Talent. The word spurns me as a lover. Both an economical elegance and a gift from the gods, it lives in fluidity with perfectly finished edges. I am a firm believer that you can teach anyone anything, but the adage, "practice makes perfect" was mistranslated. Practice makes adequate. Talent plays. Superfluously and naively, talent creates. The machinations just disappear.
I've been playing guitar for over a decade, but of the elusive talent, I have none. Don't get me wrong, I can play the guitar with moderate proficiency. If you have a song, I can learn it. But from my guitar, the solo from Johnny B. Goode sounds mechanical and contrived. It has no soul or vibrance. It limps instead of sprints. To an audience, maybe only a dozen people could pick out the rigid and hesitant picking rhythm or the jerking string bends, but no amount of ironing will smooth out these wrinkles. They are part of the fabric.
How tiny and incommensurable the line is between adequacy and genius. In our youth, we rest in the comforting, maternal warmth of potential. Cradling us in her arms, she assuages our self-doubt and promises that genius is just a few hours of practice away. As the years wear on, what could be becomes what is. Our learning curve plateaus and we discover exactly what we're made of.
As I hit my ceiling in music, philosophy, physical prowess, and theatre, the experience is something altogether unexpected. The process of discovering my limits highlights the fact that a world exists beyond my grasp . It deepens my sense of wonder and awe for the world. My reverence for the savants only magnifies and cements my respect for those whom the heavens have smiled on. I may not be able to drain the ocean, but the tributaries and lakes within the country line are going to be bone dry. And that will be enough. It has to be.
To the graceful,
I will run with you until I cannot run any further. When my fatigued body gives way in the third leg, gasping for air, I will use my last bit of strength to cheer you on. Though I cannot follow, it was my privilege to have run by your side. You create what I dream.
"I will run with you until I cannot run any further. When my fatigued body gives way in the third leg, gasping for air, I will use my last bit of strength to cheer you on. Though I cannot follow, it was my privilege to have run by your side. You create what I dream"
ReplyDeleteThe way you word your thoughts is really nice. It's refreshing.
Never has anyone told me I could do everything or that practice makes perfect, I got spared the crap baha.
What I was told was this.
If you want it, if you can taste it and crave it and know that there is no way that you can live without it.... Then it is yours.
So I guess it is there that you realize that when you play your guitar to someone elses songs and lack the craz and bang that the song had originally. It is because that song wasn't meant for you. It's not what you created and craved to create and then release.
You simply were learning.
When you write, everything you release in to the void comes out graceful and full of energy that someone else cannot do like you can.
You are amazing.
"Use the talents you possess, for the woods would be very silent if no birds sang except the best." -- Henry Van Dyke
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