One of my New Year’s resolutions was— as it has been every year— to write more. I have always loved the concept of writing. I love using words as colors to paint opinions, wonders, and speculations.

But just as anyone struggling with doing “enough” of what they love, I have never felt I had the right opportunity to do so. This is due to a lot of things (i.e. writer’s block, time constraints, etc.) but most commonly, I have realized that it is due to a sense of repressed inadequacy. I feel shut down by the creativity I’m surrounded by.

Don’t get me wrong— I love living like this. I’m inspired by there being so much art and beauty and intelligence in the world, and I love being challenged by the innovators around me. Being part of such a progressive society is riveting.

And yet, it's also wholly overwhelming.

Because if you want to make it “big” (or even make it at all) in the kind of era we are in, there is an ongoing pressure to do the best, to produce the best, and to pretty much just be the best. This is something, I admit, that I am not.

And yes, whenever I tell someone this, they immediately take to consoling.

"No, you are very talented!" or "You just need to work hard at it, and then you’ll get there" ("there" being some romanticized version of the world I’m still struggling to understand).

Both forms of retaliation are good attempts at support, but they’re also untrue and unrealistic; because, let's be real. Sometimes "working hard" or having enough "faith in yourself" just doesn’t get you to where you want to be. This isn't to say you shouldn't try your best... Dedication is admirable, and working hard is crucial.

But it isn’t always so simple.

As for me, and for many people like me, the facts are this: I enjoy writing. I am mediocre at it. Many people are excellent at it. Even more people are just mediocre at it. And so it goes...

But this leads me to a deeper (perhaps more “philosophical”) revelation about the inevitable fate of being a member of our fast-paced, selfie-snapping society: 1) you will always be unoriginal, and 2) that's OK.

Now more than ever before in human history, we have almost instant access to a whirlwind of news, entertainment, and talent by the stroke of our fingers (or our voice-activated technologies... I’m looking at you, Siri.) We not only read poetry written by successful publishers but also by aspiring poets, with their work splattered on Tumblr pages and Wordpress accounts galore. We watch YouTubers like they’re celebrities, and discover aspiring artists and musicians through blogs and apps and videos gone viral.

We live in a society that is bursting with originality.

So, of course, we feel unoriginal.

We feel unoriginal because we feel unable to compete with anything that is already out there. We feel unable to break through and claim a spot for ourselves, and worse yet, we feel undeserving of that spotlight to begin with.

When I was little, I dreamed of being a writer in New York City with a tiny apartment, a puppy, and enough passion that would fill up my career and any sort of void in my heart.

Now, I could honestly settle for just the puppy.

But this isn’t all bad news... It’s important for you to realize you have nothing really “new” to offer the world in order to see that you are worth it despite that.

This sort of reminds me of that Barney song, “Everyone is Special” in which Barney — yes, the purple-dinosaur-Barney— so cheerily reminds us that “You’re important, no you really are, you’re the only one like you.” Yes, I spent almost the entirety of my adolescence thinking that song (or rather, the concept behind it) was a load of crap. Because, as everyone has pointed out at least once in their life in a whiny and perhaps haughty revelation-voice, if everyone is special, that means no one is!

True. It’s true. But it’s also not really a problem. Being “special” or even just being “interesting” is a concept entirely subjective. Because of this, we shouldn’t obsess over being viewed as important by the world as a whole.

Realistically speaking, I'm not providing any "new" information with what I write or even with how I feel. All of our creations are, essentially, renditions and repetitions of thoughts already thought. To quote the Beatles, “there’s nothing you can do that can’t be done, nothing you can sing that can’t be sung.” Still, if we choose to see our creations as valuable aspects to ourselves personally, then we can retain our sense of purpose and individuality. Everyone is, in that respect, special within their own microcosms of the world around them.

As the Beatles conclude, "there's nothing you can say, but you can learn how to play the game. It's easy."

I think we're all still learning to play the game, and maybe it's not so easy, but it's also not as much of a competition-for-originality as we make it out to be.

You don't need to be the best to win; you just need to be your best.