When I was 7 we used to have weekly singing lessons as a class at school, one day our head teacher was sitting in and in front of everyone outed me as being a terrible singer.
I tried really hard, I knew all the words off by heart and I sang with enthusiasm, but in that moment I knew I would never be any good at singing.
It didn’t matter that I had learnt my times tables quicker than anyone else or that I had the neatest handwriting or that it had recently been discovered I had a bit of a talent for acting I had tried really really hard at something that I loved and I wasn’t good enough.
It is tough lesson to learn that even though “trying your best” is what really matters it isn’t the same as being good at something.
I still sing today, around the house, in the car, even when I’m at work. Friends and family always seem to feel the need to comment on how terrible I am. They make fun and laugh at me, and sometimes it can sometimes feel a little cruel.
What they never seem to understand is that I know I’m not any good. In fact there are a fair few things that I know I’m not any good at. Sport. Spelling. Being a grown up.
But guess what I try anyway. Sometimes I do things not because I think I am any good at them but because I enjoy them. Singing makes me feel better, in fact it is scientifically proven to do so. Sport is good for me and while my runs may not be very long or fast, they are better than sitting on the couch.
I know I am no good at being a grown up. I haven’t done the sensible thing. I am taking a slow road. But I am trying, I am trying to be me, creative, day dreaming me something that I believe, actually, I could be good at, and be a grown up too.
For other people watching, listening, commenting that might never be good enough, but it is fine by me.
I might never be good enough, but at least I tried x