I Want to Find My Thing

I truly believe that everyone is endowed with a unique gift that makes us original. It's just a matter of finding or developing it. Some people have computer skills. Some people have lyrical talent. Some people have healing hands. Some people have dancing. Some people have debating or negotiating skills. I have writing. (Please don't judge my potential through my blogs). I happen to have a gift and are given many compliments as a result. I enjoy writing. It's something I'm good at. Emphasis on the previous sentence. It's something I'm good at. But it's not necessarily something I'm moved by. Others have found true happiness in their gift. It transforms them to a different world. It stops time. Everything slows down. Their surrounding troubles don't exist there. It's a place they can call their own. I don't have that, but I want it. I want something that truly inspires me, not some convenient talent that I cling onto as a way to feel connected, to be a part of something, to be of value. It's time I stop focusing on what I can offer to society. And it's time I focus on what society can offer me. It's at that point when I'll stop trying to have what others have, as a desperate attempt to mask my loneliness and inadequacies. It'll no longer be about emulating a sense of value. It'll be about having value in my life.

Sometimes I feel like I spend so much time being selfish and ungrateful that I forget how much I deny myself. I spent so much of my life escaping my environment and bettering myself that I neglected to realize that I'm unhappy. I'm just glad to be alive is what I thought. And that's great, but my standards should be and will soon be higher than that. Now that I'm in a place where I can think of only myself, I've realized that I don't know what happiness truly is. I wasn't able to distinguish between being a part of something and it being a part of me. Feeling second place, not being good enough has always been a permanent feeling that existed within me that I've almost gotten used to it. Settling was a way of life for me. I certainly don't have the emotional agility to accept my failures, so I lived a lie instead.

Ballet was never my thing, not really. It passed by the time. It gave me something to do, something to look forward to. Others admired my commitment and was envious that I had something to call my own. I heard it so many times that I almost started believing it. Combine that with ballet dancers who truly loved what they did and being exposed to that, day in and day out, and conveyed in a way that implied I was a part of it. I had never felt that before. It was nice. The only problem was that it wasn't coming from me. It came from everyone but me. There's only so long you can live in a shell until it starts to break down and fall apart. But rather than finding a new shell, I want to grow in my own. I had no idea what I was missing out on until I saw and felt the joy in others. On one end, I was so, so, so happy for them. On the other end, I felt like I swallowed poison and I couldn't breathe. I can't do this anymore.

I can't ignore the fact that I settled for ballet because I don't have rhythm, but I've always been so attracted to dance that I settled for the most tangible choice available, the slowest dance form that I can follow. I can't ignore the fact that writing only brings me pleasure because of the compliments I receive. Truthfully, they don't even have much value anymore. You're a great writer is an overused compliment and generally within everyone's potential to receive if people simply put more effort. So, conveniently, I'm only special because of other people's laziness and lack of drive, not because of what I possess but what others neglect to refine. I can't ignore the fact that writing is my perverse form of enjoyment because of the approval I get from others. I want something that enriches my life, not others. I wonder what that is... I'm familiar with what I'm bad at and what I don't enjoy, but I'm completely unaware of what I'm good at, what will change my life.