I have had daydreams of playing the guitar since I was a little girl. I love music and I love to sing, but hadn’t played an instrument since taking piano lessons as a kid. One summer weekend I felt an urge to get a guitar and allowed myself to follow the instinct.

I searched online, called a few places, and drove to a used instrument merchant. I felt adrenaline and jitters coursing through me as I walked up to the shop. I stepped in and my eyes fell on a smiling old hippie as they adjusted to the dim light. He asked what I was in for, and I told him I was hoping to buy a guitar. After a few questions about my experience level and budget, he pulled one off the wall. He strummed it a few times, then extended it towards me.

I told him I didn’t know how to hold it, so he walked me through the basics and had me run my fingers over the strings. The vibration of the sound through my body was ethereal. It took my breath away, and I gasped out that I hadn’t expected it to feel that way. He knowingly smiled, closed his eyes and nodded. He told me that on his hardest days he holds the neck of his guitar to his temple as he plays and lets the music be his medicine. My soul recognized what his was saying, and I knew I was in the right place and doing the right thing.

I walked out the proud and overwhelmed owner of a used guitar, a tuner, and a book of basics. I arranged lessons to start that week and bought a case to protect the instrument from rambunctious young children.

I felt a magnetic pull to that instrument. I couldn’t put it down even though I had no idea what I was doing. I touched and caressed it. I wrote it love letters. I allowed the mystery and magnetism to swirl through me, and I made the commitment to my spirit that I would continue to follow this instinct.

The signal from my soul was clear- you are meant to do this. You are meant to learn and love this guitar. You are honoring yourself with this investment and this process.

And at the same time as I felt that deep certainty, I was flooded with doubts and lies. I heard whispers in my mind that it was wasteful to spend so much on something that’s just for me. I chastised myself for being impulsive and not “shopping around” more. I rolled my eyes at myself for savoring the beauty in my brief connection with the old hippie and counting that as meaningful in the experience of buying something. I felt barbs about how I probably won’t play with enough discipline to make it worthwhile.

The process of honoring yourself isn’t a tidy and linear one. I took a big step towards something that soothed my spirit and brought me joy, but many experiences in life aren’t cleanly “positive” or “negative”. I am proud of the work I did to follow that instinct and buy the guitar. The work didn’t end there, though. I had to spend the next weeks slowly addressing and releasing those doubts and lies that haunted the decision. The work is the continual picking apart of the tangle, and staying with the process until the soul shining joy can get free.

I play the guitar because it soothes my spirit. It offers me the chance to get lost in the present moment, to feel the vibrations in my body, to experience the satisfaction of learning. It was impulsive, yes, but nothing about buying that guitar was a waste.