It’s all well and good to be vaguely competent at a particular task. There’s even something faintly impressive about being relatively proficient doing whatever it is. Those less experienced than you will look on in awe, envying your talents, wanting to either be more like you or closer to you. However enjoyable this admiration may be there is most certainly a step above it. Imagine accomplishing whatever the feat in question was in a thoroughly nonchalant fashion.
You’re cool as a cucumber, completely relaxed and in your element. Some sweat profusely as they defuse a nuclear reactor. They have no way of being sure that they won’t accidentally cut the wrong wire and blow the whole nation seven ways to Sunday. Others will experience uncontrollably shaking hands as they attempt an impromptu tracheotomy on a loved one rapidly turning blue. They are, naturally, rank amateurs who don’t especially deserve any admiration.
I see you cocking an eyebrow at me sceptically (I’m really glad it’s just an eyebrow last time round, I was ever so slightly traumatised by our last encounter. You know exactly what I’m referring to and just be grateful I didn’t contact the authorities). Perhaps you can’t remember the last time you saw someone calmly and collectedly doing something remarkably impressive. Or you think that it’s the fashion nowadays to disbelieve everything. Foolish child.
Just picture this: it’s a beautiful summer’s day, there’s hardly a cloud in the sky but there’s a gentle breeze so the crosspatch British public aren’t too afflicted by sunburn and stickiness. You’ve wandered down to the local park because you’ve nothing pressing to do. Children are screeching and dashing about. People are slurping ice cream. A godlike figure saunters down the green, performs the most extraordinarily leisurely cartwheel you’ve ever seen and then wanders away. Whistling.
Song choices courtesy of: The Killers, Thomas Newman and Reindeer Section