The World’s A Little Blurry: July 28

I’ve always thought that the world’s a little blurry.

Some dreams need patience more than talent.

More often than not, we assume that success belongs to the most talented person in the room.

I remember being a child and consistently performing well in class. Every graduation, my father and I would walk up to the stage to receive my awards. I often ended up at the top of my class.

Not because I was simply born for it, but because I worked for it.

Oftentimes, the elders around me would tell me that I was simply born for excellence.

People tend to romanticize talent. Every time I won a competition or was recognized as the best in my class, they assumed that I had been born with some unique kind of greatness.

But they didn’t see the years of practice that went into learning how to speak in front of other people despite my social anxiety and self-doubt.

They didn’t see the bad first attempts at writing an essay.

They only saw the polished output.

They didn’t see the rejections I received when I applied for jobs. They only saw the job I have now.

They didn’t see the uncertainty I faced at night. They only saw the smile I put on when we saw each other.

They didn’t see the ordinary days when I kept going anyway.

Sometimes, people mistake years of persistence for natural ability.

And yet, there were moments when I doubted myself.

There were moments when I wondered if I was talented enough.

I’ve written about these things in my The Writer’s Nook series. I’ve written about self-doubt, imposter syndrome, and fear. I’ve written about the uncomfortable parts of trying to become a writer.

But I kept writing anyway.

I kept writing even when I looked at other writers and asked myself, “Am I good enough to do this?”

There were always people who seemed more naturally gifted, more articulate, more successful, or more confident.

And sometimes, I wondered whether talent was something you either possessed or didn’t.

But eventually, I began to understand the beauty of beginning.

The mistakes.

The trial and error.

The experience of navigating uncharted territory.

The curiosity that keeps you moving toward a destination you cannot yet see.

Yes, beginning was uncomfortable.

But dreams rarely begin beautifully.

I remember my firsts in writing.

The first draft was messy.

The first attempt was awkward.

The first opportunity wasn’t impressive.

The first version of myself looked nothing like the person I hoped to become.

But that didn’t mean the dream was wrong.

It simply meant I was at the beginning.

And I learned the lesson behind it the hard way:

Patience.

Patience isn’t simply sitting around and waiting for a dream to come true.

It asks so much more from us.

It asks us to keep practicing when nobody notices.

To keep writing when nobody reads.

To keep learning while we’re still inexperienced.

To keep showing up when progress is almost invisible.

To keep believing when the results aren’t immediate.

And trust me, sometimes the results take a long time to come.

Because talent may help you begin, but patience is what teaches you to continue.

So I keep telling myself to show up.

Show up scared.

Show up vulnerable.

Show up imperfectly.

Show up anyway.

Because there is a quiet accumulation of effort that happens when no one is watching.

A page becomes a manuscript.

A manuscript becomes a book.

A small skill becomes a craft.

One opportunity becomes experience.

One ordinary day becomes a body of work.

None of these things feel particularly significant while they’re happening.

But eventually, you look back and realize that “I didn’t become good overnight. I became good one ordinary day at a time.”

There are dreams that take longer than expected.

Some dreams take years.

Some require us to grow first.

Some change shape along the way.

And some may not happen exactly as we imagined them.

But taking longer doesn’t automatically mean they aren’t meant for us.

Sometimes, the dream has to wait for the person who can carry it.

And so, I remind myself that I can trust God while I work faithfully with what I’ve been given.

So much has changed since I first began.

I no longer ask myself if I am talented enough.

Instead, I ask myself if I am willing to keep learning.

And every time I find myself asking, “Why am I not there yet?” I try to replace it with a better question with “What can I practice today?”

I stopped measuring myself solely by my potential.

Instead, I started valuing my persistence.

My consistency.

My willingness to keep showing up.

Because potential is only what you could become.

Persistence is what keeps you moving toward it.

Maybe some dreams don’t ask us to be the most talented person in the room.

Maybe they simply ask us to stay long enough to become good at what we love.

There are still days when I think that the world’s a little blurry.

I don’t always get to see how today’s small efforts will become tomorrow’s answered prayers.

But perhaps that’s why patience matters.

Some dreams are growing even when I cannot see them yet.

Some things are taking shape quietly, beneath the surface, while I continue doing the ordinary work of showing up.

And maybe that’s enough for now.

Some dreams don’t need me to be extraordinary from the beginning. They need me to be willing to become extraordinary through the years I am willing to give them.