I have a Deering Goodtime hanging on my wall. It’s a five-string, open-back banjo, and it’s been waiting for me to pick it back up for longer than I’d like to admit. I’ve taken lessons. I’ve watched YouTube tutorials. Mostly, I just noodle. And I think that’s fine, actually, because the banjo is the perfect instrument—especially if your brain works like mine.

Let me explain.

You Cannot Be Sad While Playing Banjo

This is not an exaggeration. I have tried. The banjo will not allow it.

There’s something about the sound—bright, percussive, chaotic in the best way—that refuses to be melancholy. Even when you’re playing something slow, there’s an inherent bounciness to it. The notes ring out and tumble over each other like they’re in a hurry to get somewhere fun.

I have other instruments. I play ukulele. I have a concertina that I mess around with. They’re lovely. But they don’t hit the same. The ukulele is cheerful, sure, but it’s polite about it. The banjo is cheerful like a dog that just discovered you have pockets full of treats. It’s aggressive joy.

The Banjo Is Underrated

People dismiss the banjo. They think of Deliverance, or they think of bluegrass in a narrow way, or they just… don’t think about it at all. This is a mistake.

You can play anything on a banjo. Folk, obviously. Bluegrass, sure. But also pop songs, rock covers, Irish tunes, old jazz standards. There’s a guy on YouTube playing Metallica on clawhammer banjo and it rules. The instrument doesn’t care about genre boundaries. It just wants to make noise.

And here’s the thing: there are multiple attainable styles. You don’t have to commit to one path. Three-finger Scruggs style is one thing—fast, technical, impressive. Clawhammer is another—more rhythmic, more forgiving, older. You can dabble. You can switch. You can find the version of banjo that fits your brain and your hands.

The ADHD Instrument

Speaking of brains: I have ADHD, and I am historically terrible at practicing things. I pick up hobbies with intense enthusiasm and then wander away from them when something shinier appears. This has happened with the banjo multiple times. I’ll get into it, make progress, and then… not touch it for six months.

But here’s why the banjo keeps pulling me back: it rewards noodling.

Some instruments punish you for not practicing properly. The banjo doesn’t care. You can sit down, strum through the basic clawhammer pattern—bum-ditty, bum-ditty—and it sounds like something. You’re making music immediately. You don’t need to be good. You don’t need to remember all the chords (I certainly don’t; chord memorization is my nemesis). You can just make the plinky plinky plunk sounds and feel like you’re doing something.

For a brain that needs instant feedback and low barriers to entry, this is everything.

My Nemesis: Chords

I should be honest about where I’m at. I’ve got the basic clawhammer strum down. I can make the sound. What I cannot do, reliably, is remember chord shapes. My fingers know where to go for G. After that, it’s chaos.

This is frustrating, but it’s also kind of the point. I’m not trying to be a virtuoso. I’m trying to have a thing I can pick up, make noise with, and feel a little better about the day. The banjo delivers that even when I’m fumbling through chord changes like I’ve never seen a fretboard before.

Sarah, for her part, tolerates the plinky plinky plunk with the patience of a saint. She has not yet asked me to practice in another room. This is love.

The Goal

I want to learn “Not in Nottingham.”

If you don’t know it: it’s from the 1973 Disney Robin Hood, sung by a rooster named Alan-a-Dale while everyone’s in jail and things are looking bleak. It’s melancholy in a specifically banjo way—which is to say, it’s still got that bounce underneath the sadness. It’s a perfect song.

I’m not there yet. I need to get back to lessons. I need to actually practice, which means I need to sit down with the instrument more than once a month. But the Goodtime is on my wall, right there in my office, and every time I see it I think: maybe today.

The Pitch

If you’ve ever thought about learning an instrument and talked yourself out of it because you’re not musical, or you don’t have time to practice properly, or you have a brain that won’t let you stick with things: consider the banjo.

It’s forgiving. It’s joyful. It doesn’t care if you’re good at it. It just wants you to make some noise.

And honestly? Plinky plinky plunk is a perfectly valid place to be.