Sounds from the Garage

Rediscovering : Dismissal to Resonance

I’ll never forget Christmas 2023. It was a typical gathering—family, food, laughter, and the usual exchange of gifts that I had grown used to over the years. But this time, as I unwrapped my gift from my sister, I found something unexpected, even odd, nestled inside the colorful paper: a Newlam kalimba. It was a small, wooden instrument with metal tines that gleamed under the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree. To be honest, I wasn’t exactly thrilled. I had seen these tiny instruments online before, but they had always struck me as something niche, almost trivial.

“Do you like it?” my sister asked with a hopeful smile, watching me closely as I lifted it out of the box. I forced a smile, not wanting to dampen the holiday mood. “Yeah, it’s great! Thanks!” I said, though inwardly, I was confused. Why would I, of all people, need a kalimba?

For a while, it sat on the coffee table, drawing the occasional glance from visiting relatives. My nephew even tried to pluck a few notes out of curiosity. But as the day wound down and the wrapping paper was cleared, the kalimba was set aside, just another gift to join the ranks of forgotten holiday trinkets.

The thing was, I had no real connection to the kalimba. Music, sure—I loved listening to music, just like anyone else—but I wasn’t a musician. I had dabbled with a guitar in college, but I had never pursued it seriously. The idea of playing something as obscure as a kalimba, an instrument I’d never even heard of before the gift, seemed pointless. I was sure it was a nice instrument for some, but for me? I didn’t see it fitting into my life.

Over the next few weeks, the kalimba found its way to the back of a shelf in my garage. Out of sight, out of mind. My days went on, filled with work, weekend errands, and the usual humdrum of life. The idea of playing that instrument didn’t cross my mind again for months. It was just another novelty item gathering dust.

March 2024: A Random Discovery

It wasn’t until the middle of March that I stumbled upon the kalimba again. It was one of those early spring days, the kind where you start to feel the urge to clean out the clutter from winter. I was digging through my garage, looking for some old tools, when I spotted it—tucked under a pile of forgotten things. The Newlam kalimba.

I stared at it for a moment, a vague sense of curiosity creeping in. I hadn’t thought about that gift since Christmas. In fact, I had almost forgotten it even existed. Something about seeing it again, sitting there in the dusty garage, made me pause. Why had I dismissed it so quickly?

I picked it up and turned it over in my hands. The wooden surface felt cool, and the metal tines glistened in the soft light streaming through the garage window. On a whim, I plucked one of the keys, letting the note ring out. It was a simple sound, but there was something oddly calming about it. I plucked another, and then another, forming a basic melody that I couldn’t quite place.

And that’s when it happened—the feeling I can’t fully describe. It wasn’t a grand epiphany or anything like that. But as I stood there in my garage, playing this little instrument, I felt something shift. I hadn’t expected to feel anything at all, let alone a sense of peace. Yet, there I was, completely absorbed in the simple act of making music.

The Unexpected Emotion

I don’t know why it moved me the way it did. Maybe it was the simplicity of it, or the fact that it had been months since I’d really allowed myself to slow down and focus on something other than the daily grind. Maybe it was the purity of the sound, each note soft and clear, with a natural resonance that felt soothing. Or perhaps it was because I had expected so little from it, and it turned out to be exactly what I needed at that moment.

Whatever it was, I stood there for a good half hour, plucking the tines and experimenting with different combinations of notes. It wasn’t complex or even skillful, but it didn’t need to be. There was something about the kalimba that just felt right. I felt strangely connected to it in a way I hadn’t felt with any other instrument before.

By the time I put it down, I knew this wasn’t just going to be another forgotten gift. The kalimba had earned its place, though I couldn’t quite explain why. It had touched something inside me, something that I didn’t even realize had been lying dormant. And it had done so with a simplicity that was both surprising and deeply comforting.

A New Routine

In the days that followed, I found myself returning to the kalimba more often than I expected. It became a part of my evenings—a quiet ritual where I could unwind after a long day. The more I played, the more I realized how little I knew about the instrument. I started searching online for tutorials, reading about its origins, and discovering an entire community of people who loved it just as much as I was beginning to.

Turns out, the kalimba wasn’t as niche as I had thought. There were entire forums, YouTube channels, and social media groups dedicated to sharing songs, tips, and techniques. The more I explored, the more I realized how vast and diverse the kalimba community was. There were players from all over the world, each bringing their own unique style and interpretation to this simple instrument. And what amazed me most was how approachable it all felt—there were no barriers, no pressure to be perfect. Just a shared love for the music and the instrument itself.

I slowly started learning more complex melodies. Some nights, I would lose myself in playing, the notes carrying me away from the stresses of work and life. It became my form of meditation, a way to disconnect and reconnect all at once.

A New Appreciation

Looking back, I realize how quick I had been to judge the kalimba. I had dismissed it without even giving it a chance, thinking it was too obscure, too simple, too small to make any real impact. But in reality, it was exactly what I needed—something that brought me back to the basics, something that reminded me of the joy in simplicity.

It’s funny how life works sometimes. The very thing I had dismissed as insignificant turned out to be the thing that brought me the most peace. And isn’t that what we’re all looking for, in some way? A little peace, a little calm in the chaos?

Now, the kalimba sits proudly on my desk, no longer tucked away in the shadows of the garage. It’s become a symbol for me—a reminder to keep an open mind, to not be so quick to dismiss the things we don’t understand. You never know what might end up resonating with you in ways you couldn’t have imagined.

This journey with the Newlam kalimba taught me more than just how to play a few notes. It taught me to embrace the unexpected, to find beauty in simplicity, and most of all, to be open to the moments that move you, even if you can’t quite explain why.

The Unexpected Passion

As the weeks went by, something changed within me. I began to feel a pull toward the kalimba that I hadn’t expected. It became part of my daily routine, almost like a necessity. I would sit down with it every evening, letting its clear, soft notes wash over me. At first, I stuck to the basic melodies I had learned from beginner tutorials online, but as my fingers became more familiar with the tines, I started improvising. The beautiful thing about the kalimba is that it’s incredibly forgiving—unlike other instruments, even the most random notes somehow harmonize, creating a natural flow that makes you sound more skilled than you really are.

I’ll admit, there were times when I got lost in the music. Some evenings, I’d look up and realize an hour had passed without me noticing. My mind would drift away from the pressures of work, bills, and responsibilities, carried by the simple melodies I was plucking out. The kalimba’s notes had a way of grounding me, bringing me back to a place of stillness that I hadn’t known I needed so much.

One night, I found myself playing in the living room while the rain poured down outside. The sound of the raindrops tapping against the windows melded with the soft, earthy tones of the kalimba. It felt like I was playing a duet with nature itself. I closed my eyes, letting the notes blend with the rhythm of the rain, and for a brief moment, I felt like I was in perfect harmony with the world around me.

It’s hard to explain that kind of moment to someone who’s never experienced it. It’s not grand or dramatic. It’s quiet and subtle, but it stays with you. It seeps into your soul in a way that makes you realize how much you needed that sense of peace. That night, as the last note faded into the sound of the rain, I sat there, feeling a sense of gratitude that I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Rediscovering Simplicity

In a way, the kalimba was teaching me more than just how to play music. It was reminding me of the value of simplicity, of finding joy in the little things. I had spent so much of my life rushing from one task to the next, always focused on what needed to be done tomorrow, that I had forgotten how to appreciate the present moment. But sitting there with my kalimba, I learned to slow down, to listen—not just to the music, but to myself.

There’s a certain mindfulness that comes with playing an instrument like the kalimba. Each note requires your full attention; each melody demands that you stay present. It’s almost meditative, in a way. You can’t rush it, and you can’t force it. You just have to let the music unfold, one note at a time, and trust that it will lead you where you need to go.

As I continued to play, I found myself reflecting on other areas of my life. Where else had I been rushing? Where had I been so focused on the outcome that I’d forgotten to enjoy the process? It wasn’t just about the kalimba anymore—it was about learning to embrace the small, everyday moments of joy that I had been overlooking for so long.

A Gift I Never Expected to Love

Looking back, I can’t believe how close I came to missing out on this entire experience. When I first received the kalimba as a Christmas gift, I had written it off as a novelty, something that would never have a real place in my life. But as it turns out, that little instrument has given me more than I ever could have imagined.

It’s funny how life works sometimes. The very thing I dismissed has become a source of comfort, joy, and even self-discovery. The kalimba, with its soft, soothing tones, has brought a kind of peace into my life that I didn’t know I was missing. It has become a daily reminder to slow down, to appreciate the simple things, and to stay open to the unexpected.

I’ve even started sharing the kalimba with friends and family. My sister, the one who gave it to me in the first place, was delighted when I told her how much it had come to mean to me. “I knew you’d love it eventually,” she said with a grin, and I had to admit—she was right. Sometimes the best gifts are the ones we don’t realize we need until much later.

A New Chapter

As I write this, the kalimba sits beside me on my desk, its wooden body glowing in the soft afternoon light. It’s not just an instrument to me anymore—it’s a symbol of something deeper. A reminder that life is full of surprises, and that sometimes, the things we dismiss as insignificant can turn out to be the most meaningful.

I’m not sure where this journey with the kalimba will take me next. Maybe I’ll learn more complex songs, maybe I’ll continue sharing my music online, or maybe I’ll simply keep it as a personal ritual, something just for me. Whatever the case, I know one thing for sure: this little instrument has found a permanent place in my life.

And to think, it all started with a gift I didn’t even want.

A New Perspective on Life

If there’s one lesson I’ve learned from all of this, it’s to stay open to the unexpected. Life has a funny way of surprising you when you least expect it. Sometimes, it’s in the form of a small, seemingly insignificant gift—a kalimba, tucked away in the corner of your garage, waiting to be rediscovered. Other times, it’s in the quiet moments of peace that come when you finally slow down and listen.

In a world that often feels chaotic and overwhelming, it’s easy to get caught up in the noise. We’re constantly bombarded with distractions, deadlines, and demands, always pushing ourselves to do more, achieve more, be more. But the kalimba has taught me that there’s value in simplicity. There’s beauty in the small things, in the quiet moments, in the space between the notes.

So here’s to the kalimba, and to the unexpected journey it has taken me on. I’m grateful for every note, every moment of peace, and every lesson it has taught me. And I can’t wait to see where it leads me next.

-----Update-----

The Gift That Keeps Giving: A 2024 Christmas Plan

After 6 months of playing my kalimba and reflecting on the peace it brought me, I started to think about the upcoming holiday season. Christmas had always been about giving, but this year, it felt different. I wanted to give more than just material gifts—I wanted to give something meaningful, something that could create a real connection. And that’s when it hit me: the kalimba.

The kalimba had transformed my life in ways I couldn’t have predicted. It wasn’t just an instrument to me anymore; it was a doorway into moments of calm, a way to unwind after long days, and most importantly, a source of joy I hadn’t known I needed. If it had done all that for me, maybe it could do the same for others. Maybe, just maybe, this little instrument had the potential to touch the lives of the people I cared about.

That’s when I decided—I would buy 20 Newlam kalimbas and give them as Christmas gifts this year.

I didn’t just want to give people “stuff” for the sake of giving. I wanted to give something that had the potential to spark the same kind of joy and peace in them that it had sparked in me. I wasn’t expecting everyone to fall in love with the kalimba the way I had, but even if a few of them did, it would be worth it.

Choosing the Recipients

The next step was deciding who would get one of these special gifts. Twenty might sound like a lot, but when I started making a list, I realized how many people in my life could really use something like this.

First on the list was my sister, of course. She had been the one to introduce me to the kalimba in the first place, and I knew she’d appreciate the gesture. I thought about giving her a newer model, maybe one with a custom design or a special wood finish, as a way of saying thank you for the original gift.

Then there were my close friends—people I saw regularly, who, like me, often talked about how stressful life had become. One friend in particular came to mind: Greg. He’s always working late, juggling multiple projects at once, and rarely has time to relax. I imagined him sitting down with a kalimba in the evening, letting the soft, soothing notes wash away the stress of the day. He wasn’t the type to pick up a guitar or a piano, but a kalimba? I could see him connecting with it the way I had.

I also thought about my parents. They were getting older, and while they were still active, they had mentioned feeling a little lost since retiring. My dad especially was always looking for new hobbies to fill his time. A kalimba seemed like the perfect gift—simple enough to learn, yet engaging enough to keep him entertained. Plus, I thought it might remind him of the music he used to love when I was a kid. I could already picture him sitting by the fireplace, experimenting with the notes, finding melodies that brought back old memories.

The rest of the list included a mix of family, friends, and even a few colleagues who had expressed interest in my newfound hobby. I didn’t just want to give the kalimbas to people who already loved music—I wanted to give them to people who needed a little more peace in their lives, people who could benefit from a quiet moment of reflection. I hoped that, in some small way, the gift would help them find what I had found: a moment of calm in a chaotic world.

A Gift with Meaning

For me, this wasn’t just about giving a physical gift. It was about giving people an experience. I didn’t want to hand them a kalimba and say, “Here, have fun.” I wanted them to understand why I was giving it to them, why it mattered to me, and why I thought it could matter to them, too. So, I started drafting a little note to go along with each gift.

In the note, I planned to share my own story—the journey from dismissing the kalimba as a silly gift to finding it as a source of unexpected peace. I wanted them to know that this wasn’t just a random present. I wanted to encourage them to give it a chance, even if it seemed strange or unfamiliar at first. After all, I had been in the same place last year, and look where it had led me.

I also decided to include a small songbook with each kalimba. Nothing too complicated—just a few simple melodies to get them started. I thought back to how intimidating it had felt when I first picked up the instrument, not knowing where to begin. The songbook would be my way of easing them into it, of helping them see that this was something they could enjoy without feeling overwhelmed.

I imagined each recipient unwrapping their kalimba on Christmas morning, reading my note, and then, hopefully, plucking a few notes for the first time. Maybe they’d be skeptical at first, just like I had been. But maybe, as they sat there and let the soft sounds fill the room, they’d feel that same quiet connection I had felt all those months ago. Maybe they’d even be moved by it in ways they couldn’t quite explain, just like I had been.

Creating Connections

I wasn’t just hoping to give people an instrument—I was hoping to give them a moment. A moment to pause, to breathe, to listen. A moment to reconnect with themselves, to find a little peace in the noise of everyday life. And maybe, if they were lucky, they’d experience something even deeper—a sense of joy that came from creating something beautiful, even if it was as simple as a single note.

What I loved most about the kalimba was how easy it made that connection. It wasn’t an instrument that required years of practice to enjoy. You didn’t need to be a musician to appreciate it. All you had to do was sit down, pick it up, and let the notes guide you. And that’s what I wanted to share with the people in my life.

I knew not everyone would have the same reaction I did. Some might play it once and set it aside, and that was okay. But for those who did feel a spark, who found themselves drawn to the instrument the way I had been, I hoped it would be the beginning of something meaningful. Maybe they’d play it regularly, maybe they’d only pick it up every now and then. But either way, they’d have it. And they’d know that it came from a place of thoughtfulness and care.

Looking Ahead

As the holidays approached, I felt a sense of anticipation. I couldn’t wait to see how people would react to their gifts, how they would connect—or not connect—with the kalimba. It wasn’t about getting it “right” or making them fall in love with the instrument immediately. It was about offering them an opportunity, a doorway into a moment of peace, just like the one I had found.

Christmas was coming, and with it, the chance to share something that had become so special to me. I had no idea how it would go, but I knew one thing for sure: this year, I was giving gifts that came from the heart. And that, more than anything, was what mattered.