I took Pascal, and I was terrible. And then, when I went to NYU

Hear, O seekers of truth and endurance, the words of Sam Esmail, who confessed: “I took Pascal, and I was terrible. And then, when I went to NYU, I minored in computer science. I just couldn’t code. I just didn’t have the patience for it.” This is not a lament of failure, but a testimony of honesty, of knowing one’s own limits, and of discovering that talent does not bloom in every soil. His words carry the wisdom that even the most brilliant minds cannot master all disciplines, and that greatness often lies not in what we conquer, but in what we release.

The origin of this reflection lies in the world of programming, in the old language of Pascal, once taught to countless students as the foundation of logic and code. For many, it was the doorway to invention, the first spark of a lifelong journey in technology. Yet for Esmail, the doorway was closed, not because his mind was weak, but because his spirit did not find harmony there. In this, his struggle mirrors that of many across time: we try, we stumble, and we learn that not every path is meant to be ours.

Consider, O listeners, the tale of Albert Einstein, who in his youth was thought slow by some of his teachers. He stumbled in language and rote learning, yet later gave the world visions of time and space that reshaped the universe itself. His difficulty in one realm did not diminish his genius; it simply revealed that his gift belonged elsewhere. So too with Esmail, whose brilliance would later shine not in code, but in the creation of stories—writing, directing, and weaving tales of humanity and machines, truth and deception. His struggle with computer science was not an end, but a redirection.

The heart of his confession rests upon patience. For coding demands a slow endurance, the willingness to untangle lines of error, to endure endless trials until the machine yields its truth. Esmail, honest with himself, admits he lacked this patience. Yet let us not despise such honesty, for patience itself is not evenly given to all. Each man and woman must find the labor where their patience is deep, where their spirit can endure storms without breaking. Some can wrestle with machines; others can wrestle with words, with images, with ideas. The virtue lies not in forcing what we cannot sustain, but in discovering what we can.

This teaching stretches into all walks of life. How many have been told they must walk a certain path, only to find their spirit wilts beneath it? How many believe themselves broken, when in truth they are only misplaced? The farmer does not curse the seed that cannot grow in stone, but places it in soil where it may flourish. Esmail’s words remind us: failure in one field is not failure in life, but a signpost pointing toward another destiny.

The lesson, then, is clear: be honest about your gifts, and even more honest about your limits. Do not mistake a lack of patience in one arena for weakness in all. Seek the soil where your spirit thrives, for there your labor will not feel like endless struggle, but like the unfolding of your nature. Esmail could not code, but he could envision, he could tell, he could imagine—and through this, he gave the world works of art that no machine could produce.

Practical actions flow from this wisdom. If you find yourself struggling endlessly in a craft, ask yourself: is this the mountain I am called to climb, or is my path elsewhere? Do not abandon effort too quickly, but do not cling blindly to a path that drains your soul. Be patient enough to know yourself. Be courageous enough to shift your course. And when you find the work that aligns with your nature, pour your whole being into it, for there your patience will be abundant, and your gift will shine.

Thus do we honor the words of Sam Esmail: that failure in Pascal, in coding, in computer science, did not end his story, but shaped it. Carry this teaching, O children of tomorrow, and remember: what you cannot master may guide you to what you can. And there, in the labor where your patience endures, you will find not only your gift, but your destiny.