As I’ve always been a fairly fast learner, over time I’ve come to perversely value those things I’m painfully slow to pick up.

Take, for example, playing the guitar. Having loved the sound of classical guitar since my early childhood (when my parents would play a record of Julian Bream lute suites to lull me to sleep), about six months back I decided I really wanted to learn to play classical guitar myself. So I picked up a copy of Alfred’s Basic Guitar Method at the local Sam Ash, quietly snuck my roommate’s guitar off of its stand, and set to work.

By all logic, I should have been off to a roaring start. After all, I’d not only played the trumpet for more than fifteen years, I’d even played another string instrument (the upright bass) for long enough to perform publicly without too much embarrassment. But neither of those instruments, I soon realized, were chordal – on both the trumpet and bass, no matter how many notes appeared on my music page, I could deal with them sequentially. The guitar, however, introduced the dangerous world of chords, and (worse) polyphonic melody – two different things going on at the same time – something for which my simple, one-note-at-a-time mind was wholly unequipped.

By now, half a year later, by slogging slowly along, I’ve made it to the second book in Alfred’s series. And, frankly, I still suck something royal. But I intend to keep plugging away, with the hopes of one day making it through complex flamenco concertos (or, at least, through the version of “Meet Me in St. Louis, Louis” on page 7, my current nemesis) without anyone in the room cringing visibly. It might take years, but I’m sure I’ll get it. And when I finally do, I’ll be picking up a cheap electronic keyboard, a basic piano method, and opening up yet another whole world of musical pain.