Neighbors, cold cats, and the democracy of the guitar

Early December thoughts

- In a podcast I listened to yesterday, someone cited a statistic I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since. One in three Americans don’t know their neighbors’ names. I have so much to say about this statistic. I think it is one of those tiny little things that matter more than we can possibly imagine. I think it’s a big part of what brought us to this particular shit-show of a historical moment. It’s also hard for me to imagine. I think that in the small town where I live, it would be a very weird thing not to know your neighbors’ names. I’ve always known I’m living in the exception. I’m both very thankful for that and very sad for everyone else who isn’t.

- My husband is downstairs balancing the checkbook (yes, he still does that) and he’s doing it at the dining room table instead of at his desk because one of our cats is curled up on his desk chair, where the heat from the vent blows on her and that’s how we roll in this house. We navigate around the delicate feline creatures who have with some unknowable level of consent, agreed to share their lives with us.

What if we thought about all the parts of the natural world that way? As amazing and fragile creatures who take priority in our lives? What if we navigated around the needs of trees and grass and chipmunks the same way we navigate the needs of our pets?

This is not the cat on the chair, but the other cat, who curled up on the blanket I use when I meditate, like a furry foot-warmer, and had not moved since then.

- This weekend, I decided to finally figure out how to play a D/F# (“D over F#,” but I’m not going to write that over and over again) chord on my guitar. I’m trying to learn how to play “Ghost,” one of my favorite Indigo Girls’ songs. In order to play this song, I’ve had to learn twelve new chords, which seems like an astounding number to me. That number could still grow, as I haven’t yet made it all the way through the song to the end. Needless to say, the Indigo Girls like some fancy chords.

I could have done what I often do when I’m learning songs with complicated chords, which is just to use the simpler version. I mean, really, what’s the difference between a basic C chord and Caddsus9. What does all that crap even mean? Then I tried the Caddsus9 and realized, oh, that is different. That is, in fact, a lovely chord.

I’d been adding all these chords, but still resisting the D/F#. I’d scoured the internet for the easiest possible way to make the chord. Most of them involved either barring (using one finger to hold down multiple guitar strings which was difficult for me even before I had old arthritic fingers) or wrapping my thumb around the other side of the guitar neck to get that F#. Both of these methods seemed unnecessarily complicated when a simple D chord would do.

The thing about playing my guitar is that there is nothing at stake. It is an activity with zero ambition. I have no set schedule for “practicing.” I have a guitar in my office (or my studiola, as my husband calls it) and one downstairs so I can play either place, though I have a slight preference for the downstairs guitar. I don’t have to force myself to play guitar. I want to do it and I’m afraid that building any schedule will kill that joy.

All the new chords I’ve had to learn for one song. Maybe this says more about my guitar skills than it does about the song.

I’m fifty years old, so I’m pretty sure my chances of a musical career are well behind me. During my first sabbatical, my husband and I worked up a five-song set we played together at a local open mic night, me on the guitar and him on the electric bass. It was amazing. A lifelong dream accomplished. Maybe we’ll do that again. Maybe we won’t. I play the guitar because I like to play the guitar and I like to sing. That’s it.

So that D/F# chord seemed like a bridge too far. That seemed like a chord for real musicians, which I am not. Until in the emptiness of a Sunday afternoon, I decided to give it a try, reaching my thumb around the other side of the guitar neck, which wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. And, of course, it is a beautiful chord, as so many are. May I never grow tired of the wonder of hitting a really beautiful chord, just right, and knowing that by some miracle of wood and metal and plastic pick, I made that sound. Me. I did that. What a world in which such a thing is possible. There is no substitute.

I went to bed that night thinking about the beauty of the D/F# chord. I woke up the next morning knowing that at some point that day, I’d play the chord again and the thought filled me with joy.

What is the lesson of the D/F# chord? Obviously that sometimes very simple things bring great joy. But also that sometimes it’s okay to push ourselves just a little bit. Sometimes we have to let go of our ideas of who are and what is possible. I didn’t particularly think I was the kind of person who would play a D/F# chord. I’m not a professional musician. I’m not Amy Ray or Emily Saliers, but that doesn’t mean a D/F# chord is beyond my reach. I guess I learned a lesson in the democracy of the guitar.

- Despite the historical shit-show of a moment we are in and moving towards, I find myself feeling surprisingly joyful. I find myself surprisingly full of love. When everything else is shit, what else is there but love? What else was there ever but love?

This feeling probably has to do with the fact that I don’t look at the news anymore. When I see something about the machinations of this Republican administration¹ on social media, I scroll past quickly. I’m trying to scroll less in general. As I said before, I’m being very careful with how I spend my attention.

For other people, maybe this joy and love are all about the holidays, but not for me. I hate the holidays. I especially hate the day of the holiday. Mostly I want the day to be over with, with all its stupid expectations and disappointments, so I can go back to enjoying the down time and playing a D/F# chord.

I could be more joyful because I’m about to begin my sabbatical. I love my students very much, but it is so much easier to be joyful when you do not have to work. What a world it would be if none of us had to work for a living! Or even if we could all work just a little bit less.

Maybe I’m feeling more joyful—more filled up with love—because of some combination of those things. I think it’s something else, though. I think there’s a deep knowing part of me that feels that there is great potential for change in this dark moment. I’m hopeful that what we’re experiencing is the turning of a corner. It’s so cliché to say it’s always darkest before the dawn, but it’s also sometimes true. Maybe we’re being shaken out of our complacency. The shaking is hard and painful. But on the other side, we wake up at last.

Obviously, I don’t know that any of that is true. But I’m leaning into it and if enough of us lean in the same direction, we rock the boat. We find our power. We turn that corner together.

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1. I’m taking my cue from a social media post (I can’t remember where it came from and if anyone else saw it, please pass it along) that suggested we avoid dehumanizing language this time around. So I won’t be saying “Cheeto” or using the orange emoji. His name is Trump and I’m not going to pretend he’s Voldemort. But more importantly, he is part of a Republican administration. Let us use that phrase over and over again to remind people which party this is. I’m also trying (and not always succeeding) at being careful about the language of “us” and “them.” So it’s not “them.” It’s the Republican administration and their supporters.