I tapped my pen while thinking of something to write about. Topic. Topic. Topic. I mused.
God. Writer’s block. I sighed while scratching my head. Trying to get my creative juice going, I read the entries of the blogs that I followed for some inspiration. Instead of getting inspired, the whole ordeal brought out some writing insecurities. I felt incompetent. While reading, I imagined the other writers not sweating any of this small stuff. I picture them joyously typing their entries away, sipping coffee or any other incredibly delicious drink, looking all cocky as they write down their already weaved humorous short stories or awe-inspiring realizations. Unlike my fumbling novice state, it was eminent that some of them had identified their style that makes them stick and had embodied that gracefully. I, on the other hand, can’t pretty much decide how I should I write and what should I write about.
I encouraged, nay convinced myself that if I kept going, maybe I’d finally identity the type of writing that will completely represent me. Maybe in the future, I’ll find that knack that might make people look forward to my entries because I! And only I could write like that! (glorious sound effect in the background) Yup… I tried telling myself that. Then while in the middle of self pitying and encouraging myself, (it was a confusing state) I realized that at this point of my life, I haven’t been really outstandingly good at anything that I’m currently doing. Right now, all that I am is a potential.
I mean for my day job, I’m a full time programmer and I’ve only been practicing it for almost 2 years. In the IT world, that’s not long enough to be considered an expert. Seriously, my title still reads “junior programmer”. I still need a senior programmer’s help on stuff. So there. I POTENTIALLY might be an expert on my job someday but definitely, not today. Nope not yet.
And then, there’s writing. Oh…. Writing. The passion I tried to ignore. I’m a toddler on this area. The state or goal I want to achieve is to rightfully express myself. To be satisfied with what I write. That I’d be able to tell my story the way I imagined it. But um, can’t blame my still “potential state” because my efforts in writing has been considerably passive. I only get interested for a period of time. After that, I’d shun it away because I find the ordeal exhausting. Then maybe after sometime, I’d find a way to revamp my interest. But eventually, after a month or two I’d discontinue my efforts. Hopefully this time around, I’d stick to this attempt (finger’s crossed).
Oh, the other tons of stuff that I’m still not really good at! I tried yoga last year but never got to advance state because I got lazy. I used to explore my potential in dancing back in college but never had the guts to try it out again because I find it embarrassing to dance at my age. (Meh, Go figure!). Then, there’s cooking. I could whip up some so-so dishes but, you know, never those mouth watering masterpieces.
I wonder if I ever got stuck pursuing at anything and it won’t go anywhere. That my level at any of these things will remain as is despite the efforts or the time I put unto it. I wonder if all efforts will only be in vain. What is the measurement for being an expert at something, anyway? How could I declare that I’m really good at this? How is that sized up?
Hmmm.. Oh well, at least I’ve finished all worlds in Plant vs. Zombies. WOHOO!!!