I am a big fat fake. I suspect you may be a fake as well.
As for me, I’ve made a few attempts at an education,* read a few books, asked lots of questions, and now (voilà!), I’m an “Artist, Designer, and Writer.” Why? Mostly because I said so.
Okay . . . I may occasionally peer over my shoulder, on the lookout for the authorities demanding my credentials and rubber-stamped certificates. But until they come, I press on regardless.
The feeling of being a fake or imposter is rampant. Most everyone is limping their way along, seeking approval of their very being at every step. Even with college degrees, certificates, and medals confirming your existence, it takes confidence, practice, and chutzpah just to feel worthy. There is no license to be bold, and waiting for outside consent will only make you old. You and I don’t need anyone’s permission to be creative, sexy, or even weird. We just decide to be.
*Failed at one university. Asked to leave another. ’Nuff said.
