Essays, Art and Plays by Dan

When I first picked up the blues harmonica, I had visions of leaning against a brick wall in some imaginary alley, coaxing soulful notes that made strangers wipe away tears. Reality—predictably—was less cinematic. My first attempts sounded like somebody blowing their nose!

The harmonica is a humble little instrument, but it possesses an ego-flattening honesty. You can’t fake a bend, rush your breathing, or coast on muscle memory. Every note demands that you show up as you are—distracted, hopeful, imperfect.

The real lesson came the day I recorded myself. I braced for genius; I received… character-building feedback. But somewhere between the squeaks and gasps was a spark of something genuine. Maybe music doesn’t need to be perfect to be sincere. Maybe sincerity is the key.

Practicing daily taught me more than technique. It reminded me that starting a new hobby late in life is a declaration of stubborn hope.

One day, perhaps, I’ll play on a street corner. Maybe people will walk by unmoved, or maybe one will pause for a moment. Either way, I’ll be there—breathing in, breathing out, and sharing my love of music with others.

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