Every Sunday they played so well. Sometimes the music touched my soul so much that I cried.
We were part of a church in Oxford, England called St Aldate’s. One Sunday, on the way home after church, I told Heather than I wanted to play the bass. I have always been able to hum the bass line in my head. I played violin in elementary and middle school. My sister is a professional musician. My dad could pick up any instrument and create music in less than an hour.
We returned to live in the States, and Heather bought me a bass, an amplifier, and a few learning videos – including one by a favorite bassist, Abraham Laboriel. I spent a little time trying to learn to play. It was not as easy as I hoped. I tucked the bass in a corner. A year later, the bass went into the basement closet. Two years later, I sold it.
Seeing the bass in the basement became a guilt trip for me. Heather bugged me to wipe the dust off and give it another try. We finally realized it was not going to happen, and I admitted defeat.
Selling that bass was a freeing experience. So maybe if you let go, you will find freedom. But maybe it’s worth fighting till you win.
Footnote: There is no period – or full stop – after the “t” in St.” That’s just how they spell it in England.
One Reply to “The bass in the basement”
I have an accordion in a closet and a piano in my living room. I can’t play either. At least sometimes visitors play the piano.
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