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Muddling thru Mediocrity 

I don’t know how many projects I may start in my life. But I do have a pretty consistent record of how many I have finished. Zero. 

I have typed out lines upon lines of pseudo-contemporary nonsense under the self imposed supposition that I have a “knack” for writing. 

And yet, here I am. A thirty year old man with a couple of hobbies, none of which I am particularly good. And even if I was, those pasttimes still aren’t exactly lucrative. However, if you hear of an opening for someone to play Mortal Kombat and tell long-winded stories about things that may or may not have happened, please put in a good word for me. 

I think my biggest issue is I dont have any motivation. That lack of hutzpah is generated consistently by a fear of failure. 

Because, lets just say I do finish a novel or a series of paintings or whatever. What if no one cares? What if my writing is absolute dog shit? What if my paintings are just awful? What if I never get better at anything? 

The very concept of failure is enough to stop me dead in my tracks when faced with an activity I am not immediately good at. And that is a really long list of activities. You could build Summer Camp schedules around all of the things I can’t do and thus will never whole heartedly try. 

Is there a solution to this? Is there a way to get over my crippling fear?

Or should I even bother to worry about it at all? Maybe I’ll continue to tread water and while pretending I am destined for the stars when really all I am destined for is an ordinary life therefore keeping my delusions of grandeur as just that; a delusion. 

Who is to say I deserve anything more?

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