Rooted in Pastel Mediocrity

I have dreams. I suppose everyone does, but I wonder sometimes if everyone's dreams are as troublesome as mine. I don't refer to nightmares, but to those dearest desires of our hearts that motivate our lives.

How could such things be troublesome? I have far too many. I want to be a writer, an artist, a teacher, a leader, to name only four of a multitude. I dream in technicolour, but I live in a pastel world. Where dreams and desires are a pale and faded mockery of the vibrancy I seek.

The root of my problem is this: I am good at everything. You think that a strange problem? Perhaps I should say that I am good at everything, but great at nothing. Know that I am an initiate of many crafts, but a master of none. Mediocrity cannot breed success. At least not success as I would have it.

As a writer I would create an epic to entertain the masses, and open their eyes to truths an philosophies they've never fully considered.

As an artist I would create beauty, bring to life those visions in my mind that I've never been able to describe to another human being.

As a teacher I would open minds to new ideas and concepts, educating and molding the minds of the next generation until they could achieve more than their own hearts desire.

As an engineer I would create miracles of ingenuity, bringing concept to reality through skill and cunning.

I would be so much more than what I am. I appreciate that I have a wider variety of interests, knowledge, and experience than most people know, but that is not enough. What good is it to be good at something if you're never good enough for it to be significant?

The writer that never writes, the artist that cannot paint, the teacher without a class, and the engineer without a purpose are all the same. My colours blend, and blur together where they should stand apart.