Some days after work, I have the yearning to play my guitars. Yet many of those afternoons end up the same way lately: I sit down to recover from weariness before chores begin. Cooking. Laundry. Tidying up. Occasionally squeezing in a short run. Life itself quietly takes priority.
I am not complaining. In fact, I think I am learning something important.
These days, I no longer want to pick up a guitar just for the sake of saying I played. I want to mean it when I do. Even if it is only five focused minutes, I want effort, intention and presence behind every note. Otherwise, I would rather rest properly and finish what needs to be done.
Today followed the familiar pattern. Rest. Chores. A short one-mile run.
But in the evening, I finally pulled out “Free”, my weather-beaten left-handed Gibson Les Paul Studio 70s Tribute which I play flipped right-handed. Unplugged, just sitting quietly, I spent about five minutes with her.
The purpose was partly practical. Since the Nik Huber Krautster II currently sits at the top of my boutique legacy league table, I wanted to seriously test the inconveniences of playing a left-handed guitar right-handed over a longer term.
The result surprised me slightly.
Honestly, it felt rather comfortable.
The neck, while not thin, sat naturally enough in my hands. The only real inconvenience was access to the upper frets near the neck joint on the treble-string side. Otherwise, the experience was much less awkward than many would imagine.
That small session quietly told me two things.
First, the Krautster possibility may be more realistic than I initially thought.
Second, my relationship with guitars has changed again.
Back in the covid years when I started my mini guitar business, gear movement itself carried excitement. Hunting, flipping, discovering, comparing. But now, I feel myself slowly entering a quieter phase of curation rather than accumulation.
I bought Free for S$490 and currently have her listed at S$600. Both prices feel almost absurd for a Gibson, even one covered with scars and wear. Yet perhaps those scars are precisely why she still feels honest to me.
Tonight was not about pedals, boutique woods or specifications. It was simply five unplugged minutes after a long day.
And somehow, that felt enough.