The great violinist

It’s Friday afternoon. It’s raining. After summer arrived with a sudden vengeance this week, this is rather pleasant, despite the rainy monstrosity that was May. 

The familiar sound of the guy two houses up talking on his phone carries through to me, pierced by the occasional ringing of bottles, as the glass recycling truck makes its way around the neighbourhood. 

I’m thinking about writing more regularly. Hence this post I suppose. Putting thoughts down on paper. So that they’re real, tangible. I often find myself in the middle of a work day, just staring out of the window in thought about something very random. Sometimes not so random. 

Today was no different. As it often does, my mind ventured into the realm of my own career, and what the next five to ten years had in store. I’ve also spent an unreasonable amount of time lately wondering what I’m truly good at. What are my natural abilities? How well do I even know this?

I was in someone’s house the other day, and they had this old vintage violin. Just sitting there like an ornament. I wanted to pick it up, but I dared not. It looked quite expensive. But it did make me realise that I’d never held a violin in my life. 

In terms of talent I could be the greatest violinist in the world. Probably not. Definitely not. 

But I’d never know, would I? And then I thought of all these parallel universes looking at us. Doorways and pathways untravelled. Talents unfound. 

Do we have a natural ability to sense what our true talents are? Or is it entirely dependent on us trying it out? It’s scary to think of what we might be missing out on. 

So much of life is just reaching out to something in front of you and hoping it works. Following some perceived north star, if you’re lucky. While seas crash around us we come into this life and throw the dice, hoping for the best. Living in mud huts while the ghosts of mansions cast shadows all over.

The rain’s still coming down outside. And I’ll keep wondering about this.