There’s a bird in my backyard that sounds like he/she is saying “Jimmy,” seven times in a row. Over and over. Theres another that sometimes answers (but not really to the other bird I don’t think). This second bird clearly knows nothing about D’yer Maker or upside down Stratocasters or Purple Haze and simply calls “scree scree scree scree scree.” Dullard. Have some self respect you stupid bird. 

I’ve also, been noticing lately that bugs must sleep in the suburbs. I mean I can get ate the fuck to death in the woods at 5 am, but in the 70808, those little shits seem to leave me be. I mean until 6 pm and then it’s feeding time. 

These are my deep thoughts on  nature. Well and on the masters of guitar. I’ve long wished I had gone through a masters of guitar phase.  I mean I learned 1/3 of The Ocean and Stairway to Heaven as well as Hey Joe, and the first 20 notes of Voodoo Child, plus I bought a wahwah pedal for it. Because, duh. I never was student of them though, because it was hard and despite what it may look like, I avoid the really hard things. I want to be able to play the guitar proficiently enough to rip through a Zepplin solo, but I got bored and moved on to something easier. 

During the Coronacation I considered picking one hard song and learning it. This was to be my time. I watched the Tiger King and ate popcorn instead. Maybe next pandemic or at least the second leg of this ones tour. 

I got jokes for sure, but this does bug me. It’s an underlying theme to a lot of things in my life and leaves me feeling like I’ve wasted my time.  Finishing matters and unfortunately, to me, finishing looks like mastery.  Of everything I attempt.  This is a fucking joy stealer, because I am never happy with where I am with anything. If you do this, try and stop. I say try because I can’t seem to. 

So if you’re scoring at home I want to be a guitar player that can hang with Jimmy Page, a songwriter on par with Jason Isbell, cook like Anthony Bourdain, write like Stephen King who has the athletic prowess of the best triathletes and runners in his age group (or younger) all while being a good husband, friend and dad. Oh and run a business or three on the side while being wholeheartedly adored by all those I meet. I can’t understand why I am disappointed in myself. 

Any of the above would take all of my focus, time and energy and I still would likely fall short and yet this is what I hold my self up agains a lot of days. 

They say that comparison is the killer of joy. They should add that it also sucks the life outta life. 

There’s been an encyclopedia’s worth of books written about self acceptance and the like but there’s never been a realistic “how to” section in the appendix. No “see figure A.” to get you going. So I’ll try with my best effort or reminder. 

We all feel less than. It’s just how it is. My goal shouldn’t be all out mastery when I’ve neither had the time, drive or actual want (other than as a way to be more liked). Your goal should be to learn to find the bright in what you do. 

One small bright spot a day is a great start. 

There’s enough poorly done versions of Stairway to Heaven already. Plus. I don’t even like Zepplin that much. (does anyone?)

#hugsandhi5s