I make a lot of things. I make most of them from scratch. There’s a long list of those things and I’m proud enough to bore you with that list.
But I’m kind enough to abridge it. I like you.
Yes, I make physical things from lumber, and from plastic filament. I make breads and cakes, cookies, pies and squares. I make the odd thing from textiles on my sewing machine, I’m good enough to get away with calling it sewing, but not good enough to make clothes. Mostly I make repairs.
I also make stories. I tell them in poetry, lyrics, and prose. That makes me a writer.
And all this makes me creative
But I rarely think of myself as talented. Well, maybe mildly talented, is that a thing?
I always thought that what made me produce all these things and more was a combination of wanting to say something badly enough, and pushing myself to do that, to speak with words or music, plastic or flour or wood.
So, is that talent?
Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t, but I rarely feel talented. People will sometimes compliment me on the things I’ve done, and I appreciate that. But I usually feel like I was just lucky.
And I have been lucky, especially with writing. Often the luck was that I got the right writing assignment, something that already stirred emotion and needed little help from me.
Admittedly I’ve sometimes read things I’ve written and thought, “Did I write that? Wow!” But again, I felt lucky to have had that opportunity, one that would lend itself to my style, one that had a built in emotion factor.
So I’m still not sure
I used to think I was a pretty talented computer programmer, but lately I’ve gone back to programming as a sort of hobby, and I’m feeling somewhat less than competent at it.
It’s true that I’m learning a language that is new to me, And it’s also true that I’m doing lots of other things, unlike when I was in college and concentrating almost exclusively on programming.
Perhaps talent is perception
Maybe talent is doing my best under my current circumstances. Maybe believing I’m talented requires me to accept that no one else does what I do the way I do it. Maybe that’s all.
Or perhaps I don’t need to know I’m talented or not talented. Perhaps I only need to know that I’m satisfied with the things that I do.
Maybe I should write about that?
Maybe I just did.
Maybe that’s my talent?
… maybe not.
