The Impostor Syndrome

Lately I've been in a bit of an odd slump. It's odd, because, though I've been productive on a lot of things, I'm not sure if any of them are meaningful. It's odd because I'm more observant of the feeling tones of the slump than I've ever been. I know the productivity has a lot to do with Superbetter, and observing my mental states has a lot to do with Buddhist meditation (which I'm doing more often because of Superbetter). Still, I feel the slump.

One of the things that's causing this slump is my writing and how I feel about it. At times, I feel elated, the thought that I really can do it, and be a writer. But at other times, I look at what I wrote and think it's absolute crap. If I like the story I wrote, and I get a bad review, it especially hurts. But, like everything else in the universe, this slump is impermanent, and I'm sure it'll pass.

There is a "syndrome" for this feeling of being an unworthy writer (or any other occupation): the impostor syndrome. Even well published writers get it. I've seen it on their Facebook status. Even as I write these words I wonder: "Is this blog good enough?" "Is it coherent?" "Or is it nothing more than a bunch of random thoughts strung together?" "Is too long?" "Too short?" "And who the hell reads blogs anyway?" It's not like blogging is a form of high literature.

Sometimes I feel like an impostor not just in writing, but in life. Odd, but true. I see people my age or younger married and with kids, with a house, and a well-paying career, and I wonder why I don't have those things. Not that I necessarily want those things--at least not all of them--but often I unconsciously buy into the notion that that's what "I'm supposed to have." I sometimes feel like I'm moving and thinking at a slower speed as everyone else, with them all passing me by. It's a common trope within science fiction: that an alien species moves and thinks at a different rate as humans, causing communication problems between the two species. Maybe someday I'll wake with an odd itch. I'll go to the bathroom and look in the mirror, feel around under my skin, and tug on a zipper. My human skin will fall away and my true form will be exposed. I will truly realize that I am indeed an impostor, an alien impostor. In that case, I'll be glad. Otherwise, I guess I'll get over this slump.