queen of none

In '96, I, like thousands of other girls nationwide, wanted to be a gymnast. If you're one of those thousands of other girls, you'll know why: it was the year of Kerri Strugg, Shannon Miller, Dominique Moceanu, Dominique Daws, Amy Chow, Amanda Borden, and Jaycie Phelps--the Magnificent Seven.

This was my first exposure to gymnastics of the Olympic sort, and I was completely and totally mesmerized by how weightless they looked. I wanted to know what that felt like.

So I daydreamed about floor exercises, I practiced flipping my arms up for my finish, I dressed up as a gymnast for Halloween (that's how you know when I'm really serious about something), and I remember actually praying several times before bed that I could please just dream about doing flips on the uneven bars, just to feel what that must be like. (Me as a gymnast for Halloween '96:

This is all, of course, not to mention that every recess that year I spent with one leggin-covered knee looped up over a metal hangbar in the playground, flipping over and over it.

As if thinking about it every hour wasn't enough, images of the Olympic gymnasts were everywhere. A particularly triumphant-looking Kerri Mulligan cardboard cutout smiled at you as you ordered your Olympic happy meal at McDonald's, for one.

In case it's not obvious, it is totally and entirely unrealistic for me to ever be a gymnast. (I was 5'8'' by seventh grade.) But I think we all know how the Olympics can make you dream beautiful (if utterly impossible) dreams.

Which, apparently, they still make me do. While watching the volleyball gold medalists interview, in which Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh revealed themselves as being 35 and 33 (respectively), I actually had the thought, "Oh, perfect, if I wanted to become an Olympic volleyball player, I've still got time."

See, the problem is this: I have an over-active desire to possess beautiful things: I see a painting in a museum and I cry because it's so beautiful. I hear a song like this and I have to sit down because it's so beautiful. I sometimes have to not look at certain photographer's work because it makes me ache, it's so beautiful. Now, this wouldn't be a problem, necessarily, if it wasn't for the second part: I also have an unhealthy belief in the "you can do anything you set your heart to" adage. I believe Malcolm Gladwell when he says that 10,000 hours will make you a master at anything, that if I really got to work on learning a given skill, I could be the world's best ____(fill in the blank)____. (This is also, of course, because of a naive view of my own abilities and of just how long 10,000 hours is.) I see that painting in the museum and I'm overcome by a desire to paint something similar. I hear "La Noyee" and I recommit myself to becoming masterful on the piano. You get the picture.

Compound this with my inability to let go of things, especially when they're beautiful, and you've got a real mess.

The result is that my life is filled with hundreds of tiny pieces of beautiful things, but mastery in none.

Here is a list of some things I've had delusions of grandeur about, but have since relegated to "things I sorta know about." You could also call these phases.

accordion-ing

slacklining

longboarding

guitar

harmonica (a very brief stint)

photography

Arabic (don't ask)

knitting

poetry

ballet

yoga

and the latest delusion of grandeur: fly-fishing

I, like this annoying little girl, can wholeheartedly sing, "I want the world! I want the whole world!"

What I lack is FOCUS.

I've done quite a bit of thinking about the above predicament over the last year. I figure there are two approaches to life. One: I try my hand at hundreds of things, just to experience a little bit of their beauty, but never dedicate myself to any of them long enough to fully master. Two: I focus on only one or two things, let go of all else, and become master at it. I assume if I did so, I'd experience a completely different kind of beauty--the beauty of expertise, of intimately knowing a subject. Of making it your life. (I say assume because I've obviously never tried this way of living before.)

I just want to know which one I'll regret the least, at the end of my days.

Either way, I need to consciously choose one of these two approaches to living pretty soon here or I'm going to drive myself nuts. Either stop wanting to try everything, or stop wanting to become a master. Because trying to live both ways leads to constant dissatisfaction and the feeling you are never doing enough.

Jack of all trades, or queen of just one? Which is the better way to live?

(Seriously though, I want your thoughts, all you wonderful, inspiring people out there.)