My autobiography would be boring and short. The chapters would be named Chapter One, and so on. I don’t know who would want to read it. I have nothing interesting to say. My life hasn’t been exciting, just average. I have had my ups and downs like anyone else. I’m nothing special, and I never do anything interesting. I’m all talk and no action. Let’s say I dream and am too afraid to do anything about it. I don’t think I would write an autobiography anyway. If I published a book, it would probably be about my photography or poems I’ve written. I’ve actually considered collecting the best poems I’ve posted on this blog and publishing only one copy, just to myself. But there are so many, so there would be too much work. It’s only been a thought, and I don’t know if I would actually do it. It would only lay somewhere to collect dust. Besides, I don’t have a bookshelf so I wouldn’t know where to put it.
I don’t know if it’s a lie or only a denial, but I’m not as good as I think I am. I question my skills all the time. Maybe that’s one of the reasons why I keep putting off things. For example, since 2018, I’ve thought about becoming an entrepreneur. I went to a course about it too. I wanted to become many things, but I constantly changed my mind. I kept telling myself I was good at something, but then I didn’t get the response I wished for from others. I thought I was only an average photographer, writer or anything creative. I thought I couldn’t make it professionally. Maybe I’m lying to myself that I could. I’m worried people will see through me, but they don’t want to hurt my feelings by telling me the truth. The truth about that I should choose a profession other than something creative. My photos and designs are plain, and no one would want to pay me because they might make them for free elsewhere. That kind of doubt is often in my head.
Sometimes I wonder if people understand what I’m writing about. Am I the writer that I think I am? It’s not like I’m writing a novel here. I’ve got good feedback about my fiction, and people like my blog posts. But my writing is a hobby. I don’t get paid for it. Writing is the only thing I feel comfortable about. I know I’m good at it. I won’t lie or deny it. It’s other things that I think I’m lying to myself about. There will always be someone who is a better photographer than me. The same goes for graphic design and other creative things. I don’t like the “not being good enough to get paid for”- feeling. I have never wanted an ordinary job where you go at 8 or 9 am and then home at 4 or 5 pm. I can’t sit still and do something boring all day. I need change, and that’s what creative work is. But I can’t get hired because I have no job experience in the field. It’s challenging to get any of that.
As an introvert, it’s hard for me to know what my strengths are. I lie, or I’m in denial that I’m versatile, but am I truly so? Is that even a strength? A killer can be versatile by killing different kinds of people. I like doing different things, and I guess I’m doing OK with them. I wish I was more confident about my skills and not always doubting them. Being honest with yourself is easier than lying. But also, you shouldn’t forget that life does not always go as planned. If you lie to yourself about that, then you’re in denial.
When people think about the most memorable gift they’ve received, they think about something material. But for me, it’s a gift I’m given before birth. Or I don’t know how I got it. It comes; naturally, that’s for sure. I have the gift of imagination. I’m good at making up stories. They say reading books develop your imagination, but I’m not a book reader. There are other ways. You can get it by watching movies or television shows. You can find inspiration from daily life. You don’t get better at anything without doing it all the time. Knowing how to write is a gift a lot of people have. Anyone can write anything, but it doesn’t come naturally for everyone. I’m happy I know I’m good at something. I might not make money out of it, but it’s the most memorable gift ever.
In my world 