Category: Confidence

Measured

I am, if nothing else, measured.

I think linearly. Deliberately. Some might even say ploddingly. When I gather data to make decisions I plug my emotions, shut them below deck even as they heave against it; they unbalance me from time to time, but I don’t let them get to full throat. I consider as many perspectives as I can, though that seems innate rather than something for which I can take credit. And I try to be generous towards other people in my assumptions about them.

In my head I know there’s a place in the world for me, because there’s a place in the world for everyone. Yet in my heart I have doubts.

The world of arts and letters is stuffed with talent. I haven’t chosen to write as much as I feel compelled to do it. But of what interest are my thoughts, my ideas, my observations compared with both the wide and the deep perspectives shared by other authors and artists, particularly those who come from places underrepresented in our collective narrative? My prose doesn’t soar or dazzle, and my themes are simple, universal. My advantages are an unflinching gaze and pleasingly straightforward expression. That feels meager.

The world of analysts is also full, and though I have the talent and the nerve for it I don’t have the fire. Analyzing for profit is a competitive market, and I lack the motivation to win. I’m curious and creative and unafraid of ideas, but I might be collaborative to a fault. I have no agenda other than understanding. It is how I’m wired.

So I have a compulsion to create where I won’t necessarily succeed, and where I can more likely excel I have little interest. The conundrum of my life, though one I don’t own exclusively. I know there are others with similar situations, people who want to do what they aren’t best-suited for doing.

So how do I measure my value in such a place?

I haven’t a clue.

I am testing that value. I’ve committed to a year of writing to see if my voice does matter, if there are enough people interested in what I have to share to make the dedicated effort worthwhile. I will always write – compulsion, remember? – but it might be more of a hobby than a vocation. It’s a beautiful dream for my writing to support me, and once in a while dreams do come true.

But if this dream remains just that, if there isn’t space for me in the world of letters, then I’ll need to make peace with that and try to return to the world of analysis. I don’t really know how that will work, however.

I’m older and definitely wiser, but I also stepped out of that world for quite a while. My business performance since I retired from corporate jobs is abysmal, though the covid pandemic is wholly responsible for that failure. And while I’ll probably be more at peace with a role back in the business world I will likely still lack the passion that a full commitment requires. Commitment is kind of important to those who would engage my services and pay me for them.

Perhaps I’m destined to close out my working days doing a collection of part-time jobs. Credit counseling. Tutoring. Perhaps even making coffee or stocking shelves. In other words, doing things I’m neither suited for nor driven to do.

And wouldn’t that be fitting for someone who couldn’t find his place because his head and his heart just weren’t aligned?

Essential Me

There is always someone better than I am.

I’ve believed it for as long as I can remember. It is an – perhaps even the – essential part of me. It’s the thought that has shaped every single part of my life.

Sometimes it’s for better. I’m humble. Obviously. It’s hard to be arrogant when there’s always someone better. I’m other-aware, which makes me a great community member. Resilient, since why wouldn’t I get a little grit in the gears from time to time? I often take one for the team, and usually don’t stop at one.

Sometimes, though, it’s for worse.

During our marriage, my wife threatened me with divorce more than once. Of course she did. There’s someone better out there. She might have said it to spark a reaction from me, to inspire me to fight for our marriage. But I accept my fate easily. I’m not deserving of good things, not because I’m a terrible person or lacking in something specific, but simply because there’s always a better option somewhere. Why shouldn’t she get that good thing instead of settling for me? In fact, it was really just a matter of time before she realizes she can do better, so I spent plenty of time waiting for that other shoe to dropkick my ass to the curb.

I do go gently into that good night. I only rarely make much of a fuss, because I understand that I’m second best. I may deserve something, but I don’t deserve the best. So I settle, and I’m content in doing so. It is what I expect. It is my lot in life.

There are many worse things than to expect less from life. Every day people go to bed hungry, or beaten bloody, or with the knowledge they are sick and will never get better. The cross I bear is much lighter than the pain borne by parents who bury a child or the drunk driver with blood on his hands. I don’t crave sympathy, because I don’t deserve it. There are, after all, people who have it much worse than I do. I don’t even get the best of the worst.

But it’s still a waste. I am often lonely when I don’t have to be. I defer when there’s no need to do so. I self-impose decisions about my worthiness that others never make.

“To give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift.” So said the fully-confident Steve Prefontaine. I give my best, but I’m not convinced it’s the best that can be given. And that may be true at times, most of the time even. But sometimes – and in one specific instance at least – it’s not true.

I hope to prove that by writing. The thing about art – really anything creative – is that only I can make the art that I make. And maybe that will show me that I can be the best at something. There’s no one else who can do this particular thing better, because there’s no one else who can do it at all. I am a population of one, as is every other artist out there.

So in this at least – this art, this written word – I am guaranteed to finish first. When you’re the only one on the course the only thing that can keep you from being first is not finishing at all. And I generally do give my best, so finishing is within my grasp. And maybe that will lead to more confidence, more belief that I can hold my own when I’m not the only one in the ring.

Or so I hope.