I’m currently reading Alexander Hamilton by Ron Chernow. It’s slow going – I’m only about 60 pages into it, out of about 740. It’s the year 1774. Hamilton is about 19 years old and starting to make a name for himself in New York as a supporter of strong retaliatory measures against Parliament’s Coercive Acts (a.k.a. the Intolerable Acts), which are curbing liberty in Massachusetts as retribution for the Boston Tea Party.
I love the revolutionary period of American history. I’m also curious to know more about New York during this time – I’m reading about King’s College, which Hamilton attended and which was right near City Hall Park, the park where Hamilton made his first public speech, also right near where Matt and I used to live. J&R Music World is near some historically signifcant places. Odd.
I find myself resentful of Hamilton across the centuries, though – resentful of his exceptional hard work and intelligence. It’s odd: I have the same psychological reaction toward a long-dead famous man as I did toward some of my peers/competitors growing up. It’s hard to look to Alexander Hamilton for inspiration when his skills and abilities so outclass mine. How I can be as accomplished as him? I’d feel more inspired by achievers who have a skill level similar to mine.
So yeah, I’m reading a nearly 800-page book about a major figure in American history, but it all comes back to me again, doesn’t it.