John Brownlee has written a post that’s so eerily similar to my own experience that it’s almost supernatural:
“The MacBook Air might be the gadget that I’ve spent my whole life waiting for. It’s a device that with silent elegance addresses every demand…that I could ever make upon a tool meant to allow me to pursue a lifelong passion.”
Agreed. Here’s where it gets eerie:
“But in the MacBook Air’s perfection as a writer’s machine, it…robs me of the crutch of imperfect tools to explain my own mediocrity. The MacBook Air might be the perfect laptop for a writer, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m not nearly as suited to the task of writing as it is.”
“I only became one professionally by accident, and I only became successful at it because otherwise I would have starved. I still don’t write fiction. The MacBook Air might be the perfect device, but it makes me despair that I will always come up short.”
I became a writer quite by accident, too, having answered a call for bloggers at Parenting Magazine long ago on a lark. When my day job disappeared years later, my only option was to get very serious about it, and today I’m a news editor at TUAW. Still, I’m Caolo, not Gruber. The MacBook Air is a reminder of that fact.
Sure, I could buy a Highland Green 1968 Ford Mustang GT 390, but that won’t make me Steve McQueen.