Permission to Pause

#254

The Fun Phase

I had picked up my guitar sometime last year in the hopes of learning to play my favorite songs, strum basic patterns and seamlessly switch between common chords. I went in with no plan and no roadmap. No deadlines, no "have to do this and that". And I managed to achieve just that.

For the first few months, it was genuinely enjoyable. Ten minutes here, fifteen there. Longer, even. Learning songs badly. Struggling to play even a four-chord song that repeats throughout. But I loved that struggle; that phase was pure joy, no strings attached (okay, yes strings, but you know what I mean). I could play and practice the same easy song over and over without frustration, and quickly saw greatly-improved results. Even tiny progress felt like a big win.

When Joy Becomes Obligation

After some time though, I felt the mood gradually shifting. It had been more than 20 songs by now, most beginner, a few intermediate, and a couple of them truly advanced for me then. My mind started telling me I was supposed to be progressing faster. The beginner phase felt like a box to check. Intermediate loomed like homework.

I started asking: What's the point? Where is this going? Shouldn't I have stopped struggling on these basics by now? Why do songs with more than two barre chords still trip me up? And the moment you ask that about something that started as pure fun, you've already hit a sour note.

Here's the thing: hobbies don't owe you anything. And you don't owe them relentless optimization either.

Two States

What had happened? Comparison had crept in without me noticing.

At first, I was just playing. Floating like a confident butterfly in my own lane. Owning my naivete. But then I'd watch YouTube tutorials. See other people play guitar—effortlessly switching between chords I was still wrestling with. And somewhere amidst all that, I stopped being content with my own progress. And slowly started losing motivation.

Morgan Housel talks about how luxuries become necessities the moment you see someone else with them. Charlie Munger says: "The world isn't driven by greed, it's driven by envy." Watching someone else have it and thinking: Why not me? Why can't I do that yet?

One day you're content playing four-chord songs. The next, you're measuring yourself against someone else's journey. And that's when the fun dies.

Choosing What Serves You

Some days, the guitar calls out to me and I pick it up, get into flow state and an hour goes by feeling like minutes. Other days it feels like work. Classes get harder. The jump from beginner to intermediate isn't playful anymore—it's just demanding. Fingers hurt a lot more especially my left pinky (hello jazz chords!). Even my instructor urged me to keep at it saying this is where the early-on intermediate players tend to plateau and lose hope, but with persistence you shall emerge victorious soon enough. 

I still wasn't feeling it though.

And that's okay. It's your choice.

You can push through. Growth often lives on the other side of discomfort. But you can also pause. Put it down. Do something else for a while. Come back later with a fresh mind and heart, or don't.

The guilt? That's the hustle brain talking. Telling you that stepping back means you've failed. That rest is weakness. Or giving up.

Self-care isn't just meditation and green juice. It's also knowing when to amp it up—and when to lay low. It's being gentle with yourself when a hobby stops striking the right chords (literally in this case!), and trusting that if it does, you can pick it right back up. Whatever floats your boat. 

Either way, approach with kindness, especially towards yourself.