Creativity(?)

I wanna create something one day, but I don’t know how.

I’ve always been the guy who buys a new sketchbook with the goal to fill it up with doodles. Then I draw one doodle on the first page and I don’t like it. I rip out the page and put the sketchbook away because the whole book is now ruined by one mistake.

I’ve always said I want to write a book one day. Maybe even just a poem or a nice song. I’ve bought nice notebooks with the goal to fill them up with words. Then I write one poem on the first page. I think it’s good and I go to sleep to read it the next day. I read it the next day and I decide it’s not good and I rip out the page. I put the notebook away because now the whole book is ruined by one bad poem.

I’ve always had an obsession with blank sheets of paper, and books that are full of them. Obsessed with pens and pencils. Colors and shapes.

Words.

Am I the only one who thinks to myself, “If that person created something so huge, then why can’t I do the same?”

I wanna be that person one day.

For now, I’m just me.

I think back on the trees worth of paper that I’ve wasted and the pages of my writing and doodles that I’ll never see again. Could I have already had a great idea that I didn’t pay enough attention to? Why am I so harsh of a critic on myself that I won’t allow a rough draft to live on and become a second?

Sometimes I can’t tell if it’s an obsession with perfection or a fear of judgment.

But the more I think about it, I’m realizing it’s the latter.