Where the years show

At a late-night shawarma stall in Dammam, two young men work side by side.

One works the fryer. He drops a basket, waits for the timer, shakes it, salts it and tips it into a paper cone. He learned it on his first evening, and by the end of that evening he did it as well as anyone ever will.

The other works the spit. He shaves the meat in long, thin sheets, turns it so the edge never burns, knows by the sound of the knife when it is ready, and folds a wrap tight enough to survive the walk back to the car. He has clearly been at it for years, and it shows in every sandwich.

There is nothing wrong with the fryer. It is useful precisely because anyone can do it from the first hour. That is also its limit. The first night and the thousandth produce the same basket.

More and more of what is offered to young people now looks like the fryer. Easy to pick up, quick to feel competent at, rewarding from the first day. It is a generous thing that so much is open to so many. But a skill that pays off at once often pays off the same small amount for good.

The work worth choosing is usually awkward at the start and keeps improving the longer you stay with it. The knife is slower to learn, and that is the whole point of it.

An easy first week is not evidence of a good path. Often it is the warning.