Cattycorner to the front of our townhome in Florida is Friendship Park, a small serene and shady park, hardly inhabited. It overlooks the Intercoastal with mangroves on one side, a fence on another, and inside, has a white pagoda, benches, a brick walkway, and a touching 9/11 Memorial near the entrance.
I'm back in Maryland as of this week, but between January 23rd and May 18th - EVERY DAY - I heard guitar music drifting from the park.
Every day.
Peeking out the kitchen deck on our second floor, I could see a guitarist under the trees, sitting at a picnic table, playing his music. Every day he showed up, as sure as the sun set ... as sure as his name is Bob.
I call him The Guitar Guy.
The Guitar Guy had no audience except for the few squirrels frolicking in the trees. There was no applause as he ended a song. No one in the park to thank him. And certainly, no one paid him to play. He just did.
He simply played his daily music. I'm guessing he played guitar for himself. Sang for himself. Performed for himself. Maybe that way, there were zero expectations for accolades or approval from anyone? His guitar ... his artistic outlet.
Occasionally, so The Guitar Guy realized
someone
was
listening
to his free uplifting music, I clapped from afar, or shouted,
"Wooooo!"
after an especially inspiring song. I'd hear him reply, "Thank you very much," although he could not see who had clapped. He gave - and he received.
Sometimes I sat on the dock next to the park listening to his songs. Other times I walked the pup past the fence and paused to hear him. And many days, I sat to listen on my deck. His music was
all so lovely
...
calming ... peaceful ... available ... and especially welcome during this mess as we are cut off from normal activity.
This week, I truly missed hearing The Guitar Guy. It was good stuff. I
love
guitar music - my absolute favorite sound. He sang the lyrics in a handsome voice, emulating some of the greatest timeless musicians: Jim Croce, Bob Dylan, Neil Young, James Taylor, The Eagles, Eric Clapton. He sang familiar songs, ones which continue playing in a loop in our heads afterwards.
When I was close enough, I complimented Bob, encouraged him to continue, and told him I really enjoyed his music. Once I wrote him a thank you note and passed it over the fence. It said something like ...
"
To the Guitar Guy ...
When we couldn't go to a concert or a movie ... you played.
When we couldn't leave our homes ... you played.
When we sat outside ... you played.
When we were eating dinner or writing ... you played.
You played for no one and simply because.
I want you to know ... you were heard."
Why did I not walk a block to the park to watch The Guitar Guy play? Because it felt so delightful to hear the music without watching. It floated through the air into my ears, heart, and deep into my soul. And who knows ... maybe he didn't want people sitting near him to watch. Perhaps that's why he chose a quiet empty park to play his music ... only for the squirrels' benefit.
The Guitar Guy is doing something he loves just because he loves doing it. He needed nothing else attached to it.
Do the same ... do something you love FOR YOU. It's okay to please yourself. That's one "take-away" lesson from The Guitar Guy.
And the other ... let someone know you hear them.
