The hero of the sword swinging story hears echos of the past. While confronted with the difficulties of the present, the echoes of an old teacher rings in his head. DUH! It's so obvious. It was so obvious - and yet it took him ten years to make the connection.
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The event itself was simple: A blade came towards his face, he ducked and clinched with the wielder. All that followed was a bit messier but ended with another simplicity: no one got cut.
There is a romantic notion in art of paying one's dues. In order to eat a breakfast of caviar off a platinum record, the musician must play dive bars for a decade. To become Picasso 2, the painter must slave through art history classes, work in commercial design and charcoal thousands of portraits first. Together, the two can create a slide show musical on the amazing rise of France from barbarian outlier to empire in only two thousand short years. It's a tear jerker of a story - some truth to it, too.
The truth is in the grind: thousands of repetitions. Is there romance in drilling? Only when he recalled the voice of his teacher, "When you find yourself smiling in amazement at your own body's reaction to a situation, as if it were no longer a part of you - then you have started to learn."
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