My brother and I, at a young age, frequented the bannisters of our house, sliding down, climbing up, dangling from them- you name it, we chanced it.
Every time, I considered myself a circus artist, clambering higher and higher to provide entertainment to screaming hordes below. I intended to do this for the rest of my valid life.
My career was cut short when I was but five years old. Casually clinging to the highest bannister in the house, some 20 feet above any kind of solid ground (solid ground that was nothing more than stairs, so doubly dangerous), I realised I simply could not hang on any longer.
After that night, my career path changed; I simply was not meant to reach those heights.
Egregiously trusting in the imagination that once made me a circus performer, I followed a different path- I became a writer.