a narrow capitalization of greatness.

Tonight I write with a renewed sense of the need for expression. It seems a long time since I felt this. I have been thinking that these thoughts don’t matter, that I can’t achieve anything, that they can’t impress anyone. That it is redundant and repetitive to just write out thoughts that I have rehearsed to myself and others. But, I realize that I need this outlet, so, despite my lack of hope, and the slight despair I feel even before I start, I begin to move my fingers over this keyboard, believing that no matter what comes of this, it could be magic, and it is important. I have to believe this, even if it seems like tomfoolery. I feel like so often I can see through the foolish dreams and self-conceptualizations of others, and I hate to humble myself to that level. The level of allowing myself to dream, despite the harshness of reality.
However, today I am turning over a new page, I am choosing to believe that I can write well, that it is somehow necessary for me, if not for future generations, if not for myself in the future, then simply for the self as it exists right now. I have believed in others for awhile now. I believed that they were great, despite how it hurt to feel less inspired then them, less passionate then them, less gifted then them. I recognize now, that I have to believe in myself as well. I have to believe that these words too, can impact and change and inspire. I can’t give up on my ability to cognate, or process, or reach others. I may have lost sight of a clear future as I once thought I knew it. I may have been somewhat humbled by the greatness of others as I didn’t know there was, but I am great too. I see some, with their self-conception of greatness, and I feel as though they are fooling themselves, I feel as though I want to shake them and tell them it is a lie, a figment of their disillusioned head, but I don’t. I hold myself back, because I recognize that they too need to dream, to believe in themselves. Is it possible that we are all a bunch of little lost Mozarts, and Einsteins and da Vinchis? Is it possible that the truth is not that ‘greatness is limited’, but that greatness is, as of yet, unattained? Maybe I have got to stop thinking that there are only a few great people. In wanting so desperately to be one of them, I limit those around me to the sidelines, almost wanting to show them that they are not special, they are not great, as thought that would help the real greats to flourish, that it would in fact give me a greater chance at flourishing? Is it true that greatness can only be seen against the backdrop of mundane insignificance? A truly great portrait can only be recognized while standing alongside old replicas or childish squiggles? What if we set up a gallery where every work of art was a masterpiece; where each one caught the light just right and was positioned with maximum aesthetic appeal? I mean, I don’t go around a gallery trying to find one piece I like, I stop and take in each one, one’s detail in stroke, one’s mastery of colour combination or contrast. Why can’t I view life like that? People like that? Why not see an unlimited potential of great people achieving great things, and dreaming realistic dreams. I am so tired of my own stagnation. I lost my own dream of attaining anything worthwhile, so I gave up on others abilities too. I saw despair as my only option, my only truth, so I necessarily gave up on others too, and I think they have begun to realize it.

Who ever said we couldn’t both be great? I mean, there were so many greats in history who were great together. Why is it that so many greats knew each other? Writers inspire other writers, poets inspire other poets, musicians-musicians, scientists-scientists, explorers-explorers. I think some greats are very caught up in their own greatness, and I assumed that was a necessary criteria for greatness. The single-minded determination. Which in turn excludes the recognition of others greatness. But, I don’t need to do it that way.

I wonder if I haven’t been lost in the shadows of the greatness of the world for the past 8 months. It was like I got out of college after reading the incredible works of so many authors and intellectuals, and I was surrounded by keen insightful students going so many great places and I kinda got lost in it all. Narrow capitalization of greatness. I was in an academic community driven by competition. I saw the A’s, and B’s of students. Students being told they had potential in one area, or little potential in another; students who had great drive and students who seemed to be going nowhere.

Then I came here and felt like such a tangled piece of seaweed in this gigantic wave of culture and rules and limitations and expectations. I am surrounded by strong independent voices; you don’t get too many weak, passive, voices in the ex-pat community of South Korea. It wasn’t until today that I realized how sick I am of hearing about other people’s greatness and not believing in my own. I still understand that people aren’t going to recognize or call it out in me. But that to no extent means I can’t be great likewise, or that I needent stand with confidence in my own self-conceptualization. Perhaps it is my best kept secret, but it is not a best kept illusion, it is a truth. I want to be able to survive independently, without religion telling me I have strings to pull, or society telling me I am in the ‘a’ bracket. No matter if I am surrounded by people of greatness or stimulus of little.

I was finally awake to the beauty of the sky tonight. I saw the contrast of the whiteness of the clouds against the dark of the night. I saw the brilliant stars making their faces shown through the constancy of the cloud cover. I saw the starkness of the black mountain standing guard over the people who daily live ignorant of its shadow. I felt the cool wind lifting the strands of hair off of my face. I heard the tumbling water intertwining with the sound waves blowing into my ears from the white contraption which provides my mobile life’s soundtrack. I felt the taste of my black tea and milk concoction which keeps my appetitive nature placated just enough to prevent me from deeper longing. I felt the harshness of the smoke being sucked into my lungs and the lightness of my head, a combination of the lack of oxygen concentration and the recent reintroduction to dreaming.

P.S. The beginning of this dialog may sound really harsh, as though I go around labeling people as dumb or brilliant. Well, I have little defense. I am prone to this illness of categorization. The attempt at making sense of this world and the story I am trapped in. Please forgive me.

Sincerely,
katelyn.