Epstein had decided long ago that he was to become a great writer.
To do this, he knew he would have to patience. Expertise did not spring into shape, it eroded. It was hiding somewhere inside you and was slowly revealed. Time had to do its thing. Little particles had to wear away the layers. But instead of wind and dust and rain, Epstein’s genius would be eroded into shape by these three things:
- Other people’s stories
- An everyday dedication to his craft
- Living his life
Those were bullets and not numbers because all three were equally crucial, balls that had to be juggled. They had the same weight, the same shape, and Epstein would have to learn how to balance all three, giving them each an equal opportunity to chip away at his inexperience and uncover however many masterpieces were waiting within him.
This might some day be a short story or something more, but for now I wanted to share it. Because I like it. Yeah.
