I saw a video of a Fleetwood Mac song that blew me away and made me feel so small at the same time.
Yeah, so it's about twenty years after their heyday, but still they take what was a semi-good song on the album and make it so much more passionate here. Lindsey Buckingham can do it all, yet he never had guitar lessons and doesn't even use a pick. I couldn't imagine simply being able to play that music, let alone singing so well while doing it. And he's a lot better looking than I am, too!
That's a little of why I am so sad. I know that the only type of immortality we really have a shot at in this life is perhaps leaving behind some fantastic piece of art - whether a painting, a song, a book, etc. - that may be remembered by people long after we are gone. It doesn't bother me when someone is better than me at some particular talent, because I can always tell myself that I have talents where I am better than they are. Then someone like Lindsey comes along and is better at way too much all at the same time, and I can never hope to compare with even a single one of his talents. He has an amazing voice, plays incredible guitar, and is extremely charismatic. He's a great songwriter and, who knows, he can probably write rings around me in fiction if he wanted to.
For those of us in the writing game these days, it's about as tough as it has ever been. We can write a book now that, if published two hundred years ago, could have stood out and become a classic, but today it would most likely be buried in the avalanche of books being poured out by far too many talented writers. So rather than our book becoming a classic and making us well-known even after passing on, our book is quickly lost in the shuffle and forgotten.
I suppose getting older is making me far too aware of my mortality and of how quickly time is slipping away as far as being able to make a lasting mark on the world.
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