I grew up in a musical family, and by high school I had learned guitar, piano, drums, percussion and trombone. I played in rock bands in high school and college, along with some wind ensembles and, briefly, a Chilean folk trio.

I guess by then you could say I had developed a certain musical hubris. I hadn’t failed yet at learning an instrument, and I hadn’t wanted to play an instrument I wasn’t able to eventually learn.

Then, sometime in college, I saw two rock concerts that featured a cellist. What a great tool for rock music, I thought. Of course, I should learn cello.

I took immediate action. I found a very good local cellist who gave lessons, and I signed up. I rented a decent cello and prepared myself for the exciting new road that lay ahead.

But cello, it turns out, is hard.

Really hard.

Somewhere in the first few lessons I remember telling my teacher, “I’m sorry, but my hand just won’t stretch like that.” It wasn’t an excuse, I really believed it. The rigor needed to master this new instrument was way more than I had expected.

I stuck it out for three months, and then I quit.

It was the first instrument I had failed at.

Looking back, it’s hard for me to be upset. I had taken initiative, after all, and put in real effort. What I found along the way, though, was that the price I would pay to get where I wanted to go was more than I was really willing to sacrifice. It just wasn’t worth it.

See, my desire to play cello was born from a sort of fleeting curiosity, not a personal history or passion. I already played several instruments; I had chosen them years before and spent years developing them. Cello was the newcomer, and if I was going to be proficient, I would probably have to invest more time in it than I had already invested in every other instrument combined. In retrospect, quitting was probably the right decision.

I have come to believe that talents are learned, not inherited, and that to become a master at anything simply requires persistent work. For this reason, I find myself getting frustrated at others for giving up at something too soon, for assuming they can’t do it. Yes you can, I want to scream. Anything is possible if you don’t quit.

But sometimes it helps in these moments to remember the cello experiment.

Not everyone is destined for the same skills. This isn’t because they can’t acquire them, but simply because the desire for those skills isn’t rooted in a great necessity or passion. Desire is the key to mastering almost anything.

When beginning any new challenge, ask yourself, Do I want this enough? Answer this question honestly, and if your answer is no, then fail quickly and move on to something you want more. Remember, mastery is born first out of desire, and your life is finite. Spend it pursuing things you love; in the end, these are the things you’ll do best.