Not many of the people in my current rotation of friends knew me in the first two years of adulthood, so, to them, my connection with the fine arts seems more like a hobby than a undying obsession. It made sense, then, that I should leave the fine arts altogether in pursuit of a straightforward humanities degree. Not every hobby needs to be a hobby cum profession.

But some remained unconvinced. I can remember my first university girlfriend, at a far simpler time, encouraging me to forget school altogether, and focus exclusively on building my career in the fine arts. I can remember another telling me, with an uncharacteristic poetic flare, that my church had been erected, that it was a church of fine arts and that it was the most ornate in sight.

These optimistic remarks did not go unnoticed, but they exerted little force in my decision to turn. I switched paths, and it all worked out fine. My successes continued there, and, to an outside observer, I suspect it seemed as if I had replaced one juvenile interest with a sensible one.

Yet I should have expected. You cannot contain a volcano.