Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. One of history's most annoying prodigies.

I was 7 years old.

It was my piano recital. Before an audience of parents and bored-to-death siblings, I tried not to butcher Beethoven’s Für Elise. I trembled on the stool, feeling all eyes on me, tiny fingers stumbling over the ivories. Polite applause afterwards. Huge hug from beaming Mommy. Flowers from proud Daddy.

Then, a pretty little girl my age with long brown curls stood up, strode toward the piano and played… the entirety of Chopin’s Etude Opus 25 No. 2 in F Minor. Without a SINGLE mistake.

A hush fell over the audience. Baby brothers and sisters stopped crying. Grown-ups were agape, goggling the magical creature with notes flying effortlessly from under her fingers. Most extraordinary of all, everything in the sway of her body, the precision of her fingers and her furrowed brow exuded ‘Adult!’. A miniature concert pianist.

When she finished, the tiny Marriott ballroom shook with thunderous applause.

“Remarkable!” said the grown-ups. “A whiz kid!” “A living prodigy!”

“Shit.” said 7 year old me.

Talk about trumped. Showbiz dream = shattered.

(Although, to be fair, it wasn’t a very well-thought-out dream. Mostly my face on Mariah Carey’s body. Adoring fans. A solid gold house. A rocket car. You know—famous people stuff.)

I recognized on that day that some people are just disgustingly lucky enough to blow minds from birth. They grasp the inner workings of their craft instinctively, while the rest of us are still struggling to read the manual. It’s in their blood. They crackle with brilliance and shimmer with genius.

We ‘normal’ people have to get through life the plebeian way: blood, toil, sweat and tears.

Ew, gradually cultivating talent. Boring. No fair.

But chins up, fellow normal people. No matter how strongly others may stink of talent, there’s one crucial rule that escapes NO ONE:

Without discipline, you got nothin’.

(Ever met a genius without a work ethic? Tragic, isn’t it? All that fancy brain power, and nothing to funnel it into. I always ask them if I can borrow their frontal lobe, just for a little while. They always say no. Annoying.)

And more soothing still: just because you’re not a prodigy doesn’t mean you lack skills or talent.

Potential perma-second-fiddling was a sore spot for me. Why try if the #1 spot is filled? Why even bother if someone else is born to do it anyway? I’ll be forever benched. Invisible. Lame.

I wanted to make a creative living. ‘So does everybody,’ mewled my brain. ‘Don’t even waste your time. Too much competition. Acquire safe, boring job. Lie down. Dream in your sleep. Survive.’

But you know what, brain? That’s a bunch of bologna. (brainlogna?)

Sure, I haven’t written the next Great American Novel. Yet. But not everybody has multiple bookshelves sagging under the weight of journals filled with thoughts, poems and stories that span 2 decades. Not every child kept a detailed travel diary every family vacation. Not every kid made LiveJournal icons on a bootlegged version of Photoshop and wrote fan fiction instead of doing their homework (my bad, Mom).

But I did. Does that count for something? Turns out, it does.

Prodigies are rare. Prodigies that give a crap about their skills after a ‘trick-pony’ childhood? Even more rare. If something comes easily to you, it’ll get boring after a while.

And besides, most fields require more than just talent. It’s about innovation. Hard work. Proving yourself. Pushing yourself. It’s about the connections you make with the people you work with.

So next time you’re down on yourself for being ‘average’, remember:

You have gifts to offer the world. Don’t hide them away just because you’re worried someone might trump you.

Repeat after me: I am great.

Now go get ‘em, tiger.

So here I am, 2 months graduated from college with a head full of ideas. I’m hard at work with a PR agency here in Miami, I have a ton of projects lined up, I’ve teamed up with a dear friend and have started working with a few great clients of my own. I have an awesome partner and a fabulous mentor to guide me. I’m on top of the world, a budding flower, a fledgling eagle. It’s happening. I got this.

Ah, bliss.

Bliss, that is, until feedback’s sharp needle of truth suddenly burst my continually swelling bubble. I was served up a fat slice of humble pie.

Ah, reality.

Mind you, it was a very nice slice of humble pie from a friendly source. It was calm and straightforward, served warm, with a carefully-crafted crust of honest feedback, filled with patience and topped off with a generous glob of sweet understanding. My submission needed a little [*cough* lot of] extra tailoring, which I was certainly capable of doing, so could I finish it, please?

Earth-shattering pie.

Oh my god. I screwed up. Even with the option of redemption, this fledgling just wanted to crawl back into the nest and pull the eggshells over my head. I had let someone down. I couldn’t believe it. How could I have done that? How could I have assumed that? Blegh.

I retreated into my little cave of personal frustration for a wallow session. ‘Why hadn’t I been more careful?’  I wailed to myself. ‘Why did I ever think something like that should be submitted?’ It was terrible. I was terrible. Boo hoo hoo.

But obviously, yelling at myself wasn’t exactly fixing the problem. With some effort I restrained the steel-toed boot of my inner drill sergeant and began to examine the facts as I saw them. Yes, there was an issue with it and it didn’t necessarily align with my personal standards *wince*… but the point was, it was there in black and white and now I could see it clearly.

In other words: band-aid speedily removed. Pie eaten. Message received.

I realized that instead of curling up in my cozy pit of despair… I would fix it. I would make it better, as she knew I could and I would never, ever make the same mistake again. Ever.

So I immediately got to work and crafted a submission that was 150% better than my initial one. In other words, um, in line with my own abilities. I hacked away at it, still occasionally grumbling humbling things to myself about myself, but at least the healing had begun. I worked through it. I fixed the problem. I produced work the work that I should have submitted originally. Joy!

So the moraI of the story is this. I would put this experience, this criticism, this hot poker of personal frustration into my memory bank and save it forever. 150% percent effort and perfection at all times is the standard I set, so why would I provide anything less? I would live and I would learn (and probably blog) and I would never repeat the same mistake.

It was a crucial lesson.

1. Finishing copy for Young Blood Collective (hell yeah!)
2. Finishing reading the TMF Project ‘You Don’t Need a Job You Need Guts’
3. Reading Undeclared for Life from Puttylike.
4. Find some manual or other on how to reformat my hard drive, and then doing it.
5. Downloading the copy of Photoshop CS 5 Design Suite that I just bought off warezstore.com which is kind of ‘Holy shit’ amazing.
6. Posting randomly to my tumblr over study breaks.
7. Working on blog topics for the next few weeks.
8. Dance break.
9. More recipe finding & posting.
10. Going home to Miami to enjoy the 4th with my love and my friends.

The results of this list of 10 are still to come. Stay tuned, bebes.

I could not have asked for a more perfect #trust30 today.

A man should learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which flashes across his mind from within, more than the lustre of the firmament of bards and sages. Yet he dismisses without notice his thought, because it is his. – Ralph Waldo Emerson My favorite quote of all time is Alan Kay: ‘In order to predict the future, you have to invent it.’ I am all about inventing the future. Decide what you want the future to be and make it happen. Because you can. Write about your future now. (Author: Cindy Gallop) Oh man. I could not have asked for a better time for this post to come up. I have spent the past week+ in pensive incubation. I have been looking at my future with such a close eye I am beginning to see the very baseboards of its foundation. I have shaken off the frustrations of this early #trust30 period and have instead moved to action, to creation and to vision. My brain: it’s finally starting to work the way it should. And my ideas are starting to take shape. & I believe the future is bright.

Hello friends!

Here is today’s #trust30

Introducing myself as of 2006, the autumn of my senior year of high school. I was 17.

In a noteable act of suburban rebellion and/or quasi-feminist-liberation after a bad day of school that year, I had stormed into the hairdresser and demanded he cut off my waist-length hair immediately. I walked out satisfied, feeling like my head was going to float away. I went home, startled the bejeezus out of my mom and had short hair for the next four, low-maintenance years. I was graduating high school and had wild dreams of the adventure and freedom of college, most of which turned out to be completely accurate. I was a little louder. I thought a little less before I spoke. I expected very different things from life. I thought I wanted to be a journalist or a politician.

I had gone to the same school since I was 4 and I had known most of my best friends for 14 years. I had lived in the same house since I was 3, and had only moved from one other house that was ten minutes down the road. Leaving could not have been more bizarre, or welcome.

Luckily enough for this prompt, I’ve kept a journal since 2006 that still sits on my bedside table in my apartment. I have found two poems

Here’s a poem I wrote in 2006, the day the picture above was taken.

[Author's note:] Please don’t judge! I was young and considered myself ‘literary’ because I’d taken AP English Literature.

[Author's other note:] Wait… isn’t my entire blog like an ‘author’s note’?! Nevermind.

Exodus

We watch as the days slide past,

Sand in our hair, the smell of the sea and  baking asphalt,

Laughter and song.

We are the beloved

and the vanishing.

And when we depart

Our cars will make bowed shadows on the highway

Like lonely giants.

What would I say to myself?

I would tell my anxious adolescent self not to worry, that I would be ok. That I would not be the miserable, confused kid all of us can be at 17 forever, that the boy worries that consumed me would melt into shadows and that the brightness would shine through, as ever. I would give myself a hug.

Fast forward and suddenly it’s 2011, my senior year of college & graduation. Where does the time go?

A little older. 22. Still pretty loud, still don’t think long enough before I speak. Grown, by the standards of any 17 year old. I have graduated college, have my first job and apartment and a wonderful group of friends here and scattered across the world. The crew from high school still keeps in touch, and we’re celebrating a whopping 19 years of friendship this year. Unbelievable.

My taste in music is probably what’s changed the most. I rose from the emo-depths of Brand New and Yellowcard fandom into the more upbeat world of folk, hip hop and house music. One thing I’ve certainly moved past are my misgivings about dancing with myself in public. I am unabashed by the joy that music fills me with, and any raised eyebrows or giggling whispers are evidence of patrons simply not having as much fun as I am. Ha ha ha.

But I digress.

So here was a poem I wrote this year during a particularly flustered/frustrated study break during finals. I warn you, my writing has not improved vastly.

School

We were not made,

To sit crunched over tiny words,

and flashing screens.

Our bodies were designed for the higher purpose

of the

Anything Else.

To leap, to run, to walk, to bend,

And should we so choose,

To follow drum beats like heartbeats

& dance like Gods upon the moon.

If we so choose.

But instead the massive crumbling

Volumes in that silent space

of ‘learning’

Surround us like so many vultures ‘wise’.

And now I sit at my desk,

As my dishwasher makes sounds

Like the vast ocean.

So, a bit of a stretch, but you can see I was disillusioned with the world of academia. So be it, it’s over now!

I am very happy where I am right now, although my 17 year old self could not have imagined it for me. Within the past 5 years I’ve gone to college, survived living in Miami, Germany and New York City. I’ve lain on the bottom of the sea and chased lemurs through the woods. I’ve waited tables, been a camp counselor and sold hookah. I’ve worked in fashion, travel, sports, nonprofits and newspapers. I have loved many and lost a few, made mistakes, gotten messy, learned to cook and to discipline myself.

I am proud of who I have become and look forward to the next 5 years. I can’t even begin to imagine what is in store, and hey– if I imagine too hard, I might ruin the surprise! I’ll be 27 in 5 years, which is the age Mommy was when she got married. CRAZY! Maybe I’ll have my dream job. Maybe I’ll be living in Thailand. Maybe I’ll have a dog. Maybe I’ll be back in school– I just don’t know! But man, am I ever looking forward to the voyage. AHOY!

What would I say to myself? Not much… but I would definitely high-five myself.

And oh wait– one thing in particular has kept consistent through these 5 years. A pair of neon yellow stilettos:

“You’re sick of hangin around and you’d like to travel,

Get tired of travelin and you want to settle down,

I guess they can’t revoke your soul for tryin,

Get out of the door and light out and look all around.

Sometimes all the lights shine on me,

Other times I can barely see,

Lately it occurs to me what a long, strange trip it’s been.

(The Grateful Dead: ‘Truckin’)

Have a great day everybody!

Enjoy? Follow me on Twitter @hcweiss! I’d love to read your story too!

So here is how I started a few days ago, with Day 4 prompt.

Now I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. I’m not sitting here chewing down my nails wondering when I’m going to make it– not after the last few days, anyway.

I’m a big believer in ‘earning’. Earning money, earning your stripes, earning respect. Proving yourself beyond a reasonable doubt, on a personal level as well as a professional one. Proving yourself to the point where you can sit down and at last agree with yourself that you deserve what you have, without question, because you’ve put in the time and effort.

I have a huge respect for those who have become successful doing what they love and naturally I wish to emulate it. But when I think of the time and years and focus these heroes have spent crafting these lives for themselves, I am simply in awe.

Do I deserve success? Have I put in the mileage?

So the post-it remained on my bathroom mirror for 48 hours. My boyfriend walked into my bathroom that day and I heard him stop.

“Um, what’s this?”

“Oh, that’s one of my #trust30 prompts.”

He turned to me me with such a look of incredulity on his face I may as well have scrawled “I am an alien” all over the mirror.

“You don’t think you deserve success? ”

I shrugged, and started to feel a bit silly. “I don’t know, that’s why it’s up there.”

He opened his mouth, but stopped himself. Instead he laughed, kissed me on the nose and left the room.

It was more reassuring than anything any employer or professor could have ever said to me.

So I took a deep breath and took the post-it down.
So this brings us back to Day 7.

A refresher, so you don’t have to scroll up:

“What’s one thing you’ve always wanted to accomplish but have been afraid to pursue? Write it down. Also write down the obstacles in your way of reaching your goal. Finally, write down a tangible plan to overcome each obstacle.

The only thing left is to, you know, actually go make it happen. What are you waiting for?”

Well, the short answer is… I have made a list, but it’s not ready to be posted quite yet. Rest assured, the formal list of dreams and whims and flights of fancy is still to come.

But this idea of wants, rational thought versus dreams and then my ‘launch hestitation’ evidenced by the earlier discussion tied into some things going on in my life.

So, the longer answer is a little more juvenile and has four legs, fur and a tail.

Introducing Simon. Or, Simon Le Chat de Mystère, as he came to be known.

My brother, sister and I found him about a year ago, a hungry little kittten on the driveway. We petted him, named him Simon temporarily (or so we thought), fed him some cheese and then went back inside and to bed, hoping the best for the little furball. When Daddy went out to get the morning paper, there he was. We took him in and he’s been with us ever since.

But there was a problem. We have another cat at my parent’s house, Chloe. She’s 19, surprising to you maybe, but I’ve theorized for years that she sold her soul to the devil for eternal life. She’s not the friendliest, and has spent most of Simon’s life in our house bullying him, eating his food and kicking him out of sunny spots on windowsills. He was barely seen around the house, preferring to hide under beds and in dark closets, away from loud noise and the menacing ChloChlo. He loves my Mom, but when anyone else approached he would bolt with such incredible speed he earned himself the nickname Ninja Cat and Simon Le Chat de Mystère (Simon the Mystery Cat).

So fast forward a year and change to my graduation, and my first apartment. My mother’s immediately suggested I take him in and after some thought, I accepted. We had a long discussion about how to keep his fragile little kitty psyche from imploding with the move. This involved keeping him in my room for a few days until he became familiar with at least those surroundings.

I was so nervous.

What if he didn’t like me? What if he hated it here? I had loved him very much before but I was never around, why was he required to love me? He wasn’t! He could be miserable! What if he never came out from under my bed?

I wouldn’t be able to bear not being loved by something so fluffy.

So Simon arrived and immediately dashed under my bed. Fast forward a few more hours to me, sitting above him on the bed and calling his name in what I imagined to be comforting tones, waiting for him to come out.

He did not.

“You can’t think of him as a human, he doesn’t have the same emotions,” my mother had intoned earlier. “Assert your dominance and show him who is in charge so he feels comfortable!”

She encouraged me to try and gently tug Simon out from his hiding place. I grabbed his little paw and held it… carefully trying to persuade him. To no avail.

I waited.

I waited some more.

(Cue rational thought) If I were hiding under a bed, what would draw me out, I wondered? (Cue personification)

Food, fun, friends… entertainment.

Then I remembered a gift I had bought the little guy in anticipation of his arrival. Enter Mortimer the Wonder Fish on a Bouncy String.

I lept back on the bed and dangled the fish above the side of the bed. Bounce bounce bounce.

“Simon, get the fish!”

Bounce bounce bounce.

“Play, play, play!”

At last, a paw stuck out to bat the fish. Just one paw.

Then gradually, two.

Then a kitty face!

And then:

So happy together!

He emerged. We played. He let me pet him. We snuggled. He purred.

So I guess the moral of the story is that it’s possible to spend too much time worrying about what you feel you deserve. If you take all the right steps, do your best and relax, what will be, will be. If you spend too much time concerned with your own “legit” allowances, you might actually short-change yourself.

Love!

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