Everything in my life shifted lately. Ground I was sure had solidified became an earthquake under my feet. On October 30, I said, "This is the end." On October 31, I said "This is limbo." Today I said, "This is the beginning," but I don't know what to do with it. How do you consciously begin?

I read stories on the train to and from work, and I feel like I'll never get there, but more importantly I don't like where there is. I don't like what I read for one reason or another and can pointpoint exactly why, then rationalize why my work is valid in light of success I disagree with. When I read something I love, the tears come, and I feel a mixture of mourning for my own failed ability and revelation on how to become better.

I never become better.

Perhaps the daily grind has merely slipped its hand into my chest and silently gripped my heart, squeezing imperceptibly tighter each day I live. Perhaps I'm blanketed in a period of doubt, a fog that descended and keeps me from seeing where I was or where I could be.

I said today, "I don't think I want to be a writer anymore," and he who was listening said, "Why?"

My answer ranged from "I don't think I'll ever be good enough" to "I don't think I would really miss it if I stopped". Writing has become a guilty habit. If I stop writing, guilt sprouts from my marrow and infects my every thought, piercing me, riling me, ridiculing and screaming for me to do something with myself, do the only thing I've ever done.

There are a million things I could have done with my life. I chose writing because I love to write and I feel like it's the only thing I was ever good at without trying, the former a product of the latter. Now that I have to try, and in trying I've failed more times than my rejection letter box will hold, I wonder if I haven't made the greatest mistake of all.

Why do I feel horrible about myself when I see others succeed who are younger than me? Why do I feel like a failure when I've scarcely begun to try?

If I can't handle these mini games that come with the writer's life, you may say, then perhaps you should give it up after all.

Perhaps you're right.