My Long and Unremarkable Career as a Musician

Or: A Brief History of Instruments I Bought but Never Learned to Play

I have a confession to make.

Over the course of my life, I have purchased a surprising number of musical instruments. Guitars. Keyboards. A mandolin. And, in one particularly spectacular lapse of judgment, a gigantic Moog organ.

I have mastered precisely none of them.

Not one.

I have, however, become quite accomplished at purchasing musical instruments, imagining myself playing them, and eventually finding them new homes.

If there were a Grammy category for Most Enthusiastic Acquisition of Musical Equipment Without Any Corresponding Musical Ability, I would have several trophies on my mantel.

Let me explain.

The Guitar Years: My Folk Music Era

Like many teenagers coming of age in the 1960s, I was a hippie. Or at least I was doing my best to look and behave like one.

We had the music. We had the clothes. We had the idealism. We had the conviction that our generation was going to change the world.

And we had Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, Peter, Paul and Mary, and a whole collection of folk musicians who made sitting around with a guitar look like the most natural thing in the world.

Naturally, I needed a guitar.

Never mind that I had no musical training. Never mind that I had no particular evidence of musical talent. I had enthusiasm, and in those days, enthusiasm could carry you a long way.

At least until you had to actually play something.

I bought the guitar and began what I imagined would be my journey toward becoming a folk musician.

I believe I learned three chords.

Possibly two and a half.

I could hold the guitar convincingly. I could look thoughtful while holding it. I could probably have posed for an album cover.

Unfortunately, the actual playing proved to be an obstacle.

There is a rather substantial difference between wanting to be Joan Baez and being willing to practice until your fingers hurt.

Apparently, I was more interested in the former.

Eventually, the guitar disappeared from my life, leaving behind nothing but a vague memory and a lifelong appreciation for people who can actually play one.

The Moog Organ: An Expensive Romantic Miscalculation

Now we come to what may be the crowning achievement of my musical purchasing career.

I was approaching twenty and having a fling with a musician.

He was a keyboardist.

And apparently, somewhere in my young, impressionable brain, I concluded that the best way to impress a keyboard player was to become one myself.

Not by taking lessons, mind you.

By purchasing an organ.

And not just any organ.

A Moog organ.

A big-ass Moog organ.

This thing was enormous. It was the sort of instrument that should have required a building permit.

It was delivered to my parents’ house and installed in their living room, where it promptly consumed what seemed like most of the available square footage.

My parents, bless their hearts, must have wondered what in God’s name they had done to deserve this.

But I was thrilled.

This magnificent machine had all sorts of buttons, knobs, switches, and synthesizer capabilities. You could turn things and produce sounds that might have been music, electronic warfare, or a distress signal from another planet.

I was particularly good at turning the knobs.

Actual keyboard playing?

Not so much.

And there was one other little complication.

I had purchased this technological marvel on payments.

At some point, a change in my employment situation made those payments rather more ambitious than my bank account could accommodate.

Fortunately, a friend agreed to take over the payments and the organ.

And just like that, my career as an electronic keyboard virtuoso came to an abrupt end.

The organ left almost as quickly as it had arrived.

The keyboardist went on to win a Grammy and is currently touring with a nationally acclaimed artist. I might tell the story about that fling some day so..stay tuned 😀

I do recall that my parents got their living room back.

I suspect they considered that a happy ending.

The Mysterious Electric Keyboard

Somewhere along the way, I also acquired one of those little electric keyboards that became so popular.

I cannot tell you exactly when I bought it.

I cannot tell you what happened to it.

I cannot even tell you whether I learned to play a single song.

But I remember having one.

Those keyboards were wonderful because they came with all sorts of built-in sounds and rhythms.

You could push a button and suddenly have a samba accompaniment.

Another button gave you a waltz.

Another made it sound as though a small orchestra had taken up residence in your dining room.

It was almost like being a musician, except that the keyboard was doing all the work.

Which, as it turns out, was my preferred arrangement.

The Mandolin: My Midlife Musical Renaissance

Fast-forward several decades.

I was in my fifties, deeply immersed in a demanding corporate career, and beginning to realize that there were parts of myself I had neglected while busy earning a living, managing projects, and being a responsible adult.

I wanted to reconnect with my creative side.

I wanted to explore new interests.

I wanted to do something purely for the joy of doing it.

And for reasons I still cannot adequately explain, I decided that something should be the mandolin.

Now, the mandolin is a lovely instrument.

It’s small. It’s charming. It has a beautiful sound.

And unlike the Moog organ, it doesn’t require rearranging the furniture or reinforcing the floor.

So I bought one.

A very nice one, as I recall.

I bought the case. The lesson book. The accessories. All the little things that make you feel as though you’ve made a serious commitment.

I even found a gentleman in the town where I lived who played instruments and was willing to teach me.

We talked.

He agreed to take me on as a student.

Everything was in place.

There was just one small problem.

I never actually became his student.

I didn’t take the lessons.

I barely touched the mandolin.

Instead, it sat in the corner of my office for years, looking beautiful and occasionally reminding me of the talented bluegrass musician I had apparently decided not to become.

Eventually, we moved.

One of the movers mentioned that he played musical instruments.

And in what may have been the most musically productive moment of my entire life, I gave him the mandolin.

At last, it had a chance to fulfill its destiny.

Just not with me.

And Then There’s the Piano

You would think, after all these years, I would have learned my lesson.

And mostly, I have.

I have made a firm decision that my days of buying musical instruments are over.

No more guitars.

No more mandolins.

Absolutely no more enormous electronic organs.

But every now and then, I see a piano.

And I think, Wouldn’t that be lovely?

I have room for one.

I could put it right over there.

It would look beautiful.

And perhaps, just perhaps, this time I would actually learn to play.

Then I remember the guitar.

And the Moog.

And the keyboard.

And the mandolin.

And I remind myself that a piano is a rather expensive piece of furniture on which to display family photographs.

The Musician I Never Became

Here’s what I find interesting about all of this.

I don’t think I ever really wanted to become a professional musician.

I think I liked the idea of being musical.

The guitar represented the free-spirited girl who wanted to sing protest songs and change the world.

The Moog organ represented a young woman who was perhaps a little too eager to impress a man.

The mandolin represented a middle-aged woman trying to rediscover parts of herself that had gotten buried beneath deadlines, responsibilities, and corporate life.

Each instrument belonged to a different version of me.

And each purchase was, in its own peculiar way, an expression of possibility.

I was imagining who else I might become.

Of course, there’s a lesson here about the difference between wanting something and wanting to do the work required to achieve it.

But I refuse to turn this into a lecture about discipline.

Sometimes we try things and discover they’re not for us.

Sometimes we fall in love with an idea more than the reality.

Sometimes we buy a mandolin and give it to a mover.

And sometimes, if we’re very lucky, we figure out what we’re actually passionate about before we purchase a grand piano.

At this stage of my life, I am content to appreciate the talents of others.

I love music. I love musicians. I admire people who can sit down at a piano and make something beautiful happen.

I just no longer feel compelled to join them.

Although, I must admit, I still occasionally wonder whether I could learn to play a little Chopin.

Somebody please hide my credit card.

Now It’s Your Turn

Surely I cannot be the only person who has purchased the equipment for an entirely new identity and then failed to follow through.

Maybe yours wasn’t a musical instrument.

Maybe it was a sewing machine, a set of golf clubs, an elaborate collection of art supplies, a bread maker, or exercise equipment that eventually became a very expensive clothes rack.

I’d love to hear about it.

What did you buy with great enthusiasm, convinced you were about to become a whole new person, only to discover that the enthusiasm didn’t quite survive the purchase?

Please tell me. I could use the company.

And if you’re still hanging on to that guitar, perhaps we could form a band.

We wouldn’t actually play anything, of course.

But I bet we’d look terrific.

Until Next Time

Thank you, as always, for spending a little of your valuable time with me. I appreciate every one of you who opens these newsletters and joins me for a few minutes of reflection, laughter, and the occasional confession of questionable judgment.

If you enjoyed this story, please share it with a friend. I would absolutely love to welcome some new subscribers into our little community. There’s always room for another person who appreciates life’s absurdities and doesn’t take herself too seriously.

I hope you have a wonderful week ahead, filled with good music, good humor, and absolutely no impulsive purchases of musical instruments.

Julie Bolejack, MBA

The Mindful Activist

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