There was once a time when I thought I could do anything.
I wrote a letter to Nolan Ryan at the Texas Rangers, requesting to be a bat-girl for a season.
I interviewed with Oscar Meyer to drive (and promote) the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile.
I even published my first poem for an anthology of young writer's when I was 10.
Never did I think that I would be turned away. Never did I think that I wasn't good enough, or that someone might have just the be the teeniest bit better than me.
But somewhere between the resumes and the mochachinos, along the too-late nights and the way-too-early mornings, I lost my edge.
Never have I lost my desire. (I still kick myself every time I think of my third-round interview for Oscar Meyer. I was really hotdogging it, relishing every minute, until I choked at the last minute!) Never have I lost my will. (I still carve out moments of each day to write, whether on a napkin, the back of a receipt or my ever-trusty blogs.)
But I've lost my edge. And my only edge was that I didn't know how many others out there who were just as good, or (gasp!) better.
My edge allowed me to star in a couple (local) commercials and reap the benefits. ("Don't I know you? Oh, wait - you're the city's 'Save Water' girl!") My edge got me writing for a local newspaper and it sent me jumping headfirst into an event planning and promotions job I had absolutely no experience for but loved every moment of.
So what happened to my edge?
Did I drop it on the road when I drove away from Texas? Did someone find my edge lying across the gravel of I-10 somewhere between Houston and El Paso? Did I forget to put a doggie tag on it so someone could mail my edge back to me, with a nice note saying 'Found this in a cactus thorn. Thought you might want it back'?
I've got to get it though. Stop talking and start doing. Stop worrying and start doing. Stop planning and start doing.
Hmmm. . . I think I see a theme there. Just do it. Maybe Nike has a point. . . . . . .