Good morning, all. I took a look through my previous blogs and found some post that got some interaction but ultimately, were not really “Best of” post, so I didn’t add any. I mean I had a few likes on some but just a few, I do not feel that constitutes a reason to bring up old post, that barely got notice. So today I’m just going to talk about something that has been a subject of aggravation for me; the fear of success or not having faith in your own talents.
Growing up, I was capable of doing a lot of things, you could say I had a lot of talents. I was and am a competent hacker. I was getting good grades in school, I could draw, write poetry, write stories and act, just to name a few things. I liked to consider myself a bit of a Renaissance man. When looking at the definition of a renaissance man, I felt that I met that completely. I was able to do more than one thing and these talents were of the sort that men of old, men considered to be renaissance men, were masters in.
Having these talents left me with a chip on my shoulder, personal issues in life took it to asshole level. Suffice to say, by the time I finished high school, I could have been considered a lost cause. I wasn’t a criminal yet, but there wasn’t much of anything in my life that gave me inspiration and without inspiration, I couldn’t really focus? I was doing the wrong things and enjoying it. There wasn’t much of anything that could have stopped me from becoming one hell of a criminal, or so I thought.
Shortly after leaving high school, I was given focus. It came in the form of a four pound, premature little girl. I saw her and my world changed. Dreams that were forgotten, crushed in the valley of pain and hurt that had now become my life, started to resurface. My daughter. The first time I looked at a person that wasn’t my family and understood the word, love. She was born early, I think, because she wanted to be closer to her father, but that’s just me. Hell, it was sixteen days after my twentieth birthday, she seemed to be rushing to me.
Sorry to go on that little rant, but talking about my first few days of her life is always a subject I can go on for hours with and I will if I don’t stop myself. So back to the post. She was born and she was a premature baby. I, Mr. chip on his shoulder, did not know what to do. How could I help her survive, and the crazy thing is, at that time I was my coldest person. I did not care for shit. I hated everything and everyone, mad, angry at the world for what had been done to my siblings and myself, but this baby…this little girl. This soul who had done nothing to no one, needed a caring person to survive, that’s what I felt, and I did that. I became that person for her.
With the return of emotions, inspiration, my long lost friend, returned. It wasn’t inspiration for the things I was capable of, it was the things in the future that she would be capable of. The things she will be able to do in the future that inspired me. I did the work. It was a struggle and it wasn’t easy, a lot of sleepless nights, worry and everything else that comes with being a parent, but I watched my little sparkle become a light. She is on her launching pad and I believe, she will do great things. But the inspiration, that long lost friend, it remained.
Funny thing about life, when you have so much of it, you rush toward the end. Then when you’re getting toward the end, you try to rush back to the beginning. All the things that I was able to do when I was younger, are things that I think about doing now. It’s not like the things were gone, no, just forgotten or ignored. I sit here now writing this and I recognize the pull of inspiration I use now to spur me on, is the same pull that nagged at me during the years past. I just did not want to answer the summons. I chose instead to push it into a corner and bury it. Hoping that if I drowned it in the minutiae of everyday life, then I would no longer hear it.
What was hindering me? Why did it take so long to pull my inspiration out of the corner? Was my blocking of the call of inspiration intentional? These are all questions that I consider when I’m pushing myself to do the next thing. I recognize, later than I should, that the only person stopping me from being what I want to be, what I think I can be, is me. The worst and toughest judge of your work is the person you look at in the mirror everyday. That person can stop you from being or doing anything that you’re capable of doing.
If you hear the summons of inspiration, follow it. If you hear the call, answer the phone. The only thing you have to fear, is fear itself. Thanks for your time today and I hope you guys come back for QW.
PIC NOTE: I saw this picture in the Atlantic and felt it would be a wonderful post pic. Link to story.