Santa Claus didn’t bring a memory machine, he didn’t bring a map to success, and he didn’t bring a clear reflecting pool of valuable insights. In spite of the flying reindeer and the living forever, he brings very ordinary toys.
I’m bound to run out of those true life stories. Some stories take too much whittling down to make them work here. Other stories are not compelling (which may be said of several already posted, but I’m an imperfect judge). I’m rummaging around among the stories half-forgotten and I’m ignoring the stories that I don’t want to tell.
What comes next? I hate hearing those lines, “His best days are behind him” or “She never could match that success again” or “His talent never did live up to his ambition” or oh so many others. Phrases like that are knives growing in my chest.
If Santa really can live forever, survive in subzero temperatures, make reindeer fly while hauling enough toys for all (properly santafied) children in one night (leaving enough time to eat more cookies than any god has ever been given), then why can’t he leave a big, sparkly box of ideas and a magic blanket of talent?
I suppose if I wanted these stories to last longer, I should’ve written slower. But then I’d worry even more about the proverbial bus of death that roars up and down streets.
So, do you think talent lasts forever?