Sufficient

I've lost track of what living means. All I do is keep myself alive. I get up, feed my pets, put the kettle on, and dash out the door to work. I'm at a loss to figure out how, at my age, I can get off this hamster wheel. Time to make some decisions. The dreams I had as a kid seem to be fantasy. Enough pity party. Coat, shoes, hair combed, teeth brushed, day pack. Check. Off I go!

Winter is losing its grip on the beach. The drifting garbage beckons. I scramble over the slippery rocks to a secluded cove. A few interesting rocks find their way into my pack when something catches my eye. It turns out to be a vagabond guitar wedged lightly next to a some driftwood. It's missing all but 2 strings and the varnish is a bit weathered. I try to shake what this traveler has picked up. Sand, bits of rock and shell, and a larger object that won't shake out. I'll have to prize it out with my hand. It is a small, black book, heavily wrapped in plastic.

The first page entreats, "If you choose to dedicate yourself to making a difference, then write your name on this page. Read this guide one chapter at a time. If you follow the journey, everything you desire shall be yours in one year's time. Take the guitar and learn to play it but, learn fast. You must play well enough to play for an audience in one month's time."

Wait, it isn't playable! Hahaaaa. Right. Next page, "Do whatever it takes to get the guitar playable. Remember, make the commitment and reap the rewards in one year. Read the next chapter in 1 month. Chronicle your journey in the next 4 pages." I’m intrigued, what the heck, I've not had a bit of honest distraction in a long time. I write my name in it: Jason Marklin. This is silly, however, I want to feel like I am doing something worthwhile. Even if it is to just make this battered guitar make music again. Don't know why, but this old guitar is calling to me. Reminds me if that John Denver song... As I wend my way home, I am lost in dreams of rock and roll stardom wondering what the next chapter will have for outrageous instructions. I'm genuinely looking forward to trying this.

I stop at the local music shop to see my friend Mark. Since high school he's encouraged me to pursue my music. Mark examined the guitar and tried to sell me a new one. "Restoring that piece of driftwood won't get you anything but heartache," he expounded. I told him about the book I found. Mark now thinks I am completely daft but takes me to the items I need. To my astonishment, the bill is less than a hundred dollars and includes strings, tuning keys, string pegs, saddle, and fret oil. Mark promises to come over tomorrow and get me started.

Sunday morning came after a night of deep sleep. I feel different today, energized and a little giddy. I ruminate about my life. What are my desires? What do I want and what don't I have now that would make these dreams come true? The doorbell rings. Mark’s here and we start on the guitar. Once it’s back together, Mark starts to play it. "Man, this guitar has an incredible sound despite all it's been through!" As always, I am impressed with Mark's skill. I happily listen, but Mark has other ideas. "Man, you got 4 weeks to learn to play. I suggest starting now." Grumbling, I take the guitar and make incredibly awful sounds as my hands, mind, and memory war with each other. Mark tells me to write in my journal because in a year, I’ll want to look back and laugh. I pick up the journal. "It took a single day to get this guitar playable. It's not pretty but it has a really nice sound, if I'm not playing it!

The month passed quickly. As I finish writing in the journal, it’s full of frustration, complaints of no time, why am I crazy, and this is madness. However, at the end of the fourth week I can sing and play at the same time with some degree of confidence. I regained my singing voice from years past and I’m looking forward to the next chapter.

Chapter 2, "Jason, It's time to get down to work." WAIT!!! WHAT???? How did the book know my name? Oh hell no... I read on. "Yes, Jason Marklin. You will understand when the year is up. Mark will be helping with your journey. Sing and play your heart out. These months require perseverance. There will be times you will want to break this old guitar, resist. Write in the book."

HOLY SHi..... I'm looking everywhere in my apartment for a hidden camera or microphone. The only place I can figure it might be would either be the book or the guitar... nothing. The doorbell rings. It's Mark. "What the hell do you think you're playing at Mark?" He stammers, "Dude, I have no idea what you are talking about. I'm just here to take you to a friend's place to play in a song circle." I practically scream at him, "Mark, I just read the next chapter in the book and it has MY name and YOUR name. What the hell is going on?" Mark is gobsmacked, "How the hell did MY name get into it?" I show him the chapter. "There it is. In black and white, both our names." We look at each other as the hair on our arms raises and we simultaneously say, "Fairies!" Mark wants me to read ahead. I'm adamant that I’ll follow instructions. After all, I am happier than I’ve been in a long time. I'm playing music again after 30+ years, I've seen more of Mark in the last month than in the last year. Life is better... even if the book is possessed.

I'm more stressed than before I started reading this book and I'm angry. I'm frustrated as hell. I don't want to quit, but I'm really close to smashing this guitar over a few heads! The book says to re-read it from the start to now. Week 1: " My fingers hurt, my voice hurts, I'm more exhausted than ever, but man am I energized!" Week 2: "I'm getting calluses! Woo Hoo. I can play some chords now, but not bar chords... I HATE bar chords." I guess that’s funny. After 4 months of this, I am no longer afraid of bar chords. I skip to the end of month 2: "It's been one heck of a month. I've met some incredible people who think I have talent. I feel like an imposter. I'm invited to jam sessions and love my life."

I remember those euphoric feelings. My spirit is lifting. I read on. Month 3: I haven't practiced in a couple of weeks and it shows. I'm getting overwhelmed with my real job and all this music. I'm beginning to think I’m talented. I've met more folks who want me at a few gigs. I'm excited and terrified. Month 4: Well, gig life is not what I imagined. It is a lot of work and time and not a lot of money. The folks who hire you, with a few exceptions, are self-centered asshats. The only thing keeping me from quitting is the audience. They are amazing. I still think I'm a bit of an imposter.

I finish reading and feel better. I want to do this. The book said this would be the hardest part. Now, the next chapter. "Well done Jason. You have met some good and bad folks. The next 8 months will be decision time. You will be tested. At each, you must make a choice. Choose wisely or risk obliterating all, and the journal will cease to help. Don't lose sight of the goal... at the end of the year, all you desire will be yours." I sigh and drive to the next gig.

My phone is insistent. "Jason, get down to the studio ASAP there's an extra 5k in it if you can get there in 20 minutes." I ask Mark which studio. It’s a 15 minute drive. I grab my battered guitar and out the door I fly. While driving, I realize the last 12 months has been exactly what the book said. Full of tests, heartaches, delirium, exhaustion, and doubt. I know I have made the right choices, though some were difficult indeed. Arriving I get a feeling of unease. Something isn't right. I enter the sound stage and see several musicians I have worked with before. All seem to be happy and ready to record. Everything seems perfect, yet I'm ill at ease.

"STOP!" I yell in the 3rd hour of a tangled mess of mistakes. The bass player kicks over his cymbals and storms over, cursing at me for the umpteenth time, "WTF Jason? Just play it like I wrote it. You are getting a lot of dough to do this gig." Suddenly, I know what’s wrong. No more anxiety and working with folks who are not of like mind. My life isn't the fame and fortune as I envisioned, but it’s the life I want. "Guys, I'm done here." I take off the headphones, heading for the door. It is a cacophony of anger and disbelief. "HEY AS# H***." I'm almost knocked over as the manager steps in. "Get back to that microphone and finish the F****** song. NOW.” He puts a hand on my chest, " You won't get a G** D*** penny if you walk out." I remove his hand, "Keep your money, I don't need it. I have sufficient and I’ll not work with you again." I left the room extraordinarily happy.

I reach my car and there is a stranger leaning against it. I greet her, “Nice place to take a break isn't it? I'm afraid I must interrupt your musings. I’m leaving in that car." She smiles and steps toward me, hand extended, "Hi Jason, let’s take a ride. It’s the end of the year " I took it in stride and said, "Hop in." We leave and she says, “Drive to the beach where you first found the guitar. It’s there your journey concludes." We drive in silence and park. "Bring the guitar." We walk to where I found my battered friend. She asks me to play the song that means the most to me. I sing Puff, The Magic Dragon. My words seem to come to life. I see, in my mind's eye, the story unfold as never before. It is vivid, I feel the dragon's pain and sorrow. She asks me, “Why that song.”

"Because it has such good imagery. It reminds me to be a kid. To play and use my imagination." She hands me an envelope. In it is a $20k in cash. "What is it you desire most Jason?" I laugh, "What I most desire in life I have. You see, this book... it's magic. I have enough money to live on. I’ve a career I love, and friends to share with. Best thing to ever happen to me was finding this book and quit the job I hated. If I had more money, I might become someone I don't want to be."

She asks me once again, "What is it you most desire?" I pause, "I desire to make a difference in this world. The money should be given to one less fortunate than I." As she levitates slightly off the driftwood seat, she says, “First I'll answer the question burning in your mind. Yes, I am a faery and I need your help.” How shall we get the next book into the hands of the next person?"