The Unexpected Joy of Playing the Ukulele
August 31, 2026
A fact many people do not know about me is that I play the ukulele. I own two, and neither one entered my life through a serious plan to become a ukulele player. Both arrived through small, unplanned doors, and both have given me more joy than I ever expected from an instrument.
It began when I gave my nephew a ukulele for Christmas when he was about ten or eleven. I was learning guitar at the time. A few months later, I asked him to bring out his gift, and the moment I played it, the instrument felt fun, approachable, and immediate in a way the guitar had not. It was smaller, friendlier, and somehow already familiar, like it had been waiting for me to pick it up.
The First One
I went home and bought a little blue Fender Grace VanderWaal Moonlight Soprano Ukulele. It is still my favorite. I fell in love with it and played so often that I sometimes fell asleep with it beside me, the small curved body resting against my shoulder like something that belonged there. I learned chords, songs, and strumming patterns, but I gradually discovered that I am more naturally a picker than a strummer. My fingers want to find the individual notes, one at a time, and let them carry the melody.
The Five-Dollar Find
Later, Hannah found a much larger Fender ukulele with a broken string in a vintage shop. We paid about five dollars for it. Its imperfect arrival is part of why I love it. It was not an expensive instrument chosen after weeks of research. It was a curious object that asked for another life, and we gave it one.
The Songs That Begin the Session
I almost always start with “Arkansas Traveler,” then move into songs such as “Deep Elem Blues,” “Drunken Sailor,” “Keep on the Sunny Side of Life,” and “Shady Grove.” Traditional folk songs feel naturally at home on the instrument. The old melodies sit comfortably on four strings, as if they were written for exactly this voice.
The best part is not performance. When I play, I do not think about anything else. The ukulele gives me the rare pleasure of complete absorption: the sound, the strings under my fingers, the song unfolding, and nothing else in the room. It is a relief from the noise in my head, and I treasure it.
Adults are allowed to discover new forms of play without mastering them, monetizing them, or turning them into a public identity. Sometimes curiosity leads to a five-dollar instrument, an old song, and a quiet part of yourself you did not know was waiting.
With love and intention,
Jennifer
