Sometimes certain sentences from books I’ve read stay in my head. Randomly, they’ll come back to me. Like how when I add sugar to my lukewarm coffee, I’ll think about how Danny Conroy from Dutch House would have rather spent his time explaining to the woman who claimed his mother was still alive that her sugar would have melted faster if she had added it while her tea was still hot. I don’t remember reading Pride and Prejudice, but I do remember reading a YA novel loosely based on it which quoted the first line from Austen’s novel: it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. Sometimes I think about how Isabel Allende concluded her heartbreaking memoir Paula, “Godspeed, Paula, woman. Welcome, Paula, spirit,” as she found closure in the passing of her only daughter. Of one of my favorite authors, Louisa May Alcott, the line that comes to mind most frequently is how Amy March from Little Women says, “That’s just why, because talent isn’t genius, and no amount of energy can make it so. I want to be great, or nothing,” when asked why she was giving up art after having visited Rome.
And in one sentence, Alcott has perfectly captured how it feels to be imperfect, even at the things we love doing the most. Amy March is in a particular situation where she has to decide the feasibility of her talents bringing her a suitable living wage as a woman. Today we might not have the same exact concerns (for better or worse, we don’t have to worry as much about having no possessions after marriage as we do about the pay gap), but there comes a day in every young person’s life when he or she or they must decide if they’re going to be enough for their dreams. Are we just talent or have we found what is truly meant for us? Is there such a thing as a true calling and if we’ve heard it calling our name, can we answer? In the face of these questions, I can only draw upon the values instilled in me as a child. A religious woman who imparted some degree of spirituality in myself, if not cookie-cutter traditions, my mother used to tell me, “Hard work can change even God’s mind.” This would come up, particularly after my elementary school body rejected Beethoven in tantrums and wailed in defeat.
She would recite this saying in Tamil, and regardless of a language barrier or fundamental religious confusion, I can attest to the notion that practice and hard work can overcome any natural disadvantage in an art or sport. I can’t say that I’ve unflaggingly believed in an adage that puts 100 percent of the control in your own hands, especially considering there are many times in my so far short life that I’ve experienced a severe case of butterfingers (I mean this as literally as I do figuratively; I truly do not suggest working on a painting for hours before accidentally dropping a paintbrush of black over the whole canvas when you really only wanted to place a pupil in the eye of a lion). Maybe one day you’ll have to make like Amy and choose a practical alternative to doing something that makes you happy. But until then, give it your best shot.
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