A Writer's Becoming

When I was fifteen, my father diagnosed me as a “jack-of-all-trades-master-of-none.” Although I didn’t enjoy having my mediocrity acknowledged by my paterfamilias, he wasn’t wrong. I can do many things well enough. I was a good enough volleyball player to have articles written about me in the local newspaper, but I did not earn any athletic scholarships. I was a good enough actress to be nominated for a regional theatre competition, but I did not win. I was a good enough pianist to play Bach with abandon in the privacy of my living room, but never in front of an audience. Part of the problem was that I loved sports and theatre and music equally. I refused to sacrifice one passion in pursuit of another. But that was only part of my problem.