Identity Crisis Resolved
“I take my ukulele everywhere,” I would say when I was between the ages of 13 and 16. And it was true, everywhere I went I took that ukulele with me. We moved to Bolivia. I took my old Martin with me. I played it when I was happy, I played it when I was sad. I watched countless videos of famous uke players. I practiced. I played. I learned more and more. And I got proud. Then, one very sad day, I sat on it. Yes, you heard me right. I sat on my precious uke. I ran upstairs and bawled my eyes out for an hour. The poor thing was crushed, what was I going to play? How would I pass the time? How would I work on the new song I was learning? A few months later my grandparents brought me a replacement. I practiced. I learned. I played. And I got prouder. Daddy and Mama bought me a beautiful new ukulele when I was 15. Prouder still. I would play it for people and they loved it, they thought I was so good. It became who I was. Because I was so good, it became my identity.