I like writing but the problem is that I can’t actually write. My thoughts are incomplete. My grammar is nonexistent. My sentences are poorly constructed among other issues I can’t articulate my thoughts well because I can’t write.
That doesn’t stop me. I like to put my incoherent thoughts down on paper. I always have and probably always will until I am unable to type. I don’t really expect anyone to read them even though I have a blog, which no one reads, and have included some of my stories in emails and birthday cards with very little feed back. I wish that I were good enough to attract readers but at the same time I hesitate to publish anything I write because it scares me to think about having to do it consistently and knowing that we all fail eventually.
I have wondered how some people realize their talent and how they have the motivation and skill to act on it. I am aware of great writers, musicians, athletes, thinkers, actors etcetera that appear as if it has always been their lot in life to become so. Perhaps it is simply a process of elimination. The best of the best eventually surface and it only seems like it was spontaneous for the successful ones.
There are anecdotes of the 40 year coming of an over night sensation. There are countless blogs and youtube videos which never go viral. Then there are those stories, ideas, acts and images that never get noticed because they are never published, submitted, recorded, or shown.
I also wonder if and how many individuals may never even get a chance to express themselves and enrich the world with their talents. What becomes of them?
Is it opportunity, chance, destiny, or none of the above? Perhaps the action of a person is independent of his surrounding and state of being. Perhaps he or she does what they do because that is what they do at the moment they do it. Perhaps there is no plan no overriding purpose i.e. what is the purpose of life? You sing because you sing and people listen because they are where they can hear you and they decide to listen instead of sing themselves or they sing along because they lack the motivation and skill to do other wise.
I wish it were clearer about the why and the how but it is not and it doesn’t appear that it will be any clearer because that is the way this existence works. Perhaps there is another existence where all things are known and all purposes are apparent but I will have to wait find that out if and when I find myself in it.