This cat is the best at extreme napping, Ravello, Italy
Because I’m OK at photography.
Duh. I mean if I was, you might have heard of me, or I’d probably have more exciting things to share, or at least I’ve have mentioned my Guinness world record of butterfly collecting.
The other day (meaning about three months ago, before post-wedding lazy time) I went for a run and it was getting dark and I was practically alone in the park, and trying to get as hot and sweaty as possible so that I could tolerate a cold shower since we had no hot water. And I decided to run as fast as I could. And it seemed pretty fast. And it was definitely fun. And I remembered how I was the second fastest girl in my elementary school and although I loved running I didn’t pursue it competitively because I wasn’t the best.
That first fastest girl? Yea, she ultimately won the state championships and graduated from Annapolis.
Sure, the were other reasons I didn’t pursue running. For one, I am intrinsically driven by beauty, and although some may argue about Olympic beauty and strength and power, I never saw it as a something to which I wanted to aspire. And gym teachers/coaches scared the begeezus out of me.
I was not an athlete.
I was a dancer.
At least more so than anything else.
See I’ve spent most of my life searching for the thing I could be the best at.
And other than getting a perfect score on the verbal SAT, I haven’t found it.
Nobody told me that you should find something you’re reasonably good at but love the hell out of and then work your ass off until one day maybe you’re close enough to the best but by then you no longer care.
And this is why I’m a dilettante.