Wisdom

I'd like to bury something precious at every place that I've been happy, so that when I'm old and ugly and miserable, I'll come back and dig it up, and remember.

- Sebastian, Brideshead Revisited (cred: inthenextapartment.blogspot.com)

Thinking about the times I've been truly happy I've come to this perpetual turn around: how do I know I was truly happy? Did I just believe I was happy because I believed that that was what happiness was, because I'd been told to?

I generally have a fairly good bullshit radar, but it falls short when turned inwards. The above neurotic rant is a perfect example of what turns me around and stops me from completing something risky and from actually persuing something meaningful, frightened both of not knowing what it'll mean, and of failing at it.

A wise woman wrote recently of turning off the static in one's head. I am unable to do this, despite fairly perpetual introspection, and it urks me. She also spoke of the difference between doing what one likes and what one is good at.

This got me thinking: what do I like?

I like being good at things.

As shallow and pathetic as that sounds, I've always turned to the things I'm good at and concentrated my efforts at becoming the best at them. This gives me unspeakable satisfaction, and also great cause for self-loathing. Result: static.

Lately, however, I've been searching to find things that I enjoy regardless of my level of success while doing them, and to persue them regardless of the fear of failure. The last bit is the hardest. Especially when you would like to make a career out of this thing you may discover that you like: if you end up doing poorly at it and making a bad impression with someone influential then *poof!* opportunity gone.

Or is it?

I must scrounge up the courage to find out.

I mean, really: my dream is not to succeed in Wall Street finance, which means I'll probably get more than one shot at it.

Let's face it, as an editor who has to look at shitty article after shitty article, it really wouldn't bother you too much to read one more. Plus, what would be more impressive? Receiving an incredible article off the bat (quite impressive), OR, receiving several crap articles from the same person that begin suddenly not reading like crap anymore (more impressive because situated among low standards).

As Lloyd Dobler says, "If you start out depressed, everything else is just a pleasant surprise."

So there we have it: grab some cohones, send out some shitty pieces, and perhaps the drastic improvements that come with practice will stun someone into publishing my articles!