Strings of Healing

In January 2020, I named it “The Year of Perfect Vision.”
Not because life was clear—far from it.

I was sick, really sick, and no one could figure out why. My health spiraled downward so fast that everything I once dreamed about started slipping away.

For years, working twelve to sixteen hour days, I’d fantasized about one thing: traveling across the United States on my motorcycle. That dream sat at the top of my bucket list—until my body betrayed me. I couldn’t leave the house without a bag of medical supplies. Traveling by motorcycle quickly fell to the bottom.

As my body weakened, another dream—the one I’d abandoned as a heartbroken child—started to stir.

I had smashed my first guitar as a kid, furious and shattered after my parents’ divorce. I let the dream of playing music die with that broken wood.
But now, stuck at home, tethered to my illness, something deeper started calling.
It was time to pick up a guitar again.

At first, the journey was chaos. Like a dart without feathers. My wife and I stumbled through videos and websites, unsure where to even begin.
Then, one night, we found Tony’s Acoustic Challenge.

Structure. Stability. Balance.
That’s what TAC brought into our lives—and into my music.

My health didn’t get better. It got worse. Days of sickness blurred into months.
But somehow, the guitar stayed with me.
And something strange happened.

We decided to buy a few guitars—one for me, and a few for the grandchildren.
One of those was a Taylor GS Mini.

Before we gave it to one of the grandkids, I sat down and played it for a while.
And I felt something unexpected.

Right there, deep in my gut where the worst pain lived—a sudden easing.
Relief.
Hope.

We gave that GS Mini to our grandchild, just as we had planned.
But a few months later, I bought another GS Mini for myself.

And again, when I played it, the same thing happened.
The pain eased.
Sometimes it even disappeared altogether.

I can’t explain it.
I don’t understand how strings and wood could reach deep into the hurting places inside me and quiet them.

But they did.
And they still do.

Maybe it’s the way the GS Mini’s contours press gently against my stomach.
Maybe it’s something about the vibrations of the music itself.
I don’t know.

I just know it’s good.

Over time, I learned that guitar teaches far more than chords or strumming.
It teaches life.

It’s the little things—the daily practice, the small improvements, the patience—that slowly add up to something beautiful.

What started as a bucket list item has turned into a lifelong relationship.
A healing I never expected.

I don’t know how a brown cow eats green grass, gives white milk, and makes yellow butter.
But I know the milk and butter are good.

And I don’t know exactly how the guitar heals.

But I know it’s good.
And I’m thankful every day that it found its way back into my life.