A Piece of Cake.

A few weeks ago while playing in the weekly euchre tournament I was humbled.

I’m not normally the kind of person that attracts a whole slew of compliments. I don’t have this drop dead gorgeous looks,(though..I think to think that I’m not completely unfortunate looking) I’m not generally this outgoing person who spends his time helping old people across the street, (though if I ever seen an old person who needed help getting across the street, I’d help instantly) I don’t rescue kittens that get stuck in trees, or have some sort of infectious personality that draws people in.

I’m basically just me. I do what I do, say what I say, and anyone that knows me knows that I’m if nothing else, at the very least I’m honest person that you can trust in. I’ll fight for the things I believe in, I’ll always call a spade a spade, and sometimes…I can be pretty fucking hilarious.

But it’s not like random people tell me that I have pretty eyes, or I have a beautiful smile. And, I’m alright with that. I’m the kind of person that would probably just be uncomfortable with those sort of statements anyway. Even inside my own relationship. The person I love more than anything in the world can pay me a compliment, and I’ll usually (to his disapproval) find some way to disprove it by ‘jokingly” putting myself down. Maybe it’s a self esteem issue, or just a lack of being able to believe in the goodness of people. Maybe somehow through everything I have a hard time believing in the goodness in myself. Though, I can tell you…I’m pretty fucking good.

So, while at euchre this friend of mine that plays repeatedly complimented my writing.

It’s something that happens frequently. I’ve never gotten a big head about it, in fact half the time I think that people just say that because they know if they said ” HEY! You’re writing is a bunch of horse shit and I’d rather listen to that horrible “Friday” song by Rebecca Black on repeat for several fucking hours than read your shit again”, I’d probably snap and make fun of them on levels they’ve probably not been made fun of before. I have a knack for that, I guess. And, I’m vicious when I’m angry. Hah.

Writing has been so important to me. So close to me. Its one of the few things in this world that I cherish. I’ve never considered myself good at breathing or walking. I’m never said I’m good at blinking, or smelling freshly cut grass. Those are just things I’ve done. Things most people do. I realize that not everyone, not even most people are able to write.  And while I don’t think I’m horrible, I’m certainly my biggest opponent.

I’m harsh on myself. I get angry that my punctuation isn’t better, or my vocabulary isn’t larger. I wish I could come up with crisper ideas, or expand the smallest details into monumental sentences and paragraphs.

So, when someone says “Nick, you are an amazing writer”. It’s often a difficult pill to swallow. Sure, it makes me feel good. It brings some sort of thought into the forefront of my mind that tells me that maybe the one thing I want to succeed at, isn’t something I’m bad at.

But, I’m quick to fall back upon my insecurities and weaknesses.

This friend, told me that I had a gift. That not everyone has what I have. That she wished she could put thoughts and emotions into words like I can. She urged me to make a move, to stake a claim on my future. To make something of myself with the talent I have, and not to just let it become a tool at my disposal that never gets used.

This friend isn’t much different than I.  She isn’t the type to pretend that something doesn’t matter that does. She, like me would never let someone disrespect her without sticking up for herself. Like myself, she doesn’t just wear her emotions on her sleeve, she is her emotions.  You pretty much know what you’re gonna get. Not everyone likes us, but those that do, really do. I see alot of similarities between the two of us. I see how she reacts to heartbreak, and I see myself. I see how she fancies herself a cocktail, and I see myself. I see how she wants more for her life than she has. And I see myself.

And she’s taking the steps towards making that happen. And…thats where I stopped seeing myself.

Her words stabbed me in the throat. I felt an urgency to produce something amazing. To write something spectacular. To create something that places me on the map.

I took her words very seriously. I thanked her endlessly for the compliments. I told her that, that meant alot to me. Probably more than most things you can say to me. And, for a short while I believed in myself.

It was nice.

Sometimes, you get so accustomed to doing things. You get so caught up in your routines and your regularities that you stop noticing things. You stop feeling as motivated to stimulate change. You somehow let things slip and slide. And you lose focus. You forget to fight tooth and nail for your dreams. You get sidetracked, and  your goals become far off ideas that seem impossible to grasp.

And, for a short while when she was talking to me. I felt empowered.

I felt like …I am a good writer. I felt like, I do have a strength. A voice. A talent.

Even if it isn’t as great as someone elses’ or as polished as it should be. Maybe theres something poetically beautiful in raw, unbridled talent. Something inspiring and special.

I’d lost that, for so long. Months, years maybe.

And it literally brought tears to my eyes to be slapped in the face so abruptly by a small compliment. It made me remember why I want to write in the first place.

Because it’s mine. Whatever I say, or list. How I feel, or think. It belongs to me. Noone else.

If I’m lucky enough to find even one person that can relate, or feels how I feel but doesn’t know how to say it and finds solace in the way I write…then I’m a successful writer.

I don’t need millions of dollars, (though..hey…if yer a publisher and willing to give me some…I’ll definitely take every last little bit you want to give me) I don’t need mass notoriety, or long list of followers.

I need the comfort of knowing that I’m able to do what I love at any moment of any day.

And that is the true gift.

Sure, I’d like all the other stuff too. But, if I can’t have my cake and eat it too…I’ll still cherish the hell out of mypersonal fucking piece of cake.