Forgive Me, I Know Not What I Do

by Natalie Robin

Sometimes when I read other writers I wonder why I bother. Same goes for music, or really any method of which I know how to create. There’s so much talent in the world and though it doesn’t exactly pose itself as competition, I often feel as though I’ve been beat out anyway in knowing I will never be as good as some things, even if I dedicate myself solely to the cause of my art(s).

While I’d like to think “Oh I’m just different”, “I just do that differently”, I am not so delusional. I think we obviously have relatively clear standards of what is great and what is not, I think even extending so far as to believe there is greatness in things we don’t even necessarily like on a subjective level ie Moby Dick.

I think as appreciators of art we employ our own curve of forgiveness, understanding that the really good local band we went to see one night will never be as good as Led Zeppelin, or that our children’s finger paintings are not Monet (sorry deluded parents) though the experiences might render similar excitement. While I don’t want to bank on this forgiveness in hoping someone likes something I do or make, it’s nice to know it’s there and that maybe as I engage in these little exercises to become better, I am pardoned for my weaknesses and enjoyed anyway. I continue to remind myself that inspiring another person is one of the hardest emotional transactions to complete. If I start the fire for just one person, just once in life, I would consider myself lucky.

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