Tonight, I did something I haven’t done in a long time; play the guitar. I remember over the summer when I bought this new guitar. Nothing fancy, by any stretch of the imagination. It was supposed to be a means to an end. If I learned how to play the guitar, I could learn how to write music. At the very least, I would be able to halfway know what I was talking about to musicians who could put the sounds in my head into something that actually made sense. No more feeling like a jackass humming notes whose names I don’t know.

Playing the guitar itself had benefits on its own, though. There’s something rewarding about looking at this relatively alien piece of hardware, picking it up, and getting some kind of sound out of it. In some ways, singing has been an expression of my soul. Playing the guitar is another kind of expression.

When I sing, there’s an audience there. When I’m really, really getting into singing it feels like it’s just me in the room and I’m just letting everything go, and out. But I know that when it’s over there are going to be people there. I hope for, if not need, some form of positive reaction from the bearing of my soul. I’m not the greatest singer by any stretch, but it’s one of the few things I’ve ever put my all into.

With playing the guitar it’s different.

When I play the guitar, I am alone. There’s no audience. There’s no one’s positive reception I’m looking or hoping for. It’s just me. I don’t close my eyes like I do with singing sometimes. It’s a different kind of concentration and muscle memory. Instead of breath control, it’s trying to be mindful of the next jump on the fret my hand has to make, and what shape my fingers need to be when they get there. There’s a certain rhythm and dexterity that’s unlike anything I’ve ever done before.

Mind you, I am not good at playing the guitar. But the effort in trying to play the guitar connects with my soul in a relatively profound way.

Tonight, playing the guitar felt very symbolic. In a lot of ways, I compare the guitar to my soul. At least tonight I do. My guitar’s been right where I left it, in the corner collecting dust in my living room. Sealed away in a bag with all its connecting parts boxed away and rolled up. It was something of a chore to get everything untangled and organized once I got it out of the bag. I felt a certain nervousness. I hadn’t touched the guitar in a long time, and as poorly as I played it back then, adding a few layers of rust could only make things worse.

But there was a familiarity in hearing those pieces click together and lock in place. The guitar connects to the foot pedal. The pedal to the amp. That low buzz of feedback when my crappy little amp cut on. It took me back to a time when music was a more prominent part of my life.

Tuning each string built up more and more anticipation and anxiety. Taking up the fret and strumming the strings to make sure everything was tuned felt like hopping back on the proverbial bike.

I surprised myself with how much I had remembered, but wasn’t surprised with how out of practice I had become. That fact was apparent in the sound. Missed notes. Inaccurate hand placement. The residual stinging in my fingertips that reminded me that any callouses I had developed from when I played consistently were long gone. I was starting over, I had been here before, and I never left all at the same time.

The sound from my guitar tonight, my soul, was extraordinarily far from perfect. In fact, the perfectionist in me cringed and felt its usual share of disappointment in my inability to instantly master something and move on from it. But therein lies the notion.

Connecting with my soul is not something I can just perfect and be done with. And even when I stray from it, it’s there to welcome me back. It never left. It’d just been sitting there waiting for me all this time.

I could see it everyday in the corner, but knowing it’s there is a good deal different than taking it out, connecting with it, and really embracing what it has to offer.

I’ve missed the expression of my soul. And it’s missed me.