What I Know Now

If I knew then what I know now

I'd have put my arm around you

And said "Hey, I love you pal"

If I was the person that I've come to be

I'd have told you what you mean to me

Sometimes you need something new. On this last trip to the Netherlands in November I played a friends' guitar for the whole tour. It was great to travel light, and I'd played it some before and knew that I liked it. I liked it a lot. It also has good juju. Before he passed, a wonderful songwriter named Greg Trooper used to borrow that very guitar when he played in the Netherlands. It's a 2006 Gibson J-45. (Warning - this next part might get a bit guitar geeky) I have a bit of a thing for the J-45. I have 2 at home. A 1996 all mahogany, and a square shoulder 1968 that belonged to my sister. My friend's guitar was strung up with light gauge strings. I've been using mediums on my acoustics for more that a decade, but it's not my guitar so I played it as is and it felt great!

So great in fact that I decided to make a change and go back to playing on light gauge strings, or 12's as some of us refer to them. When I got home, I got inspired to try a new brand of string and ordered some. I eagerly awaited their arrival, looking expectantly at the '68 J-45 in it's stand next to my desk and not touching it until it was time to change the strings. When they finally showed up, I carved out some quiet time and set about the ritual of a string change. I've been doing this since I was 12 years old. I don't necessarily like it, but there's a comfortable ritual to it that I sink right back into every time.

With the new strings on and tuned, I started to strum a bit and, as if by magic, a few lines and an melody just popped right out of my mouth. I love it when that happens, but sometimes that's as far as it goes. I'll write a line or 2 that just kind of happen, but I won't have any clue what I'm talking about so I stall out. This time I kept going. Over the course of the day I finally figured out what I was writing about, and actually finished the song.

Maybe it's the time of year, or maybe it's the year we've had. I'm of an age where it seems like there's always someone dying that I'm somehow connected to. Someone I know directly, a friend or relative of a friend, colleague, or client, or one of my musical heroes. I'm well aware that no one gets out alive, and even more aware that tomorrow isn't guaranteed, and I began to think about all the amazing musicians that have come in and out of my life.

Some have passed. Some moved on, or I moved on from them, or we just lost touch. Sometimes there was drama. Sometimes it was easy. Thinking about some of these folks had me start wondering how present I was when they were around. Was I able to really feel my connection to them, however momentary, and did I ever take the time to express that?

This is it. As far as we know, we only get one life. It's so easy to get caught up in day to day logistical realties. In striving for goals and achievement. In the who's right and who's wrong of our relationships. In chasing our dreams, or just chasing our kids. It's so easy to miss the amazing moments. The moments of true connection. To have them pass by without a glance. Without acknowledgement. If I get the chance to look back again someday, I'd like to be able to say I took the time to acknowledge the people who mean something to me.