The imposter’s imposter

I sat down New Year’s morning and banged out three blog posts and improved another one that was waiting in the queue. “This is pretty good,” I thought, “I wish I could keep up this pace.”

It was then that I realized I have imposter syndrome even with myself. Not content to bemoan that I will never be the next Steven King or Ray Bradbury, now I’m unhappy that I may never be as good or productive as me.

“That one piece I wrote in 2001 — that book I put out in 2018 — will I ever match those? Wow, four decent blog posts in one morning — those days are gone, yes?”

Except those are proof that I can do it, and with the right conditions — a good night’s sleep, a little quiet time for focus — it can happen over and over. (And by “a little quiet time,” I might mean the five minutes I’m taking to rewrite this out of a journal entry.)

I know just where to find such time: Facebook informs me that last week I averaged 2 hours, 17 minutes of “daily screen time.” Sorry, Mark Z, my composing screen time is more important to me than my consuming screen time. Sayonara.

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