Elementary school is great. It's the time where you haven't yet realized that you have limits, bounds past which your raw talent won't take you. When it's time for PE, everyone goes out and has a blast playing kickball or dodgeball, and as long as you had at least average physical grace, you're good enough to be the hottest thing on the playground for at least a few days sometime. Music is the same way: everyone is handed a recorder when they hit fifth grade, and everyone learns to play a scale on the thing. In all things, you could be good enough to be good at all things simultaneously, with minimal effort. There are no decisions to be made.

It's a curious feeling, that first day when you observe someone doing something you can't do, not even with a few minutes of experimentation and practice. It kind of turns the world upside-down, because now a line is drawn between that person and you, and you're left to wonder how you can go about distinguishing yourself.

It's with a tinge of sadness that I watch masterful artists, whether the art be playing an instrument, coloring a canvas, or rolling a mosaic of words from the tip of their tongue, and realize that I will never accomplish their level of mastery they posess. In response, I pursue the things that I hope will become my own unique voice, my verse in life's poem. And I am contented.