Eet - the button on a typewriter that allowed someone to return to where the previous letter was and type over it.
It's not that I regret a minute of the time I spent on this. It's not that I regret any of the choices I made, the things I did or the people I met. The only part of this that I regret is that I wasn't good enough.
I guess the truth is that I have nothing new to say here, besides that it's over. Hours of work, hours of complaints, hours of edits, and countless tears. What I put everyone around me through, needlessly (usually this hurts more to think about than the work I went through myself). Maybe I'm just not going to ever measure up to this.
It's not that I've never dealt with failure. I'm used to it by now; I have a good sense of what a rejection letter looks like... and I have an even better sense of what it looks like on other people's faces. The pity, the disdain, the concern - some of it good hearted, others not. Even worse is what it morphs into inside my head: I'm not good enough. I'm no longer worthy. They now know just how fallible I am.
There aren't any words that make this better. In fact, space and time is all it takes. Space to realize my own self sufficiency - to realize that I don't need to be taken care of, that I'm not a child, and that I can succeed on my own in at least the simple things in life. Time to see the other parts of my life that disprove my own theory of insufficiency. Time to let the sting fade away.
"It's like forgetting the words to your favorite song
you cant believe it - you were always singing along.
It was so simple, and the words so sweet - you can't remember...you try to feel the beat..."
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3 comments:
I wasn't sure if I should or should not say what I have felt inclined to express. But when I read your blog today, I thought I could go about this kind of sneakily and planned on leaving this comment anonymously.. but your blog apparently wants you to know that it is me writing. So here we go.
I want you to know how much I (everyone) respect(s) you.
I know these words won't help -- at least not in the way I would like them to -- but I hope that if not now, at some point they will remind you (and remind you in the truest sense - to the point where you can feel these words come to life in your chest and spread warmth to your toes) that you are brilliant.
You are poetic, insightful, eloquent, and poised.
You speak and write with purpose and passion.
You make me (perhaps even others) feel slightly intimidated -- but not intentionally. It's a good type of intimidation that carries a sense of awe.
I wish I could better describe what you have. But, you have "it." Some sort of magnetism. Some sort of energy. There's something in you that says, "I'm a mover and shaker. I'm going to do it. You just wait and watch me. You'll see. I am -- and I will be brilliant."
Even if you don't see, feel, or believe it, I do.
And I hope you know that others see, feel, and believe it, too.
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