So, graduate school news keeps coming and zapping me of excitement and hope for entering school next year. And the same questions keep circling around in my mind, am I really any good? Am I working in a black hole? Would my energies be better served elsewhere? Eep. I sound so emo. Sorry.
Anyway. A friend sent me this excerpt from the poem Berryman by WS Merwin. And I think it kinda says it all.
I had hardly begun to read
I asked how can you ever be sure
that what you write is really
any good at all and he said you can’t
you can’t you can never be sure
you die without knowing
whether anything you wrote was any good
if you have to be sure don’t write