I never wanted to be no rock star.
Never had them dreams.
I’ve been playing guitar a long damn time, but fame was never what pulled me toward the instrument. I never pictured my name up there in lights. Never dreamed about being the next B.B. King. Hell, we already had a B.B. King. The world didn’t need me trying to be another one.
I just wanted to play.
My mama bought me my first guitar when I was little. I had to be a baby. Maybe five, six, seven years old. Somewhere around there.
I’ve had guitars around me pretty much ever since.
And Lord knows I’ve owned all kinds.
Cheap guitars. Good guitars. Guitars I probably should’ve kept. Guitars I probably had no business buying in the first place.
That’s what happens when you spend a lifetime fooling around with six strings.
But wanting to play guitar and wanting to be a guitar star are two different things.
I learned that a long time ago.
The Day I Didn't Go to Berklee
There was a little stretch in my life, probably somewhere between 16 and 20, when I thought maybe I ought to really learn this thing.
Learn it right.
I got it in my head that school might be the answer.
So I went to Boston.
Berklee College of Music.
Yeah. That Berklee.
Me and my girlfriend went up there, and I remember standing there looking at that building.
All that music education sitting right on the other side of the door.
And you know what I did?
I didn't go in.
I turned around and went to the park.
Now, if that don't tell you something about a man, I don't know what will.
I spent the day wandering around Boston. Somewhere along the way, I saw this man walking with a woman on a leash like she was a dog.
I ain't making that up.
Naturally, I followed them.
Hell, wouldn't you?
They ended up going down to a park, and there were people everywhere. Folks hanging around. Musicians playing outside. Music happening right there on the street with no stage, no velvet rope, no somebody standing around deciding whether you were good enough to belong.
People just played.
And something about that got hold of me.
I remember thinking:
That's what I want to do.
Not sit in some classroom talking about music.
Not chase fame.
Not become somebody's guitar hero.
Just go somewhere, open up the guitar case, and play for whoever happens to walk by.
Funny thing is, years later, I did exactly that.
I became a street performer.
So maybe I got my education in Boston after all.
I just never walked into the damn school.
I Got Most of What I Wanted
Over the years, I played with other people.
Made a few recordings.
Played here and there.
Had my share of musical adventures.
And for a long time, that was enough.
I never felt like I'd missed my shot because I wasn't standing in the middle of some big stage with my name on the marquee.
That wasn't my dream.
The guitar gave me what I asked from it.
Music.
Stories.
Friends.
A little trouble.
Probably more guitars than any sensible human being needs.
And memories.
That's a pretty good deal.
But lately something has changed.
Maybe the Old Man Ain't Finished Yet
Here I am at an age when a man is supposed to be thinking about retirement, Social Security, sitting down somewhere, and not hurting himself.
And suddenly I'm studying guitar again.
Seriously.
Not because I woke up wanting to be a rock star.
That ship never even came to my harbor.
It's partly because I look around now and realize there just aren't that many people doing this kind of music anymore.
And then there's the practical side.
I'm retired.
Social Security ain't exactly throwing money around like a drunk sailor.
Meanwhile, I look around and see musicians going out, playing a show, and making pretty good money doing it.
And I started thinking...
Hell.
This might not be a bad part-time job for a retired dude.
Go somewhere.
Plug in.
Play some blues.
Tell a few stories.
Make some folks laugh.
Maybe make somebody cry.
Get paid.
Go home.
If an old man can walk into a joint carrying a guitar and walk back out a few thousand dollars heavier, I reckon there are worse retirement plans.
So now I'm practicing again.
Studying again.
Listening differently.
Working on things I probably should've learned 40 or 50 years ago.
Not because I'm chasing some childhood dream of becoming famous.
Maybe it's just the opposite.
Maybe when you're young, you're too busy trying to figure out who you're supposed to become.
When you get older, you finally quit giving a damn.
You start asking a better question:
What do I still want to do while I've got time to do it?
And apparently, somewhere down inside me, there's still a little music left that wants to get out.
But there's another reason I've gotten serious about playing again.
Matter of fact, that might be the biggest reason.
Something happened.
Something lit a fire under this old mule.
But I'll tell you about that another time.
What about you? What's something you never chased when you were young that's calling your name now?