Enough

This is a rare post where I don't have a "realization" or some kind of aha moment. I don't have a silver lining, a word of encouragement, or something inspiring to say. To put it bluntly, I got on here to whine because I find comfort in letting my broken heart bleed on a page.

There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit at a typewriter and bleed. - Ernest Hemingway

Enough. That's all I ever wanted to be. I never asked to be the best: someone's best friend, the best student with the best grades, the best member of the band, the family favorite, the best taste in music (that's important), the prettiest girl in the room, the best leader, the best writer, the best guitar player, the funniest in the group, the best speaker, the wisest person, or even the best Christian. I never asked to be the best anything. All I ever hoped to be was enough. Enough to make someone want to stay. I gave up on the idea of being the best a long time ago. But after all those years of striving to be the best, I would've thought by now I would at least be enough. I may not be the best of anything, but I know that there is a high chance that I am the most of a lot of things: the most loyal, most caring, most sentimental, most awkward, weirdest, and most thoughtful. So no, I'm not the best of anything, but I can't get over the frustration that all those "mosts" never seem to add up to enough.