Each night my dad takes up an old and un tuned guitar, props it on his knee and slowly strums on the sagging strings. My father is a natural musician with a voice that is warm and comfortable and a talent for stringing together sentences into silky streams of song lyrics. In short, he was born with a gift and though he has yet to master the guitar, slowly but surely he is realizing that gift through a persistent pursual of the instrument.

For the past few weeks I have been floating through my own life, feeling more an observer than an active participant. I wonder what the deal is. I feel displaced, uprooted and unsure and I find myself looking around for resolution and some sort of absolution.

The older I get, the more I come to realize that this sort of thing happens from time to time. In the continual ebb and flow of existence there is natural variation, and along with it, a tendency to allow ones understanding for oneself and others to wane, or expand.

At present, I am watching myself operate as the epitome of the inconsistent and superfluous female, relentlessly worrying about everyone around me, apologizing for everything, and furrowing my brow at each new thought that floats into my mind. It’s quite frustrating and despite the fact that I understand my current state as transitory and temporary, I am confused and tired by the added effort it has required.

You may be wondering how dad and his guitar tie in here. My father is a person who has dealt with considerable emotional and situational fluxuation in his life. Such has not been easy but has certainly left him with lessons learned and stories to tell. When I watch him take up that guitar and strum away, his importunate approach serves as a solution to life’s uncertainty. Though the path be unclear and its destination unknown, put one foot in front of the other and, irrespective of whatever else may be going on or how poorly you employ it, pick up that guitar, and keep strumming away -

you might just wake up one day and know how to play.