“Write well” does not correlate with “smart”.
“Smart” does not correlate with “got yer shit together.”
I have been self-delusional here. (A) That I write well. (B) That the correlation exists, implying I’m smart. This fallacy I’m seeing daily, now that I am willing to be humble. (C) And I certainly don’t have my shit together in any meaningful fashion.
But.
(D) So what?
Acknowledge these truths: I overestimate my skills and my intelligence. I’m average in the shit-together department. And it doesn’t matter — on a cosmic or lifetime scale.
I’m OK.
It’s 1 a.m. I can’t sleep (jet lag), and I’m at peace.
We are all privates in this army. Even me.
If I consider all of the things in the world I don’t know, and will never know . . . am I smart? Nope.
If I consider the new things I come across daily and struggle to understand—or am oblivious to their existence . . . am I smart? Nope.
If I consider how writing is a struggle and how often thoughts I want to speak come out obviously wrong or new and different thoughts erupt spontaneously from my brain . . . do I have any particular skill? Nope.
Through earnest and dogged persistence I have found a plateau on which I rest, mid-climb. Yet the mountains call me to rise and trudge upward. Why, I cannot say. Yet, climb I must.