Accepting my own limitations

A dear friend and I were conversing the other day, and I mentioned that I think I’m done writing poetry. I’ve penned several poems over the past four years and have published them all on this site. There have even been a couple of minor publications elsewhere, but I’ve never come close to being successful in contests that real poets enter.

I’ve enjoyed the process, but I think that’s it for me in that particular genre of writing, at least publicly. And I’m OK with that.

Some people have said they like my poems, which is fine and always appreciated, but I read good poetry, and I know that mine could never live up to any of that. The creative part of my brain just doesn’t work the way it does for people who dedicate their lives to poetry, and I truly think that you have to have at least some formal education in that field to play in the big leagues. I know there are exceptions, but I don’t think I’m entirely wrong.

You can’t just sit down and decide to write good poetry one day without putting in the time and effort to learn and hone your craft. I want my writing to improve over time, which is far more likely in my avocation as an essayist than it could ever be in my dabbling as a poet.

For me, it’s not about wanting accolades from others or outside validation – it’s strictly about knowing my limitations and working with them instead of against them. It’s about self-acceptance. There are a whole bunch of things I think I do, and have done, reasonably well in my life, including a particular type of writing, but poetry is simply not on that list. No problem.

I could recite many other things at which I did not excel in life, including things I pictured myself as being good at, but found that not to be the case. And, again, I’m OK with that at this stage of my days. But I’m proud of the things I did do reasonably well and accept that the overall résumé, on balance, “is what it is”. As they say in sports, “You are what the standings say you are.”

Are there things I wish I had done differently or that I were better at doing? Of course, almost everyone would have such a list, and mine just happens to include poetry. But, going on 66, I’m comfortable with who I am and, more importantly, who I’m not.