transmuting resolve into action.

My resolve is solid; I know what's best. My execution comes up short.


I try not to believe I'm special.

I really do.

But it's starting to get to a point where I'm imagining myself as special because I'm one of the very few who doesn't believe he's special.

There are many others I suppose, who don't fancy themselves as extraordinary. But they're not cognizant of the issue--they don't know that humans have this problem. Everyone thinks they are special, unique, at the center of some universe.
There is no center, no specialness, no universe even.

One cannot even know whether this is a dream or reality.

I'm enamored with the idea that no one, myself included, is special. It carries me through tedious work hours. I pamper and fuss with it like a new toy. So much that I'm starting to fashion myself as different for realizing the full import of my mundane self.

Special for knowing I'm not special.