But it’s hard not think that way, especially when you’re out of practice.

I haven’t published a blog post in over a year. I’m not sure if it’s because I don’t have anything to say, because I’m afraid that what I have to say is unimportant, or because I’m afraid I can’t do a good enough job, so there’s no point in even trying. Whatever it is, I do know that it’s based in fear.

Having something to say is heavily connected to whether we think that something is important. In my head, asking whether or not something I want to do is important always implies a comparison to experiences and works that are far beyond my capabilities. This is an excruciating way to view yourself.

The entire point of a hero is that you think highly of them. You aspire to be better than you are, and to be more like them in a way. Having someone who inspires you to work harder at something almost requires that you see them as better than yourself in at least some capacity. Constantly comparing yourself to them, however, is counter-productive.

My wife is a writer, and she’s great at what she does. I’ve watched her grow her talents, and her audience correspondingly, for the past few years, and I want to be more like her. Over the past few months, she’s had greater and greater success with her writing. I’m proud of her. I’ve been lucky to be here as she thinks aloud through her content and occasionally asks for my thoughts. I’ve been able to learn from her.

But I’ve fallen into the trap of measuring myself against her, along with other people I admire. I cannot be awesome in the same way they are awesome. Thinking that I can is only setting myself up for disappointment. Over the past post-less year, my fear of writing has grown. In my twisted brain, I’m continually using the success of others to admit my own defeats. I’ll look up to someone and inevitably fail to live up to the standards I imagine they have. It makes starting anything very difficult, and continuing almost impossible.

I know this is a problem, but I am plodding along. Restarting. Again. If only in a small way. Still trying to convince myself that my little thoughts and creations do matter. They matter to me. And I am allowed to be important to myself, even if what I do sucks in comparison to another. (It will.) Even if I need more practice. (I do.) Even if I don’t know what I’m doing. (I don’t.) And yes, even if I never show my work.

It’s time to figure out how to be my own kind of awesome.

I’m fairly pleased with my song for this round—that’s not happy by any means, though. The point for me is improvement. I’m not so much interested in the competition. This is really just a reason to blow off everything and say, “I can’t. I have to write a song” and not have people look at me any funnier than usual.

I think I’m improving, but I still really need help on the recording side of things. I’ve got one of these nifty M-Audio Fast Tracks, which comes with a stripped down version of Pro-Tools. The problem is: I have no clue how to use Pro-Tools or how to master a track. I could use a mentor.

In the spirit of The Masters of Song Fu, I signed up for a Bandcamp account and uploaded everything I’ve done for Song Fu. They’re all free downloads and you can even listen for to them right there on the site. But wait! There’s more!   —   Not really. I just wanted to say that.

The best part about this is that it’s giving me practice and confidence to take on one of the larger projects from my 40×40 list. My goal for this edition of Masters of Song Fu is to complete all three challenges. I only managed two of three last time. Once I get through this, I think it will be time to start writing an album.

I’ll have to look into renting a cello.