Sorry to start this post on a cynical note, but I promise it'll lighten up by the end. I've had something of an epiphany -- not the sort where a religious figure manifests in your burnt toast, but a practical one, if not a very polite one. I'm convinced the universe has a sense of humor, to have paid me such a backhanded compliment. Still, I should have known better from the same universe that brought the platypus into being, but I digress. If anything, it only goes to show that humor often comes in the most unlikely of places.
Let me give you some context. Nobody is good at everything. I accept this. There are some things in life that, regardless of your efforts, you may never become terribly great at. For instance, I've come to grips with the fact that at my height of 5'10" I'll never become a pro basketball star. It's also a fact of life that some people are born good and become great, others become great through hard work, and sadly, some never realize their potential.
And then there are those who are born with potential in talents they don't like much. TV Tropes has a phrase for this, it's: "blessed with suck."
I used to think I was blessed with suck for having been granted some aptitude as a writer. After all, I've got a face for radio and a voice for print. It's reassuring to know that there's some fairness to life if I came into existence with at least one thing I was halfway good at. Even so, it was a gift that, once upon a time, I didn't much like. Here's why.
Writing is a slow medium. Music and visual arts can elicit powerful responses in an audience -- immediate, powerful responses. Writing does not, except for a handful of four-letter words we resort to when someone cuts us off on our morning commute. It requires an enormous time investment from the reader to derive a rich emotional effect from good writing. Much as I appreciate good music and graphic arts, I was always a bit jealous of people who are good at those things, because I'm outright terrible at those things. I think I passed high school art class with a C. I tried (and failed miserably) at learning to play the piano. And let's not get started on handwriting. My handwriting is "doctor-worthy."
What's changed is that I've learned to accept my shortcomings along with my gifts. I suppose there's an unwritten rule somewhere that says you don't get one without the other. I've gained a newfound appreciation for writing, and the loads of effort good writing requires. I've gotten halfway good at it.
Take that, universe.
I've come to realize I may never be great at anything, even the things I am somewhat good at. And here comes the epiphany: I don't care. I've grown to like what I do. I'll keep writing, and getting better at it, because writing makes me happy.
The universe may be laughing at me, except I've learned to laugh along with it. So now we're both laughing at me, and I'm totally cool with it. It may be fitting, then, to leave you with some words of wisdom from Gautama Buddha himself: "When you realize how perfect everything is, you will tilt your head back and laugh at the sky."
Let me give you some context. Nobody is good at everything. I accept this. There are some things in life that, regardless of your efforts, you may never become terribly great at. For instance, I've come to grips with the fact that at my height of 5'10" I'll never become a pro basketball star. It's also a fact of life that some people are born good and become great, others become great through hard work, and sadly, some never realize their potential.
And then there are those who are born with potential in talents they don't like much. TV Tropes has a phrase for this, it's: "blessed with suck."
I used to think I was blessed with suck for having been granted some aptitude as a writer. After all, I've got a face for radio and a voice for print. It's reassuring to know that there's some fairness to life if I came into existence with at least one thing I was halfway good at. Even so, it was a gift that, once upon a time, I didn't much like. Here's why.
Writing is a slow medium. Music and visual arts can elicit powerful responses in an audience -- immediate, powerful responses. Writing does not, except for a handful of four-letter words we resort to when someone cuts us off on our morning commute. It requires an enormous time investment from the reader to derive a rich emotional effect from good writing. Much as I appreciate good music and graphic arts, I was always a bit jealous of people who are good at those things, because I'm outright terrible at those things. I think I passed high school art class with a C. I tried (and failed miserably) at learning to play the piano. And let's not get started on handwriting. My handwriting is "doctor-worthy."
What's changed is that I've learned to accept my shortcomings along with my gifts. I suppose there's an unwritten rule somewhere that says you don't get one without the other. I've gained a newfound appreciation for writing, and the loads of effort good writing requires. I've gotten halfway good at it.
Take that, universe.
I've come to realize I may never be great at anything, even the things I am somewhat good at. And here comes the epiphany: I don't care. I've grown to like what I do. I'll keep writing, and getting better at it, because writing makes me happy.
The universe may be laughing at me, except I've learned to laugh along with it. So now we're both laughing at me, and I'm totally cool with it. It may be fitting, then, to leave you with some words of wisdom from Gautama Buddha himself: "When you realize how perfect everything is, you will tilt your head back and laugh at the sky."
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