A friend of mine was a young genius, admitted to college two years younger than was the norm – had also applied and been accepted to Julliard Music Conservatory on the virtue of his love for and proficiency on the trumpet.
His parents knew what was best for him, though, and lovingly decided that he should join a good computer science program at another reputable university.
He found himself able, but not motivated, took solace in the thought that he could do well in class if he tried, turned instead to playing Counterstrike (a first-person shooter computer game), slept irregular hours, and flunked out of school before he finished his first year.
His name was Winston. I lost touch with him.
I wonder if he has found his muse, or if he labors in quiet desperation at a job that he doesn’t much care for, a victim even now of an insidious homogenizing strand of thought that would discount genius and force people to be average in favor of a nice steady job, in a cheapening of what is artisitic, passionate, or interesting. Fuck. That. Shit.
However much we sell ourselves short in order to gain the good opinion of others, or for material wealth, we cannot take any of it with us when we die.
Old friend, you must have lost your way for a long time. Do not die with your music inside of you. I pray that you have found your way.