I am pretty sure that I am good at what I do. Most of the time, I know that I am good at what I do.
And I know that I can be great at it with some time. A little time, I hope.
But sometimes, what I know and what I think don’t match up. I know that I’m good at this. I like to think I wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing otherwise.
But then there are the doubts.
It’s late. Much too late, after this type of Monday, to be conscious let alone thinking, wondering, worrying. My red glass lamp puts a soft red glow across my bed. I love it because it is so soft — it counteracts the hours I spend in front of a screen. I’m curled up, falling asleep on top of “Telling True Stories.” A 13-hour day capped by a four-hour meeting and an hour to drive back, write it and drive home. I have an early doctors appointment in the morning.
But sleep won’t come.
Because what if I’m wrong?
There need not be a seed of doubt planted. Rather, it’s something that sneaks up on you. It doesn’t happen often, and it doesn’t have a reason. It doesn’t even last that long. It comes softly. It comes in a way such that you don’t notice it until it’s right there, on you, feeding off your confidence.
Because if you’re not good at this, what the hell else are you going to do?
What the hell else would you even want to do?
It is like a leech. It is like a dark cloud. It is like someone whispering in your ear while you’re trying to work, to sleep, to live.
What if you’re wrong?
What if I’m just not good at this and no one had the heart to tell me?
I know that to be untrue. I know it. In my head, in my brain, it is something’s logical that I know. But that doesn’t stop me from feeling when that shadow of doubt grabs me from behind.
I know it doesn’t make me weak; I know it makes me human.
But what I know and what I think, like I said, are often two different things.