So much for fireworks. I spent the Fourth of July on my couch independently, with a tummy ache and a guitar.
I’m a little obsessed with my instrument. It’s such a challenge that I tell myself I’ll practice for 30 minutes and before I know it three hours have gone by and it’s 1 a.m. and I’m tired and frustrated and cursing under my breath but I can’t put the damn thing down until I get what I’m practicing right at least once.
I promised myself I wouldn’t have unrealistic expectations with this, but I can’t help it. I like to see progress. I need to see progress. I also don’t want to look super lame next time I have to play for my teacher.
I get so nervous during these private lessons! I don’t know why; Walter is patient and nice, and doesn’t make me feel stupid when I can’t grasp something. It’s just my personal need for the approval of my teacher, I guess. I’m the same way with Rina. I feel like they’ll feel insulted if it appears I’m not trying or I’m unprepared.
When I’m finished with this post, I’ll practice my solea for a while before bed. I’m going to try to limit myself to an hour, but I’m not making any promises.
Since my left foot issues have me semi-sidelined from the dance at the moment, guitar has been a great outlet for my excess flamenco energy. And the feeling I get knowing that someday I’ll be able to play this beautiful music … I can’t describe it. Yes, I like guitar a lot. I might even love it.
Dance is still my first love, but guitar has undoubtedly stolen a little piece of my heart. Sigh.
Married to the Dance 