Doubt is such a strange bedfellow. One day you're up; you have direction. Then she creeps in. Like a bad love you can't let go.
I am currently courting this ex-love of mine. Doubt. She has kept me from evolving. She has tied my hands and forced me to ask, "What's so bad about the way things are?"
I think anyone who pursues creative endeavors has shared this lover. Is it only those strong enough to resist her sweet temptations - to kick her to the curb, and get on with their lives - who have succeeded?
Currently, I am wanting to pursue the only interest that has ever stuck with me; the only thing that I have ever shown a marketable talent for.
But, every time I read - be it Hemingway, Harry Potter or someone's random blog entry - Doubt comes back. As my Grandmother says, She chases you until you catch her.
Tonight, she's come calling again. Instead of writing the Great American Novel, I am whoring myself out for this damn newspaper. Anybody want cheap diabetic testing supplies? Well, maybe you will after you read my next masterpiece in the latest edition.
(Instead of wine and flowers, Doubt brings a certain amount of cynicism to our date...)
Damnit. Here's to the end of all the lovers bent on mastering and destroying. Here's to the end of Doubt. Really. It's not me - it's you.
So, now I am thinking of the Desiderata, and all it's simple wisdom. The one part I've always remembered comes into my head:
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
But, I wonder, who's greater than Hemingway?
