I played guitar since I was 14. I am now 41. Came home to find my wall hanger had slipped out of my wall, causing my Ibanez to fall directly into my dresser, gouging the front of a formerly pristine guitar. At that point, I had already contemplated quitting all together. I hadnt played in seven months. Reason being, every material object, or meaningful activity in my life that has given me joy, has been completey ruined, or taken from me for reasons beyond my control. 100% of the time. My closest refer to me as (paraphrasing) "The unluckiest person to ever exist". Picked up my guitar one day, inspired to learn a new Pearl Jam song. Learned it. The next day, my once beautiful guitar is {censored}ed. And, at that moment, guitars, and music really, meant nothing to me. Just like that. I was no longer passionate about something I spent doing every minute I possibly could for 27 years. All my guitars are put away. No reminders of them left. Thinking back, I only started playing because I wanted to be a rock star. And I was one of those kids who was dumb enough to believe their parents and teachers when they said,"All you need is a dream and to work hard!" Lol. Good times. Anyhoo, logically, it was nothing more than a gigantic waste of a large chunk of my life that got me nowhere and nothing. That about answer it? Lol
