Half Baked. A phrase which, I think, serves as an accurate description for most of my life’s "accomplishments". A lot of people know me for a lot of different things. It’s the same as how you’re a different person depending on who you’re with. Some people know me as a drummer, a writer, an actor, a singer, and an artist. That’s a fairly long list. You’d think I’d have to be pretty skilled to be able to do all of these things, but the truth is, I’m not.

Lesson Number One:

I’m eight years old sitting on top of a horse that was meant for chasing calves, not teaching young kids how to ride. Of course, no one expects me to lean over and give my steed a congratulatory pat on the neck which translates as, “Run at full speed.”

Hanging on to the horse’s neck for dear life, bouncing up and down, my teacher is yelling at me to pull back on the reigns; something that would most definitely send me skyward.

My mom bravely steps in front of the horse’s path, and we come to a screeching halt. After taking off the saddle, tears making trails down my dusty face, I say, “I’m done riding,” which translates to, “I quit,” even though that’s not what I meant.

On to the next thing.

Lesson Number Two:

I thought piano lessons would be fun. I was right for about the first two weeks. I changed my mind after the left hand came into play, and the notes became numbers which became equations which became practices ending in tears, and frustration at my inability to put right and left together.

Despite this I keep at it for another year. Another piano recital rolls around and I watch all the kids my age play their pieces as if they were only breathing. As usual mine sounds withdrawn, and plunky. The piece is, My Heart Will Go On, but my heart was never there to begin with.

This is my last recital.

Lesson Number Three:

I’ve been taking Karate lessons for a year and a half now, and I love it. I have never been more coordinated, or in touch with my surroundings.

My teacher tells Mom I show a lot of promise for competitions. I’m only ten, so I’m not quite old enough yet for competitions, but I’m excited for when I will be.

I’m nearing the test for my blue belt when mom tells me we are going to take a break from lessons for a bit. Money becomes tight. I never go back to lessons.

Lesson Number Four:

I’m Drum Line Captain in Marching Band, but I also play the set in Jazz Band. The first requires me to be a super robot designed to register the notes on the paper, play them back as written, and teach other little robots to do the same, so we can function together as one giant machine while the latter requires me to be spontaneous and fluid. One of these things is not like the other, and I tend to reflect Marching Band me onto Jazz Band me; If there ever was a Jazz Band me.

My band director decides to shove me in the direction of some drum lessons to see if I can be taught how to be spontaneous. As per usual I spend days staring at the notes on the page trying to fit them together like puzzle pieces in my brain until they come together perfectly. The things I learn in lessons stay in lessons because, when it comes to the drum set, trying anything fancy in front of a crowd makes me want to cry.

Eventually, like karate lessons, money becomes an issue, and everyone learns to accept me for my cold mechanical ways.

Lesson Number Five:

One guitar lesson once a month. College gets in the way. I only go to one lesson.

My Point:

These five examples, among many others, are the reason I can never really say I am “good” at something. How can someone say they are good at something if they’ve only ever gone half way with anything. I can’t say, “I’m good at playing the drums.” All I can say is, “I have experience playing the drums.”

I don’t even consider myself “good” at writing, which is what I plan on making a living out of. I’m always trying to add new things to my plethora of mediocre abilities, so the abilities that truly matter to me end up lacking.

I used to hate it when my dad said, “Don’t put too many coals in the fire, or else you’ll snuff it out.” There were so many things I wanted to do. How could I only do a few things? It was around my Senior year of High School that my fire finally started to go out. Being Drum Line Captain, Drama Club President, a member of two honor clubs, a class historian, and volunteering to take on a giant mural all while trying to be a writer became a work load which resulted in an unfinished mural, an untouched keyboard, and a huge swell of disappointment.

I know I’m young, but I can’t help but feel I need to get a move on and start deciding what I really want. Of course, writing will always be first and foremost, but I need to start weeding out my other “skills” and decide where my passion is, so I can finally be able to say that I’m really good at something.

I think the trick is to try a lot of things out and along the way you’ll discover something your heart misses. You’ll start to think about your experience with it more and more, and how much you enjoyed it. You’ll begin to be envious of people who are doing whatever it is. It’ll just be this incessant nagging thing which constantly begs to be a part of your life until you realize you’ll never be satisfied again until you do it.

But perhaps only try one thing at a time.

There is nothing wrong with going half way with things for a while in order to find the things you really love.

I’ve finally begun to discover the things I really enjoy, and think I’m ready to set some things aside, and pick back up where I left off on others.