It’s 2:00AM and I’m sitting in the dark, typing furiously, having rewritten this post at least a hundred times now— possibly more, but I’ve long lost count.
The once imagined sentences — formed gloriously in my mind, are now on paper — sporadic and unwilling, a mere whisper of the post I had wanted to write.
I ask myself:
Is writing supposed to be this difficult?
Am I destined to forever be a mediocre writer?
These questions, along with many others, fill up my mind as I struggle not to fall asleep:
How is it that great writers are able to write so effortlessly?
How is it that the people we look up to and admire, especially those we recognize as extraordinary, are able to achieve all that they wish?
Because if anything, the question I really want to ask most is:
How do ordinary folks, like you and I, become extraordinary?