My colleague revealed to me one of his hard fought pains.
He never came second in the class, an extraordinary achiever he was.
How much he sacrificed, he only knows, to remain extraordinary.
He used to write, no longer;
He played tennis, no longer;
He loved long rides, no longer.
He is no longer the normal self he was.
He is afraid to waste time.
No longer would he want to pay the cost to be extraordinary.
Though, he realises, when one holds an extraordinary inventory,
It is hard to embrace the virtues of ordinary.
It is not easy to traverse a straight line,
When more rewarding are circuitous routes.
He needs to work hard, to evolve a new meaning of extraordinary.
He needs to work hard, to learn to lead the life of an ordinary.
He needs to write, play tennis, and go on a long ride,
As he goes along.