on talent and competence and something else entirely (maybe)
As a designer, I never considered myself good enough. Good enough to win and retain clients, yes. But not good enough for the titans of the design world. In the greater scheme of things, I consider myself more of a spectator than a player. I spend the majority of my waking hours online, and I see greatness on a daily basis. I am happy enough in my role as a fan. 
This is not to say that I’m not good in what I do, for I do acknowledge that my skills are more than adequate. Case in point: happy, happy clients. This is just to say that I have no delusions of grandeur. I’m good, yes. But never superlatively so. And I’m perfectly okay with that.
Writing is an entirely different story. I once considered myself great, and I still have brief spurts of lucidity at times. But the blockage is growing and growing and growing. I dream of one day acquiring the secret to infinite time, so that I can write without regard for when or how long or now and later. Perhaps then my bored muse can finally stop that annoying exaggerated yawning that she does whenever I think about that writing thing.