Some people call it “imposter syndrome”. It’s a vague, hard to shrug off feeling that you are a fake, a phony, you are “getting away with it” and weaving and dodging through life undeservedly.
I don’t necessarily think this “humble pie” feeling is bad. I think it is an honest emotion, an honest assessment. Myself, I look out at the world and I’m amazed at my own privilege - and that is really what imposter syndrome is - guilt over one’s luck and good fortune in this world. I’m like Miller who couldn’t understand how he lucked out and after early misfortune in life, ended up “getting away with it” and just sitting around, living, doing as he pleased, feet up on the desk. I’m in awe that I get to just sit and think and be, just be … in this most unfair of worlds.
Let me be, was all I wanted. Be what I am, no matter how I am. - Henry Miller
Outside, two guys are busy emptying a whole flatbed truck of gravel. With homemade shovels. They’ve been sweating and heaving for over 2 hours. Me, I’m just tapping on some plastic keys with a nice strong coffee in hand. I was born entitled, luck of the draw and that’s why imposter syndrome is a good, healthy antidote.
Self-pity, I will have none of that. It’s going too far. Whenever I feel self-pity come on, I take a deep breath and whack my thumb with a butter knife. End of that … But imposter syndrome, I’ll embrace from time to time. It’s an amazement and wonder that I’m here, doing what I’m doing, so privileged to experience this world, those people, that place.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself.” D.H. Lawrence
The last few years I’ve had no job. Living on savings. It will have to end soon. This writing stuff doesn’t burn hot enough to keep my little room warm. My business projects are all failures. But still, I feel so honored to have the time to read, to walk around all day in my underwear, drinking wine and thinking of Hegel or Houdini - whatever my fancy.
I’m living the life and getting away with it. Should I feel like an imposter? Maybe, from time to time. But also happy knowing that I’ve cheated someone, something, somehow for some while …
A Confession
How much longer
can I get away with this?
Scribbling in notebooks
mornings of endless coffees
lost in half worlds of thought
looking out the window
at the security guys
standing 12 hours a day
sucking on cigs and thumbing
their phones.
How much longer
can I get away with this?
Henry Miller sits
framed on my desk
at his desk, feet up
getting away with it,
him in Santa Monica
me, on the mountain
Sadinista, Nicaragua.
There's Brahms
coming out of the speaker
and the keyboard waits
like an obedient dog.
"I'll get to the work tomorrow."
There are more thoughts to
attend to ...
more dancing in my head
and I'm planning
my next novel - how novel!
How much longer
can I get away with this?
Walking through the world
like I own it.
Schlepping from kitchen table
to poker table to excel tables
always hungover and
in love with
the mere fact I'm here,
that I'm standing
with nothing really to do
except
get away with it.