On mediocrity, and why I’m fine with that

I am a mediocre person. My loved ones would beg to disagree and would be angry that I’m even thinking this, but it’s true. I am not good at a lot of things. I can’t draw, paint, dance, or act. I sing pretty well but that’s about it. 

What I really wanna talk about, though, is my writing. People tell me I write well, and I like the compliments, but I’ve read enough to know that what I write doesn’t even come close to what other people can churn out on paper. I am not as articulate nor am I as creative or witty.

That said, I’m okay with being a mediocre writer. Why? Because I’m not doing this for other people. I’m doing this for myself, because it makes me feel better. It makes me productive. And I’d like to think that I’m way past comparing myself to others more talented than me.

I have a voice and thoughts of my own, and although I may not be able to express them as eloquently as I would like, at least I’m expressing them. It’s healthy for me. And that’s what I’m gunning for.


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