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I started playing guitar at 12, and for the last 50 years, crusty calluses have topped each of my fingers. I've sacrificed all sensation at my fingertips since then.
Hard, tough and cracked, they've strummed and plucked their way through thousands of sessions, songs and concerts – loyal partners in my playing, recording and production career.
I'm so used to their presence, I've taken them for granted as extensions of myself.
Recently I was doing some light repair work at home and felt something new. Pain at the end of my finger.
A slow, gradual shift from session work and live performance to more studio production and editing means I'm playing guitar a little less. Time with my cherished high-strung friends has sadly, decreased.
Bellwether to a new era, my softening callouses require a tender touch, and they can hurt a wee bit.
When we mistake familiarity for permanence, we can forget the inevitability of growth and change.
Embracing impermanence is prudent wisdom.
The word 'cling' comes from the Anglo-Saxon clingan -– meaning, 'to shrink'. Case in point, cling wrap.
When faced with impermanence, we can wisely accept its reality, or foolishly cling to the predictable edge of our bowl.
When we cling to the edges of familiarity, for no other reason than it's familiar – our preserved world shrinks. We deprive ourselves of action and discovery, swapping courage for the security of the known.
"At any given moment we have two options: to step forward into growth, or to step back into safety." - Abraham Maslow
Stepping away from the illusion of permanence draws us into the great wide open of growth and change.
… and it may hurt a wee bit.
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