There's a suffocatingly large list of important and devastating things going on right now, yeah? Sounds to me like a perfect opportunity to ruminate on my pointless tiny existence!
I was recently obsessing over the Winter Olympics, particularly figure skating, like I do every four years, and (as I also do every four years), I was thinking that I missed my calling in ice dancing. Like, if only I'd had the resources or whatever, that's a path I could have taken. And then I laugh, because what makes me so sure that if things were different I could be the one out there nailing the twizzles and footwork elements? Delusional thinking.
The rude truth is that I'm not... great at anything. I'm fair at a bunch of things, but I have few natural aptitudes or have I worked at many things long enough that I could imagine someone saying, "wow, you're really good at that." I've narrowed it down to just a few things: despite so much evidence to the contrary, I do believe in my soul that I'm a good writer. I'm good at my job in a way that comes from doing it and evolving through it for 25 years. I'm a good parent to my child because I know him well and even when I fuck up I'm leading with love and his best interests and I'm proud of that. I'm quite good at trivia, which is of dubious value. Other than that... I come up blank. My brain used to be my vanity, but the longer I live the more I think 1) I'm not as clever as originally assumed and 2) between age and the endless pandemic, I'm losing whatever smahts I did have. It's distressing.
Like I said, I'm just ok at a bunch of things. I'm not particularly athletic or dextrous or strong, but I'm able-bodied and can run for miles without stopping and hold up my body in crow pose or headstand and I have rhythm enough to be considered a good dancer. I'm not very adept at games that require quick thinking, but I'm meh at them and I think if I only practiced or had more patience I could be. Still I'll probably never get around to trying Wordle. I'm not remarkable in the ways that I suck at things either, I guess I just hover in that sweet spot of mediocrity.
It's ok, though. I'm loved. I have a decent personality. I care about people and doing things for the greater good, to make the world better. I'm not very brave, but I'm not giving up on that aspiration. I believe I am kind of kind, kind of funny, kind of interesting here and there. I'm a dabbler, a tourist, a messy person with a lot of love in her heart, a writer without a room of her own. I'm getting to know myself, and maybe someday I'll be great at being a person who knows who she is and lives unapologetically, but with humility. If I only ever blaze a trail of meh through the past, the present, the future, and mostly I'm at peace with that.
While keeping to my wheelhouse, I recently submitted two agent queries for my current manuscript and I hope to submit two more this week. I'm trying not to lose confidence in my work in the meantime, to stop second guessing and let it be, and be confident in knowing that, if nothing else, everything step I take isn't wasted. Everything I go through on this journey can only make my writing stronger. Make me stronger. Thanks in advance for being there while I figure it out.
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