Of all the things I am afraid of, I am most afraid of failing.
I was raised as an achiever; my parents pushed me to be the best - there were no doors that would not open for me, were I to pull them.
They instilled in me a constant need to best myself until in an inertial manner I have surpassed all others in whatever mattered to me most.
I thought, as a child, that this would be enough. Yet, as I grew up, I discovered that there were always others considerably better than myself at what I did; I found out that not all doors are open, and that not all people will like me for striving to make constant progress.
Society has abandoned me, and I have gradually abandoned it in response.
“I don’t need them!”, I said to myself. “They’re just fools!”, I exclaimed.
I decided that all my creations; all my endeavors would be oriented towards impressing intellectuals, regardless of their chosen areas of interest.
I had an egotistical wish to spark within one’s mind the bright shimmer of inspiration that had been cast in mine by many others; to leave behind something grand enough that I would stand out, even in this age of animosity.
But then, the problem. I cannot impress neither society, nor its intellectuals; and worst of all, I cannot impress even myself.
I’ve spent countless hours perfecting my works, I’ve many times lost sleep. I thought, as I was making them, that I would finally create a masterpiece; alas, I created only works which were below average.
I wrote many words; but none as elegant as that of any writer that I’ve read.
I’ve played many songs on my guitar beloved: And yet those songs were heard with pleasure but by me and it; and sometimes, I suppose it sighs and weeps that its owner will never use it to its full potential.
I have painted, I have drawn; what was in the mind and heart as powerful as tidal waves came out depicted as lowly, empty gusts of wind.
I have entered many contests - none of which I’ve ever won.
And then, the more I looked around me, the more I realized the truth about myself.
I am not the best. I am not the wisest. I am not unique. I am not creative.
I have no one, and even my own self is turned against me.
Good readers, I confess - I am a failure as a man.
I have lost all moral values, and there is nothing I believe in any more.
I am fit to be nothing more than an observer. Perhaps that is to be my fate; but in my name, there will be no stories written; and I shall not likely write any myself.
Then, I am fit to be nothing more than nothingness itself.
Funny thing, familiarity: I shall keep moving on, as I have never stopped.
Aerotan 1:52 am on March 3, 2010 Permalink | Log in to Reply
The best way would be to learn to love yourself for who you are. He may make you stronger, but being able to stand strong on your own won’t cheapen that. In fact, by learning to love yourself, you stand to learn better how to love him, and show that love.