It was one of those moments when cruel reality intrudes upon delusion, and you wish cruel reality would just mind its own business for a change.
It's a few weeks ago, and I'm killing a little time in an Albany bookstore with my wife before we attend a banquet.
As is my custom, I pick out something written by the late P.G. Wodehouse.
Wodehouse was a British author, playwright and lyricist who created Jeeves, the ultimate gentleman's gentleman, and many other memorable characters.
Wodehouse is widely regarded as one of, if not the funniest and most adept authors in the English language.
I'm not what you would call a joiner, but I'm a member (perhaps not in good standing, owing to being a bit tardy submitting my annual dues) in the British-based P.G. Wodehouse Society.
I have a fairly extensive library of the great man's works at home, but you never know when you might run into a newly republished story or novel.
So, I definitely should have known what I was getting myself into when I settled into one of the comfy chairs they have at those big bookstores and began reading.
It was a Wodehouse story I had read before, and after only 5 1/2 pages, the realization hit me.
I sought out my wife, who I found contentedly improving her mind with some book that appealed to her eclectic tastes. I informed her of my epiphany.
"I'm a hack," I said.
All it took was 5 1/2 pages of P.G. Wodehouse to make me want to give up writing forever.
"He's so good," I whined. "Every word is the exact perfect word. Every nuance is amazing. No wasted verbiage. And the S.O.B. is hilarious.
"I could never be that good," I said mournfully. "I could never come close to being that good. I am so unworthy."
My wife did not disagree, but she remarked about how interesting it was that at the banquet we would be attending within the hour I would be receiving two New York state awards for my writing.
"I don't deserve them," I said.
But we went, and I accepted them, anyway.
As the next few weeks have gone by, I've also accepted the idea that being the best isn't everything, and certainly, it's not the only thing.
Certainly, one does not want to be consumed with jealousy and envy like Antonio Salieri was about Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart in the play and movie, "Amadeus." In that fictional account, Salieri, (who in real-life had a somewhat collegial relationship with Mozart) lost any hope of happiness and self-worth because the buffoon Mozart was by far the superior composer.
I have learned that there is something far worse than not being No. 1.
Giving up.
That's the worst thing anyone can do.
For inspiration, we need look no further than Snoopy.
Yes, Charlie Brown's dog.
Look, there's no way Snoopy will ever be as good a pilot as the Red Baron, but no matter how many times his Sopwith Camel airplane gets shot down, the plucky beagle just shakes his fisted paw, curses the Red Baron, and tries again ... and again.
And then there is Derek Jeter, who plays shortstop for the New York Yankees. Several years ago, Alex Rodriguez joined the team, and invariably, comparisons have been made.
A-Rod, as Rodriguez is called, is by far the better athlete. He hits many more home runs, and is even regarded as the superior defensive player.
During one torrid hitting display by Rodriguez a year or two ago, Jeter was asked about his teammate's prowess.
An admiring Jeter said he can't do the things Rodriguez does on the baseball field, so he couldn't even begin to relate to what A-Rod was accomplishing.
But Derek Jeter is a very good player, whose career will almost certainly earn him a spot in the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown.
The fans love Jeter because he hustles on every play, gets important hits in clutch situations, plays when he's hurt, wins championships, and gets as much as he can out of the talent he has.
Twenty years from now, when A-Rod and Jeter return to Yankee Stadium for Old-Timers' Day celebrations, there is little doubt who will be getting the louder cheers, and not just because Rodriguez's career has been tainted by steroid use.
Alex Rodriguez may wind up with every batting record worth attaining, but he will never be loved like the fans love Derek Jeter.
Jeter plays the game the way it's supposed to be played, and that makes him a wonderful success.
The lesson here is that even if we're never as good as Alex Rodriguez _ or P.G. Wodehouse, for that matter _ we can all succeed in the game of life.
As long as we play that game the way it's supposed to be played.
And never give up.
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Sam Pollak is editor of The Daily Star. He can be reached at spollak@thedailystar.com. or at (607) 432-1000, ext. 208.
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