The heart of the matter.

I started playing guitar at 15 years old. My teacher, a wheelchair-bound, long-haired veteran, taught me to play, not just by reading, but also by doing.

Each lesson, he instructed me to come prepared with a modern song I wanted to learn. The first half we would spend on technique and the second half on practical application. Each time I left, I knew a new song that I could use to impress my friends. He knew that was exactly what I needed to keep coming back while quietly, in the background, helping me foster a love of music for a lifetime.

The first song I brought to him was Don Henley's "The Heart of the Matter." It was on a cassette tape, pre-compact disc. Back when listening to music took effort.

It was a classic love song, about a break-up and the ensuing heartache. Heart-wrenching stuff - a great melody that was relatively easy to play. Perfect for a beginner to learn to show off to his friends.

Though the chords were easy to discern, and the rhythm easy to strum, the words, as I have learned throughout my life, are extraordinarily hard to sing.

Don Henley, the lead singer for the incomparable band, The Eagles, said of this song... "it took about 42 years to write and about 4 minutes to sing." Man, can I relate to that.

Here's the song in case you don't know it. Give it a listen.

The song has a distinctive pre-chorus...

"I'm learning to live without you now. But I miss you, sometimes. The more I know, the less I understand. All the things I thought I knew, I'm learning again."

Henley's lyrics remind us that life is full of loss. Some forms of loss you can properly mourn. They are gone. There is only memory. There is no going back. Others, well... you have to watch from afar. And as you watch them move on without you, it can be a moment of deep reflection, even intense sorrow.

Are they better off for having known me? Or are they better off without me?

The call, the news, the confirmation of change – the sting of rejection cuts deep. It throws you off your "contentment," forcing you to ask difficult questions and examine your value, just like the songwriter confronts the end of a relationship. It's natural to feel lost, wondering if you've lost more than just your way.

But just like the lyrical refrain, "I'm learning to live without you now," this phase of life demands resilience. Learning to navigate rejection, analyzing feedback, and refining your approach become your new skills. The "more you know, the less you understand" becomes a mantra, constantly reminding you to adapt and learn, embracing the intense discomfort of growth.

And then there's the chorus, an anthem for perseverance. "I've been trying to get down... to the heart of the matter" speaks to the quest for clarity, purpose, and a sense of connection between who you are and who you want to become.

It's a stirring reminder that life is not a linear journey; "everything changes," and progress feels scattered at times. But then there is the point... "forgiveness." Forgive the missteps, forgive the rejection, and forgive the uncertainty. It's about moving forward, not carrying the weight of past disappointments.

For me, it's about remembering to forgive in light of how much I have been forgiven. Expecting nothing in return.

My guitar teacher... he played at the rehearsal dinner of my wedding. Classical guitar was his specialty. But his real gift was helping a young man like me translate a selfish desire to impress his friends into a way to understand how music and life connect, part technique and part application, learning to harmonize every high and every low with a hopeful spirit of resilience.