so self aware, so full of scheisse

I'm not feeling very smart lately. I read lots of things I can't write—nor could ever—and become discouraged. The cut is especially deep if the writings come from the pen of a peer, particularly one with whom I've competed (in my own mind, at least) in the past.

I'm concerned about my education. I'm 21 and just starting my senior year; the diploma, if not on the doorstep, is down the driveway. It will mean a lot—perhaps more than I first imagined—but I doubt it will fulfill my highest hopes. Wasn't I supposed to be closer to "greatness" by now? Instead, I feel about as intellectually developed as were, I imagine, the 12-year-old selves of my heroes.

Upon sampling certain friends' and peers' work, it often becomes clear to me, painfully so, that they think at higher levels. Glimpses into their minds tell me how they must disdain my parochial mind—even my best, most evolved work must seem naïve and amateur to them. They read more books than I do, engage more thoughts, and string phrases together that I could never imagine.

These real and imagined critics torture me. Oh, how they must have looked down on me in the past—certain bygone writings and rants surely exposed me as a reactionary, an intellectual pygmy balancing dictates and paradigms on a few borrowed ideas, most not fully understood.

It's not just my peers, the under 22 set, though; the world is opening up before me. Any admiration afforded to me by the mere novelty of youthful writing will soon disappear. I mean: any greater esteem I received because of my age—the respect adults give to youngsters for being atypically far- and keen-sighted—is shrinking with each birthday. I'm no longer being compared to Slacker Joe in most capacities but with the stalwarts of ages past and present. There's no special novice standard anymore; the only thing that distinguishes me now is my work.

But how to solve any of this? More purposeful reading—but where to begin? I already own shelves full of never-creased book spines. Adding books to my Amazon cart brings tenfold the excitement of completing the second chapter. I am so lazy and the task so huge—my destiny with right thinking and esteem is pushed ever further back. How long will this take? How much better will I get? Is it going to be "enough"? Is this the fate I'm stuck with—the millstone that shrinks but still drowns me?

I need to get serious about my education, I need to make my self- and independent- education more systematic, and I need more engagement with peers who edify me and older/wiser antagonists who challenge me.