It's a sobering realization, after putting years of work into a lifelong project, when you think about how many people will never get to see the final product, because they ran out their clocks while you were still working on it. But it's even more sobering when you think about how many of those people would never have seen it anyway, even if they'd still been alive when it was finished - because they simply aren't interested.
And that's not a dig against them. I just think it's a tragedy that taste is subjective. Your mileage may vary, and I may just be reflecting my own faults, but it is my experience that every man is an island. Ironic though it is, it is even more readily apparent in this hyper-connected techno-global community. We are all just isolated digital nodes pretending to be a network. (In honor of the show that first taught me this, we each have an impenetrable AT Field).
So many times I've shouted into the abyss, only to get in response nothing more than a few faint snarls, and the echo of my own voice. My innermost desire is to leave behind some proof that I existed. My lifelong struggle is coming to terms with the fact that I am nothing. The curse that was placed on my soul is the fate of being middling. The title of my autobiography is "Almost Gifted". I'm too good to fit in with the riff-raff. But not good enough to be counted among the greats. And it tortures me endlessly.
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