The imposters

The imposters

I have always believed that it’s a matter of time
before I’m exposed as an imposter
and proven guilty of that crime.

“Your writing is substandard”, they would say,
“your poetry, your stories,
nor can you write a simple essay.”

I would defend myself and have this already prepared,
since I have questioned all my work,
their accusations would not leave me scared.

“I’m a master of self-sabotage,
you must take that into account
and it might even leave you impressed
how I analyse everything into the ground.”

“I write in three languages”, I would proceed,
“or is it more proof that you need?”

When the sentencing would commence,
I would say these final words in my defence:
“Perhaps the true imposters are the others hiding out there,
as the emperor’s new clothes, without a single care.”

I would hand in a simple essay
which I’d have analysed into the ground.
They might say it reads like a poem
but that my words are not profound.

It’s a matter of time before I’m exposed.
Until then, I must confess, I will write and nothing less.

S.

I wrote this poem years ago and it’s still accurate for me today.
I have always felt like an Imposter.

How do you raise a child (and home educate) when you feel like this?

It already is no easy feat; how do you navigate when your compass is a feeling of….not being adequate, not talented enough?

I often fantasise how wonderful it would be to possess real talents and skills that you either possess or took you decades to master.
Knitting intricate jumpers, making lace tablecloths, weaving tapestries.
Drawing lifelike people, painting realistic landscapes.
Baking difficult cakes and sourdough from scratch, the perfect macarons.
Writing mystery novels with excellent plot twists, knowing all your poetry by heart.
Playing the violin since childhood, having a jazzy voice.
Growing a garden.
Building a business.

I have none of these skills.
I have always felt I know a little bit of a lot, but not much of anything.
How do people find the courage to start?
Is it too late to try?

You know, I don’t even like baking cakes. I would not enjoy knitting for hours, days, weeks.

I have always wondered….why others don’t feel this way.
Maybe they do.
Maybe they don’t need to, because they bake sourdough from scratch,
maybe they paint realistic landscapes,
maybe they play the violin,
maybe they built a business successfully.
But….not everybody has these skills and talents and yet, they don’t share my feelings.
They comfortably present their mediocrity as being talented and skilled, aware or subconsciously. Some people’s true talent is pretending.

My feelings are of a frozen system, waiting to thaw, waiting for the right circumstances.
Maybe the bakers can’t write the words that so easily flow for me.
Maybe the painters can’t think of the elaborate metaphors I always do.

Perhaps I should listen to what I say to my child, when she hears that voice that says: “you cannot paint”:
Say: “Not now!” You don’t need to bake, paint, play or make what you don’t feel called to do.
Everyone has different talents, background, support, means, interests.
You build on that what comes to you naturally, what feels like joy and maybe not even as work and that is where it is found. Just start.

I once received great advice (decades ago. Something I did not quite understand at the time) during a book promotion of my poetry.
“You will get compliments and be critisised, always. If it’s excessive, remember this:
Whether you receive excessive compliments or excessive criticism, don’t believe any of it.”

Let the true imposters be exposed.

Until then, I will write.

S.