Is this arrogance disguised as doubt, or doubt as arrogance?
And perhaps, too, it’s a lack of faith in myself, and in others to recognize what’s here.
There’s another layer too. The idea that I care so much because I somehow believe my work should matter more. That it should not fall flat. That it should not go unnoticed.
But why not? Why shouldn’t it sometimes disappear into the void?
A lot happens in the void.
Still... I keep writing. Because even through the fear, something in me believes: It is worthy. It does need to be shared. Even if it’s only for me. And maybe one other weirdo who gets it.
The weirdo who stops mid-scroll. Who reads it twice. Who feels less alone in their own particular frequency—and doesn’t care if it was arrogance or doubt that drove me to share it.
And maybe... that’s enough.
Maybe all of that contrast is fuel. A writer’s fuel, whether it drives us toward our work or away from it.
Maybe that’s everything.
Explore more:
Arrogance, Wearing Insecurity’s Clothes (Part 1)
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Practice in Motion
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