Sometimes it’s a single sentence I never got back to. Sometimes two – sometimes something I can never seem to finish or find happiness with. Sometimes I write for hours and hours without stopping and it makes no sense. Or, it makes perfect sense. There is no manifesto in me but there is manifest destiny in it … somehow.
If, rather than tangentially chasing opportunities – I wonder what I could have made of or done with my life if I’d focused on ‘just one thing’ the way butcher does, the way a cowboy does, the way a fireman does. Or painter, or sculptor. Or doctor or dentist – not the generalists but the specialists.
Imagine, if you will, if Stephen King wrote part-time. Or if your favourite singer or actor did it part-time, on weekends, to make a few bucks or to have fun in some amateur group. We’d applaud those things – people do it all the time, but they don’t achieve pinnacles of accomplishment that way, do they?
We can all specialize in something we love or feel driven to do or committed to do – if it matters enough. It isn’t that we are important to anyone, but it is critical it be ‘that important’ to us; otherwise we become (and are content about it) generalists in life.