You're special to your mom and I, and to your friends and relatives, and to whoever you're sleeping with, but to Nature, and Mankind, and The Universe, you're beneath contempt. You're a food source. It doesn't matter if you went to Harvard. 28,000 people go to Harvard every year.
The only way to be good at something, to get a brief glimpse of "special", is to work your fucking ass off at it. Usually you'll be working for free, or at starvation wages, and you'll probably never make the cover of Time magazine anyway, because there's always someone out there who was born faster, smarter, and luckier than you. But you can catch that glimpse, for however long it lasts, if you work at it.
And that glimpse can be phenomenal. Some people spend their whole lives chasing that dragon. Doing what you love is a huge part of life, and most people never get that glimpse. One hint: Work with your friends.
Want to play guitar? Be a car mechanic? Dig up dinosaurs? Go for it. You've got about as much chance as anyone else to be able to do it successfully. And you may be able to do it well and discover that it sucks. Welcome to life.
There's no such thing as job safety anymore, anyway, so worrying about a career in a field you don't really care about makes less sense than ever.
Huh? Oh, a magazine is like a 3-dimensional website, except the content never changes. "Time Magazine" used to have important people on the cover. I'm not sure if they're still around, because nobody cares about print anymore.
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