This bit of a post from Chicken & Cheese just flew out from my computer screen and bit me. Right on the nose.
But you know what? I’m going to channel my inner Stuart Smalley and tell you that yes,
goddamnit, I am good enough. I have stories inside me — otherwise why would you keep
coming here?
That lady’s validation for being good enough, for having stories is that people go to her blog and they read it. People like me.
But nobody comes to my blog. Not even my actual real life friends, let alone imaginary internet ether friends. Which means that I’m not good enough. My stories aren’t that interesting. Or that my writing is kind of crap. Or maybe that I don’t sit down to craft a small parable of charm and sage insight. Rather, I ramble away to the tune of loon and leave it at that.
As I struggle to figure out who I’m supposed to be and where I’m supposed to go… take away the “supposed to” even. So not “what am I supposed to be doing?” I can’t even answer “what do I want to do?” Part of that, certainly, is to do with the belief that I’m not good enough. I can’t be a writer. I’m not good enough. Or, I can’t be a writer. I’m too lazy. Coincidentally, that’s also why I couldn’t be a jewelry maker or a photographer or a baker.
I try to take deep calming breaths and accept that some people are ordinary. Not everyone can have an amazing career. Lazy people, in particular, are not likely to be exceptional. But I am still harboring hopes that a magic drop of miracle juice will fall on me, so that I can be amazing, too.
margaret edith 