humble pie

i love the olympics. love to watch people push themselves to their limits. love to share in human triumph, watch the underdog have his day.

what i hate about the olympics is having some 17 year old prodigy demonstrate just how small my own victories seem in comparison.

had a humbling moment of olympic proportions tonight.

went to a ceremony to watch some of my students read some poetry that they had published as part of a citywide contest of sorts. as i made my way into the auditorium and caught a glimpse of the completed anthology and the way the room had been prepared to create a sense of ceremony, i got that sentimental lump in my throat, aware that this was going to be one of those evenings that will be a standout memory for them, one they'll define themselves by in some small way. i've been lucky enough to have a few such moments myself so i guess that was what i was connecting to. i was as excited for them as i would have been for myself.

because i was now emotionally invested in the whole affair (much like i am when watching a canadian team play in any international event) i was unprepared for the whopping piece of humble pie that the pint sized poets had been concocting under my nose.

about half way through the ceremony, i was totally enjoying the earnest verse with nuggets of inspired images when a young woman in jeans, a relaxed demeanour and a braid that was barely holding on to the bulk of its strands began to ramble off some of the most beautifully crafted phrases i have heard in years.

she had distilled each of the images until they resonated, connected them effortlessly in a fluid, unified form that pretty much blew away even my best work.

in a moment i was back in 1984, lying on my couch in the sticky heat watching a 14 year old get a gold medal in gymnastics. i was fully aware that i would never have talent like that. that my chance to be that girl had come and gone. not yet 16 and i understood, in a very real sense, that any gifts i may have willed myself to believe i possessed were destined to be charming and on a small scale impressive, but not awe-inspiring.

so this evening, when i was in the presence of true literary greatness i felt a bit defeated. i've really enjoyed my return to writing in the form of this blog, have found myself composing ideas in my quiet moments, playing with ways to capture the images that have accumulated throughout my day. love the process of writing so much and am so wrapped up in the content that i've confused it all feeling good with it actually being good to an impartial reader.

how hilarious is it that i went in thinking myself an experienced writer of sorts and came out dumb; silenced by the presence of true talent.

that fantasy novel i'm so confident i'll write has never seemed like more of a delusion.