Maybe I'm not a writer. Maybe my words won't go down in history somewhere, or be quoted, or even published anywhere outside the blogosphere. Maybe the best I can hope for is just to be retweeted every now and again. Maybe I'm not as good as I like to think I am sometimes.
Maybe I'll never write a book. I admit, the thought of even starting one daunts me. I wouldn't even know where to start. What would I write about anyway? Maybe the countless stories that float around in my head are doomed to remain locked up in there, never to see the light of day. Then again... maybe that's for the best.
Maybe blogging won't make me rich and famous one day. Maybe it will never be more than a hobby. A way for me to express myself in ways I could never truly articulate in the real world. A way to come out of that shell I've developed over the years and interact with people I share such a strong connection with, I've somehow grown to consider so many these people - people I've never met in real life - "friends".
But so what? I never set out to be or do any of those things. When I first started all this, it wasn't to become famous. I never had dreams of having hundreds or thousands of followers. But I'm glad for every one I do have. I was a goof. A guy who used humor to hide his insecurities. One who declared his love for coffee, breasts and video games without fear of being judged. One who read and commented on other blogs, not so that people would notice me and follow me home, but because I enjoyed them. Maybe I'm still that guy. Yeah! I'm definitely still that guy.
So maybe I'm not really a writer. Or maybe I am. I'm not the one to judge that for now. Maybe all I am is just goof who can string a few sentences together and hopefully make someone other than myself smile. Even if it's just a little smile. But you know what? Maybe I'm okay with that. Maybe that's all I need to be right now.