My old guitar sat in the closet for almost twenty years. I kept telling myself I would play again when I had more time, more focus, or better fingers. Eventually I realized time was not the thing missing. Permission was.
So I tuned it badly, looked up a few chords, and started over. The first songs were rough. My fingertips complained. My family was polite in the way families are polite when they love you.
But after a few weeks, something shifted. I was not trying to become impressive. I was just enjoying the sound of learning again.
Now I play most evenings after dinner. Sometimes it is a song I knew when I was young. Sometimes it is something new. Either way, the guitar reminds me that creativity does not expire. It waits.