The things I love depress me

I love United States of Tara so much. But it makes me depressed because I can't ever imaging writing it.
But maybe this is because I enjoy it so much that I don't want to do the hard work of breaking it down into structure and characters with voices. Maybe I could actually.

Today was scholarship application day at school. I wrote about how I want to someday be a great writer, and tied it in with the whole Outliers thing about how it takes 10,000 hours to become a real expert at something.

It's all true, but feels fraudulent because from where I am, I can't even imagine what it must be like to be so much better that I am now, and I can't imagine how I'd get there, even with that many hours.

Plus I didn't mention that the rest of the book is basically how even if you're great at something, being born in the right place at the right time is key to being successful.

I did actually mention--which possibly wasn't that smart--that I get so anxious about the money pouring into this whole endeavor at this late date, that I consider quitting every day.

But then I get an email from someone who, twice my age, has always thought about pursuing a creative life, but couldn't push through his fears to really put himself and his work up to criticism. As he comes closer to the end of his life, the desire to have his efforts realized is as strong as ever.

I know that whatever else, I don't want to be in that place in forty years. Even if fail drastically, it seems true the cliche that I'll feel better if I know I tried.