Should you do something just because you can? Should all beautiful people take a shot at modelling? Should all funny people become comedians? Should you try to go to M.I.T. if you are very smart?
I have a strawberry garden. When I look at the young strawberries, still white at their tips and already bug-ravaged (and therefore dead to me), I feel a pang of sadness for it's young life, never given a chance to mature and become it's full self. But the bug is living, and it's doing it's thing in the great scheme of things.
Old enough to not die young, if I died tomorrow, and yet young enough to see the darkened perfection of life in front of me, I see the old berry, the one that lies limply rotting into itself, and a chill runs through me. The wasted life! The future I dread, yet cannot imagine otherwise.