I will never be the writer I want. It is a simple fact. I am too shallow. Too random. Not nearly motivated enough. Not nearly original enough. I read other peoples work and am inspired. Full of purpose I pick up a pen to compose something that can rival my muse. Only to realize I have come up with a poorly done fake imitation. I am at best an obnoxious obvious wannabe. a knock of off a great work.
I will never be the woman I want to be. I am too scattered brained. Too unfocused. Too needy. To self centered to ever truly be an inspiration or encouragement much less the kind of woman who change's the world simply by being herself. I have tried to please to many people and as a result have come achieved mediocrity in everything from making jewelry, writing letters, blogging, sewing, baking, quilting, and mothering. I know a little of everything and a lot of nothing.
I am a typical oxymoron clique of hating the band wagon and hating to be thought of as different. I guess I never really moved past 15. I am afraid that voicing what I want will clump me in with an over arching sacrin sweet stereotype. So I have settled for gray. Neither black nor white. Safe. Simple. In the middle.
The sad result is a fear of contentment. A sickening feeling that accompanies comfort and satisfaction. The mocking voice that taunts that what I am feeling is not truly satisfaction but in reality is defeat.