There seems to be a pattern among all the “greats.”
From Albert Einstein to Martin Luther King Junior, one thing many of the monumental figures of time have shared… A love for coffee.
I say that teasingly, claiming that coffee runs in my veins due to my Colombian heritage and passion for Starbucks. But banter aside, the story I would like to share with you today takes place in a Cafe.
It's a story I've found myself thinking over since first being exposed.
Blogger and New York Times Best-Selling Author Mark Manson brought it to my attention in his playful yet serious book The Subtle Art of Not Giving A #*%$.
It's a book worth reading, providing a unique packaging for many life lessons we all need to hear.
A Reimagining Of Pablo Picassos Napkin:
The Parisian Streets are quiet with the kind of loud bustle that becomes a monotonous hum while the day carries on.
As was typical for the time, cafes could be seen adding to the hum with the orders being taken, smells of fresh bread baking in their brick ovens, and whispers of small talk that came with the veranda views.
A man with a troubled heart (double entendre intended) sat at one of the street's many shaded tables. A man recognized by many yet not genuinely known by them.
He doodled as he turned the pages of his mind, searching for the answers to long-forgotten questions. Pablo Picasso didn't mind the hum.
Across from him sat a shy soul of humble intent, looking on in awe, relishing in the glimmer of seeing a living legend face to face.
As Picasso sipped the last dregs of his cup and began to get up and crumple the napkin he had tainted with ink, the young lady stepped out with the courage to speak.
“Monsieur” she started. “Would it be ok for me to have it?” motioning towards the folded white in his hand.
Picasso smiled and returned with a lighthearted laugh, “Well, of course… it costs twenty thousand.”
Seeing the shock on her face, he smiled and turned to leave. Believing his comment absurd, the young woman stuttered, “But why? I saw you draw it myself; it didn't take you more than three minutes.”
The wrinkles on his weather-worn face turned up in contemplation. “No, ma’am,” he responded, “It took me over sixty years to draw this.”
With that, he put his priceless work in his pocket and headed towards the Louvre.
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Value is hard to measure, metrics are sometimes difficult to interpret, and returns on investment aren’t always seen in the short run.
That isn't to say progress cannot be seen day by day, but know that time will tell if your work was a contribution or a misleading concentration.
Your three-minute endeavors can be worth many multiples one day, but it can take years to achieve that.
If you are interested in reading more of my work, check out my website:
- Making The Most Of Being Curious
Daniel Cuesta
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