You lack the fire.

Once upon a time, a maestro violinist came to a small town.

Many people who played came from miles around in order to play for the maestro and ask his opinion.

One man went before the maestro and played with all his heart, the best he’d ever played.

The maestro listened, and when the man was finished, the maestro considered thoughtfully before giving his critique.

“Not bad, not bad at all,” he said. “But you lack the fire.”

Crestfallen, the man left. He sold his violin and took up accounting.

Many years later, the man happened to cross paths with the maestro again, a well-established and successful accountant.

“Maestro, I must thank you,” said the man. “You told me a truth I did not want to hear, and saved me from a life time of pursuing something I was never cut out for.”

“And who are you?” said the maestro.

“I played for you, years ago in a small town. You told me I lacked the fire. I quit the violin immediately and have a very successful accounting business. You saved me from making a fool of myself.”

The maestro shook his head. “Oh, no,” he said. “I tell every young violinist I hear that they lack the fire.”

The man was once again crestfallen. “You mean I gave up my passion playing violin to become an accountant because of that? You tell all the young hopefuls you hear the same thing? What if I could have been great, if I had only stuck with it?”

But the maestro again shook his head. “You misunderstand, sir. If you had truly had the fire, nothing I could have said would have stopped you.”