A couple of years ago, I went into Guitar Center to buy a set of strings.

That’s it.

A set of strings.

I had no intention of buying another guitar.

Now, anybody who knows me, or has ever wandered into a guitar store themselves, probably knows where this story is headed. 😂

Tammy and I were down in Round Rock visiting her daughter, Kara, and I decided to stop by Guitar Center while we were there.

I have a weakness for guitar stores. I can walk into one with absolutely no intention of spending money, and the next thing I know, I’ve got a guitar in my lap and I’m wondering what I could sell to pay for it.

Over the years, I’ve bought, sold, traded and owned quite a few guitars. Some inexpensive ones, some pretty nice ones, and a few that cost more than I probably should have spent.

I’ve owned a nice Martin. These days, my Gibson J-45 is my primary guitar, and I dearly love that thing.

But this story isn’t about either of those guitars.

It’s about a used Seagull that was sitting in a stand at Guitar Center.

And how I almost walked away from the one guitar I now know I’ll never sell.

Just Another Guitar

I was wandering around the acoustic section, doing what I always do.

Picking up guitars, playing a few chords, listening, putting them back, and moving on to the next one.

There were some beautiful Gibsons and Martins hanging on the wall. Expensive guitars. The kind you pick up, play for a few minutes, admire, and then carefully put back before somebody notices you can’t afford them.

I was having a pretty good time.

Then I noticed a used Seagull Maritime Cedar GT sitting in a stand.

I’ve always had a soft spot for cedar-top guitars, so naturally I picked it up.

And something happened.

Nothing dramatic. No angels singing. No bright light shining down from the heavens.

I just played a chord.

And listened.

Then I played another one.

And another.

I don’t know how to describe it any better than this.

That guitar just sounded beautiful to me.

The notes were clear and sweet. The sound was warm and full, but not muddy. The higher strings had a softness to them that I really liked, and the bass notes had enough depth without overpowering everything else.

It felt good in my hands.

It sounded good to my ears.

And I didn’t particularly want to put it down.

I’d just spent a good while playing guitars that cost several times what this one did.

But this was the one that made me want to keep playing.

The $350 Problem

I finally looked at the price tag.

$350.

Now, $350 isn’t an outrageous amount of money for a good acoustic guitar.

But at that particular moment, it might as well have been $3,500.

I didn’t have the money to spend on another guitar.

And I certainly didn’t need one.

I already had guitars at home.

Besides, I came in for a set of strings, remember?

So I did the sensible thing.

I put the Seagull back in its stand and walked out.

Problem solved.

Well, not exactly.

We went to dinner, and I kept thinking about that guitar.

I thought about the way it sounded.

I thought about how comfortable it felt.

I thought about those clear, sweet notes ringing out.

I tried to convince myself that it was just another guitar.

There would be others.

I didn’t need it.

I couldn’t afford it.

All perfectly reasonable arguments.

And not a damn one of them was working.

I thought about that guitar all evening.

And the next morning, it was still on my mind.

Finally, I called Guitar Center.

Was that Seagull still there?

Yep.

Would they hold it for me?

Yep.

Well, hell.

I guess I was buying a guitar.

Sometimes You Have to Make a Trade

There was still the little matter of paying for it.

I had a nice Yamaha guitar that I could trade. There wasn’t anything wrong with it. It was a perfectly good instrument.

But it wasn’t that Seagull.

So I loaded up the Yamaha, headed back to Guitar Center, and worked out a deal.

After the trade, I wound up paying about a hundred dollars out of pocket.

A hundred bucks.

That’s what it cost me to bring home the guitar I couldn’t stop thinking about.

I’ve spent more than that on things I can’t even remember buying.

And I’ve spent a whole lot more than that on guitars that eventually found their way into somebody else’s hands.

But not this one.

A Guitar That Just Fits

I played that Seagull a lot after I brought it home.

I eventually installed a K&K Pure Mini pickup in it so I could plug it in and use it for performances.

And every time I played it, I was reminded of what made me go back to Guitar Center that morning.

I love the sound of a cedar top.

There’s a warmth to it, a sweetness in the notes, that has always appealed to me.

And this particular guitar has it in spades.

I’ve never been one of those guitar players who can sit down and explain every little technical detail about why one instrument sounds better than another.

I know what I like.

I know what sounds good to my ears.

And I know when a guitar makes me want to sit there and play just for the pleasure of hearing it.

That’s what this one does.

I can sit down and play a simple G chord, let it ring out, and enjoy every note.

Nothing fancy.

Just six strings and a piece of wood making a sound that I never seem to get tired of hearing.

And for somebody who’s spent a good part of his life trying to get better at playing guitar, there’s something mighty nice about remembering that the sound itself was what got me interested in the first place.

Long before I worried about chord progressions, scales, recording techniques or whether I was playing something correctly, I just loved hearing a guitar.

I still do.

Falling in Love All Over Again

Over the years, guitars have come and gone.

Some I liked.

Some I loved.

Some I probably shouldn’t have sold.

I’ve owned a nice Martin, and today I have a Gibson J-45 that I absolutely love playing.

That Gibson has become my main guitar. It’s the one I reach for when I’m practicing, recording or doing my livestream shows.

And somewhere along the way, the Seagull started getting a little less attention.

Not because I stopped liking it.

I just had another guitar that I was spending most of my time with.

The Seagull was still there, waiting patiently for its turn.

And for quite a while, that turn didn’t come very often.

Until a couple of days ago.

I picked it up again.

Played a chord.

And there it was.

That same sound.

That same feeling.

The same clear, sweet notes that made me sit in Guitar Center playing a used guitar I couldn’t afford.

I sat there for a while, just playing and listening.

And I found myself smiling.

I’d almost forgotten just how much I loved the sound of that thing.

It was like running into an old friend you haven’t seen in years and discovering that you can pick up the conversation right where you left off.

Nothing awkward.

Nothing to explain.

Just good to be together again.

I kept playing.

And the longer I played, the more I remembered why I couldn’t leave it behind all those years ago.

Funny thing is, the guitar hadn’t changed.

I had.

I’d bought other guitars. Learned more. Played more. Developed different habits and preferences.

But that Seagull still had whatever it was that caught my attention the first time I picked it up.

And apparently, whatever that is still works on me.

Because I fell in love with the damn thing all over again. 😂

Some Things Aren’t for Sale

Right now, Tammy and I are getting ready to make a pretty big change in our lives.

We’re selling our house in Temple and moving back to Tuleta, the little South Texas town where I grew up.

And that means we’re having to get rid of a whole lot of stuff.

Furniture. Appliances. Things we’ve accumulated over the years that we don’t really need anymore.

We’ve been going through the house, deciding what to keep, what to sell, and what to give away.

It’s funny how much stuff you can accumulate without even realizing it.

And it’s even funnier how quickly you can decide you don’t really need some of it when you’re faced with having to move it.

We’ve sold things I once thought I’d never part with.

Other things have been a little harder to let go of.

But we’re trying to simplify our lives and make room for the next chapter.

And somewhere in the middle of all this sorting, selling, packing and downsizing, there’s one thing I haven’t given a second thought to selling.

That Seagull.

Not once.

I’ve owned guitars that cost considerably more. I’ve bought them, played them, enjoyed them, and eventually sold or traded them for something else.

But this one?

Nope.

It doesn’t matter that I haven’t played it much lately.

It doesn’t matter that my Gibson J-45 has become my main guitar.

And it certainly doesn’t matter what somebody might be willing to pay for it.

That little Seagull is going to Tuleta with me.

There are plenty of things in this house that Tammy and I have decided we can live without.

That guitar ain’t one of them.

The One That Ain’t Going Anywhere

I’ve learned something about guitars over the years.

Price doesn’t always tell you much about how much you’re going to love an instrument.

I’ve played some expensive guitars that left me wondering what all the fuss was about.

And I’ve played some inexpensive ones that made me want to sit there all afternoon.

My Gibson J-45 is a wonderful instrument. I love it, and I wouldn’t trade it for just anything.

But the Seagull is different.

I can’t really explain why.

Maybe it’s the memory of finding it when I wasn’t looking for anything.

Maybe it’s remembering how I spent an entire evening thinking about it, trying to talk myself out of going back.

Maybe it’s that beautiful cedar sound.

Or maybe it’s all the hours I’ve spent with it in my hands since then.

Whatever the reason, that guitar has become something more to me than just another instrument.

I’ve bought and sold plenty of guitars.

And I imagine I’ll probably buy another one someday.

Knowing me, that’s a fairly safe bet.

But there is one guitar in my collection that I already know isn’t going anywhere.

That Seagull Maritime Cedar GT.

I don’t care what it’s worth on the used market.

I don’t care that it doesn’t have a fancy name on the headstock.

And I don’t care that there are guitars out there that cost ten times as much.

I know what I paid for it.

I know what it sounds like.

And I know what it means to me.

Somebody could offer me twice what I paid for it tomorrow, and I’d just smile and tell them it isn’t for sale.

Because somewhere along the way, that $350 guitar became priceless.

Not because it’s rare.

Not because it’s valuable.

But because it’s mine.

It’s the guitar I couldn’t leave behind.

And after picking it up again these last couple of days, I’ve realized something.

I couldn’t leave it behind then.

And I ain’t letting it go now.