As I begin to take stock of the years and their attainments I have become more and more conscious of the many things I cannot do.
I can create art passably enough to make a living and can be a good listening ear. That is about all.
I cannot dance or sing a song, or play the piano.
I cannot run a race on foot or excel in wrestling or jumping or any athletic exercises.
I cannot manage any piece of machinery from a jack hammer to a locomotive.
I cannot add a column of figures correctly in algebra and never hope to be able to do so.
I cannot tame wild animals, break a horse or train a dog.
When I go to lay a book on the table I am never certain that it will not fall off.
I love chess and games of cards, but I play them all poorly.
I used to buy a one scratch ticket in the MA lottery every day for a period of some years and never won more than my original $2.
I cannot fix a clock or hang wallpaper, or change my oil, or put up a bird house with any degree of success.
I was never able to become popular in a group of people, party, church or community, so I was never elected to do anything in my life, except to some position no one else wanted. I am wholly deficient in the power of competition.
I am very fond of women, but have never been popular among them so that I could really call myself a ladies’ man or hold one for very long.
When I was young I had as many ambitions as there are divisions of human activity. At different times I thought I would be a lawyer, an astronaut, an archeologist, a fire fighter, a truck driver, a poet, a businessman, a great orator, a writer of philosophy, a comedian, a politician, and a preacher. One by one I have taken in my sails.
By infinite experimentation I have discovered that there are but a few simple things that I can do. The world has assisted me in making this discovery by the very simple method of paying me for what I can do and ignoring me for what I cannot do.
I suppose everybody, in a way, undergoes this process of coming to himself. And those who arrive are to be congratulated, even if they find out that the one thing they can do, and the one thing other people are willing to pay them for doing, is laying brick or shoveling manure.
I sometimes wonder how many people really find their duty.
Emerson said: ‘‘Few men find themselves before they die.”