free

it's uncomfortable how quickly the heart can plunge into self-doubt at the mere presence of greatness. even trying to write out the thoughts in my head at the moment has me questioning the intention behind every word, and i cannot stand how self-limiting self-doubt is. being afraid of being judged and once judged being afraid of never being good enough and in turn we curl back into our carapace (hello, new word i just learned today), CTRL-T to a new tab to double-check every word used was used correctly just in case somebody actually comes across this little corner of the internet and judges you for the incorrect use of carapace and it interrupts the very stream-of-consciousness style you're trying to achieve by simply writing out the contents of your consciousness without thinking about it, no editing, kerouac-style, and achieving nothing but self-deception because you know deep down inside that none of this is off the cuff and everything was somehow, subconsciously, premeditated to sound smarter, more thoughtful, than you actually are. 

it's not so much a free-flowing stream as a well-poured flow into your self-made river. a self-built prison of i cannot's and i never will's.

the only point to this post is to remember this time of great darkness after reading a great book that makes you question your own God-given talents, to remember this excruciating tender feeling of inadequacy that washes over every part of you, carrying with it clarity and wisdom and reasonableness: that no one was born with perfect prose in them. most of us came out crying. and most of us now endure trying. this isn't so much envy as it is realization of a deeper truth: that i am simply not trying hard enough because i do not want it enough. 

i'm afraid, perhaps, of not wanting it enough. like Schrodinger's cat. what if in the end we discover that we are frauds after all. that we were never good enough to begin with. but here in no man's land, we never have to know. 

but also, how wickedly pathetic. fear of failure is just sad, man. life's too short for that.

 "...the only lonelier fate than rejection
was never exposing yourself to its possibility."

fail again, the great book said. fail better. 

failing means you risk your soul expressed through your prose by handing it to others to grade, to begin with. 

fail again means you stay on that risky path. 

fail better means doing more of the same, but learning from every experience of failure.

but what if...you just want to pass? 

perhaps the very existence of this post means i don't. 

i want an ocean, not a river. i want i can's and i will's. i want to fail and fail again and fail better. 

i want to see this through.

i am intimidated by you, great book. but you are proof that greatness is possible. and with the existence of infinity withstanding, probability-wise, it means you cannot be the only one.