I am not the best writer. Never will be.
I am not the best t-shirt designer. Never will be.
I am not the best father or husband or son. Never will be.
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As a younger man I would beat myself up about my shortcomings. I would think that I needed to employ a mild form of self-loathing to develop the energy, or conjure up the ability, to get better at a given task. In doing so I would rarely, if ever, be content with anything or anyone. As you might guess, I wasn’t always the happiest young adult in the world. I would never allow myself to be comfortable with where I was in life. Don’t get me wrong, this wasn’t a climbing a corporate ladder thing, not at all. I can’t even put my finger on exactly what I wanted or where I wanted to be back then. I only knew it was somewhere else, doing something else, and doing it better than I was at that moment.
As a younger man I foolishly thought that the minute you felt good about yourself, about where you are and what you’ve accomplished, that that kind of hubris would slowly destroy you and everything around you; that pride and comfort would eventually lead to the end of all that you were proud of and comfortable with in the first place. I therefore didn’t allow myself much time for self-congratulations or mental relaxation. Also, not being a drinker and never dabbling in anything herbal or chemical meant I was always acutely aware of my self and my many perceived failings. It wasn’t always easy being me, the way I was.
As an older and hopefully wiser fella, I recognize that it is okay to be content in the middle of the pack, and yet still strive to improve. Otherwise, even as King I’d hate the fabric of my robe, the color of my throne. Something’s gotta give. I now know that, for me, it is alright to be content with my minimal status in the blogger/writerly worlds, yet still work hard every day to raise the stature of both.
I have always loathed that particular C word, CONTENTMENT. I associated a contented life with giving up or no longer trying hard enough. It seemed to me a sort of cop out and a way to justify a poor work ethic. Times they have a changed. I am fairly good at certain things. It is okay to admit this and to be happy.
As I struggle with my professional jealousy issues, I find myself, more and more, seeking out a kind of contentment. OWTK is at a certain place in the blog world, a place I could never have dreamed when I started it nearly 6 years ago, and a place many newer bloggers may aspire to be at themselves. Add to that the fact that people actually pay me cash money to write words, to string sentences together! Many very talented writers may never sell a single word, yet I’ve been published and paid by national magazines and websites (I often feel very bad about this, like I am stealing in a way). I’m also working on a book. Not bad, really, all that. But, as with most everything else in my life, I am extremely hard myself and am never fully satisfied. I’ve considered this a good thing, in general, but c’mon! What is the sense in torturing myself about not being as good a wordslinger as, say, Jeff Giles from Popdose and Dadnabbit? Or not being voted as a Babble’s Top 50 Dad Blogger. Or not being chosen to travel and to experience a product in a brand partnership. At random times in the past these kinds of things ate at me. No more. No more I say!
I am happy with where I am, with what I have done to this point, and while I will never stop trying to improve in all aspects of my life I understand that a healthy appreciation of where I currently stand and all that I have around me is more than okay. It is good, and needed, and I am better off today for knowing this.
And now maybe someday soon I will be able to graciously accept the compliment when the Bear proclaims that I am the best daddy in the world, without me adding a qualifier to cut myself down at the knees. Maybe someday.
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I discussed this and more on the Sweet Sounds Show podcast last week. Thanks to David for indulging me with this topic. Was a great conversation. Give a listen, won’t ya!
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