Imagine being born into a wealthy family, having been encouraged from the beginning to pursue your mind’s magic. You’re given a guitar, or brushes, or a writer’s notebook with a nice cover. Will you ever become great?

Perhaps. But I think you’ll more likely suck. Why? Because you only ever focused on expressing, not dealing with pain. Actual pain, in your mind, in your heart. And if you’ve never been through heartbreak, if you’ve never been kicked by a policeman, if you’ve never seen shit or escaped the shit that you have seen, I don’t think you’ll be great.

Life is the precursor to greatness. With all its garbage. That’s what I like to think at least.