In a bout of insomnia last night, I turned on the radio and listened to an interview with a Japanese violin virtuoso who was also getting his doctorate at MIT. In Physics. He said something to the effect that he felt driven and sometimes, inadequate.
I sort of know how he feels. I remember juggling both the clarinet and fifth grade. Sometimes it was overwhelming. Things could have worked out if I had been allowed to limit some of my scholarly obligations, but societal pressures weighed in against the idea.
This guy, his name is Goto, and I, well, we’re obviously of a different species. If we ever met, he’d throw peanuts in my general direction. And I’d catch them. Because, as an athlete, I have a certain amount of eye-hand coordination that will never desert me.
It’s so fucking unfair that I’m not brilliant. Brilliance is something I’ve wanted all my life. That, and a pony.
When one matures, one can do what seems to be the next best thing – sleep with a genius. However, in my vast vast vast experience, genius is seldom pretty and often wears socks in bed.
I just don’t know. And that’s the trouble, isn’t it.