I’m not a writer.  If you read anything I’ve written in this hastily-thrown-together website of mine, you’ll undoubtedly agree.

Most would think I’m not a writer because I’m just no good at it.  Let me stop you there.  It doesn’t matter if I’m good at it.  Pick up a magazine, read a blog, or watch someone give a speech.  The world is full of lousy writers.  My skill level is easily adequate to beat out some of the people who get paid to do it.   My grammar is decent enough that an accomplished editor could fix my inconsistencies.  Little red underlines catch the majority of my spelling errors.  I don’t use text-message lingo.  But I’m definitely not a writer.

One of the things that fascinates me about writers is their ability to create something from nothing.  This goes for all creative disciplines for that matter.  I can’t paint, either.  Not because I don’t know how to hold a brush and apply paint to a surface, though.

I can play the piano, but I’m useless if you want me to write you a song.

I can make you a website, but you better design it first or it’ll end up looking like a word document.  A really snazzy word document with dropdown menus and php/css/whatever, but still a word document nonetheless.  But don’t ask me to fill it with fresh content.  I’ll just use lorem ipsum text and call it a day.  It’s just a simple placeholder to show what it WOULD look like if there WERE content.

I can edit your research paper and make it better.  I can solve your logic problem.  I can prove theorems and memorize equations.  I can also program equations into your graphing calculator for you so you can finish a statistics test in 2 minutes.

I can choose a font that works well in a given situation.  But I couldn’t design a font that was worth anything.

I can create matching outfits from my closet.  But I couldn’t design fashionable attire.

We’re all born with different personalities, talents and abilities.  My dad can draw and sculpt.  I can’t even fathom sculpting.  How can someone see a three-dimensional image inside of a cube of material?  I sure have no chance of it.

I suppose my talents and abilities lend themselves to helping others take their creativity to the next level.  Unfortunately, our desires don’t always coincide with our natural gifts.

I wish I could be a writer.  I wish I could sit down and have creative ideas flow from my fingers.  I’d sit at coffee shops on my mac and happily type away while sipping my beverage.  Can you imagine THAT being something you got paid for?  Pure bliss for me.

Unfortunately, we can’t all be rock stars, actors, photographers, and writers.  We can’t all be in the entertainment industry, even though most of us wish we were (on at least some level).

I don’t have to become a writer to be happy.  I’ve come to grips with the fact that what I like to do and what I make money doing aren’t one in the same.  It’s not a fun day when that hits you.  If it hasn’t hit you yet, I’m sorry if I’m ruining the surprise.

Yet it will inevitably hit most of us at some point.  There are only so many “fun” jobs out there.  Even work that is enjoyable at first will probably become aggravating after long enough.  Some of the most rewarding work is done by teachers.  I know many teachers who absolutely love their jobs.  They’re all young and relatively new to it.  There’s a very small percentage who make it through 40 years of teaching and still go to work in the morning excited about dealing with other peoples poorly-raised, foul-mouthed, impolite bastards.

I wanted to be a doctor at one point.  I entered college with that in mind.  I think I’m one of the only people I know who will admit that I was in it purely for the money.  I was part of the doctor/lawyer bandwagon and being a doctor seemed like more hands-on fun and less desk time.  It was the second week of school when I learned my first life lesson- if you’re not in it for the right reasons, someone who is will likely outperform you.  I knew it wasn’t my calling, so I bowed out after 2 weeks and can’t say I’ve ever regretted it once.

Looking back, I probably would have been a halfway decent doctor.  I can fix things.  Give me something that is broken and I’ll figure out why.  But I digress…

By now, I think I’ve changed focus and topics enough times to prove my initial point about being a horrible writer.  It’s just not my calling in life.

But what is?

If I could provide for my family by doing something I truly enjoyed, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

For most of us, we’ll sadly never experience that.

I can only hope that the world nudges me in the right direction one day.

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Now that I’m done with this entry, should I re-read what I’ve written and fix mistakes, errors, and poor grammar?  That just wouldn’t be right considering the content.  Publish.