clock. 

I’ve lost my childlike wonder (to The Man, probably) and I want it back.

Okay. What’s stopping me from playing?

Purpose. Or lack thereof.

Because purpose is what drives us. It’s the purest form of motivation. And it’s what keeps us going when shit goes sideways.

But do I really need a purpose to play guitar? Do I really need to make it that serious?

It’s fun, it’s cool, and it makes me happy. That should be enough.

Which brings me to the point of this story. Whatever it is you do outside of work, whatever hobby you have. Doing it because it brings you happiness is all that matters. 

It doesn’t have to become your profession. You don’t have to turn it into a business or become the best of the best of the best.

Just do it for the joy of it.

That’s enough.