I was thinking last night about the stupid history professor who told me that “I” as a writer was like a hockey player who couldn’t skate. I guess, and would like to think, that I was still scoring goals and making it from one side of the rink to the other; I just wrote more like a Timbit than a Sidney Crosby.
That’s been a sore spot for way too many years. Do you know how much better it would have been to get constructive criticism of my work? What if he had given me one thing that I could change or work on? Well last night I think I got. I posted the last post in great haste, not a lot of proof reading or making sure it made sense until I was trying to get to sleep and making corrections in my head. I got it, I knew how to be a better writer, a more confident person and a little better at my job. Just take that extra moment and make my writing matter, make my work matter, make my breaths in life matter.
Also, I had a great talk with myself, plus hanging out with my friends, and being honest about how I felt, made me feel better.
So now I can take a moment an feel better because I understand that statement, because it’s not haunting me, because I’ve grown from it, because it’s made me stronger.