Untitled.

It always starts with a notepad, an idea and a spark.

Then the notepad gets unwieldy and the plain text is not good enough at formatting for my visually dominant brain. I can't sing, my dancing is almost acceptable and my writing is nothing short of not bad.

There must be a hundred or so texts around of me ranting on my troubles with ideas. So forgive me if this comes off a little hopeless. Deep down the problem is that it feels like I should be better at this.

Do thoughts get lost in translation between the spark and the fully formed text? (Oh look I posed myself a question to answer in another paragraph, original technique there).

Crap, I write like the woman from Sex and the City.

Stephen Fry described his writing process as a traumatic marathon of early mornings, and mid 80s hardware purchases. I worry if mine is nowhere near as epic. Throw on some big sounding emo (yes emo) and leave whatever words feel right on the screen. All the sites teaching you to write say revise, replace and simplify. For some reason my stubbornness insists that these short bursts of creativity are the answer. In a couple of hours time it will be gone, and seem futile. Maybe if I could tie all these bursts together with some editing...

That said I've wanted outsource tasks that baffle and frustrate me for a long time. One of you out there has to be a brilliant editor missing a spark. Be the yin to my yang.

But you know what really pisses me off? If someone else asked these questions I'd have an awesome answer like. "Well it takes practice and discipline to get good at something, force yourself to do it until it works". Yet I don't want to feel like a part of history, the grass is greener on the other side syndrome.

The quarter life crisis was supposed to end with the illness and introspection. The arrogance of it all doesn't escape me, that the number one topic I blog about is me. But then it's the key battle too. Being a success in the eyes of most just kinda happened. The apartment, car, and career.

I am not my apartment.

I am not my car.

I am not my job.

Who am I? Right now the only answer comes back, is a potentially talented nobody with good ideas but nothing to show for it but half finished, almost brilliance.

Maybe it's a pessimistic outlook, but it feels right. I need to learn this lesson. It takes forcing yourself and working to get results. Here I am holding on to the hope, that usually when you're about to give up something good happens. Although, I've held on to that one a few times for it not come through.

Fundamentally I bought into the idea that I could achieve greatness. Head above the parapit, Mark Zuckerberg world alerting brilliance, or just reverence in my field. The guy who hired me at work told me "You are the most exciting talent I've seen in a long time". Not good enough. Why should I believe middle management? Give me something to believe in myself, something that is real.

Something I can point to, in a moment of reflection and say "I did that", without having to explain what it is. Tim Ferris lives the 4 hour work week. A fantastic utopia of life balance. I could actually spend more time working, if I found something I loved enough and could STICK at it. Instead of once a week, or every two weeks.