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Something incredible had happened.
不可思議的事情發生了。
I might have caused it, but it had not come from me.
可能是我造成的，但不是來源于我。
I had inadvertently tapped into something visceral and wild:
我無意中發現了一些發自內心和狂野的東西：
the teacher's face, the shouts of fear, astonishment—and joy.
老師的表情，恐懼、驚訝和歡樂的呼喊。
The joy was the hardest to explain.
這種喜悅難以言喻。
Surprise comes easy, but joy never does.
驚喜來得容易，快樂卻不易。
I was an alchemist who had somehow—unknowingly, unintentionally—discovered how to turn lead into gold.
我是一個煉金術士，不知不覺無意中發現了把鉛變成金子的方法。
Even a nine-yearold knows this is impossible.
甚至一個九歲的孩子都知道這是不可能的。
You could only do that with real magic.
只有真正的魔法才能實現。
The gulf between wanting to become a great magician and actually doing it is enormous, however,
然而，想要成為一名偉大的魔術師與現實還是有著巨大的差距，
and the career of a young magician is marked as much by humiliation and public failure as it is by the occasional success.
公演失敗蒙羞和偶然成功對于年輕魔術師的職業生涯都同樣重要
In high school, I staged a show in the auditorium and my entire world came out to watch— 600 friends, family members, girls from school, everyone I wanted to defy or impress.
高中時，我在禮堂里舉辦了一場表演，我所認識的人——600名朋友、家人、學校里的女生，所有我想挑戰或打動的人都來觀看。
They all looked on in horror, fascination, and pity as I twirled about the stage, frantically trying to remember every bit of choreography from every David Copperfield special I had ever seen.
當我在舞臺上轉動，瘋狂地想要記住我看到的大衛·科波菲爾的每一個特別的動作時，他們都流露出驚恐、著迷和同情的表情。
The audience sat mute, aghast, enduring the spectacle and waiting for the catastrophe to end.
觀眾們坐在那里啞口無言，忍受著我的表演，等待著災難的結束。
A few years later, I staged a Harry Houdini–style underwater escape in the river that flowed through the middle of the campus of the University of Iowa, where I went to school.
幾年后，我在流經我上學的地方——愛荷華大學校園中央的河中上演了一場哈利·霍迪尼式水下逃生。
