I saw X-Men 2 again today, and once again it was a double-edged blade. It has always been this way for me. To experience something truly great, music, movie, or novel is as painful as it is enjoyable. As I was relaying this feeling to a friend I finally realized why: I write for others. I perform for others. It makes me happy to affect other people, to inspire in them the feeling inspired in me when I listen or watch or read something that is truly great. To watch a movie I honestly love is painful, because I am suddenly struck with the horrifying thought that I will never do anything of that magnitude. Few people do.

Many, though, many achieve greatness and it lies in shadow, unnoticed by the general populace. I would be more than happy to be one of those unknown masters. It doesn’t matter how many people see my work or appreciate it, what matters is that those few who do are touched. Most people I know write for themselves. They write because it makes them feel better, alleviates them in some way from life’s mundane and sometimes painful existence. But that isn’t why I do it. I write because I want to share—I want to share what I have learned, what I have felt. A truly great piece affects me by manipulating my emotions. At the end of the piece I have lost myself in the reality of whatever it is that engages my attention. I have escaped from my life and experienced another. I have learned and grown. I write so that I can do that for others.

What if I never accomplish that?

That is the thought that keeps me up after seeing such a movie or reading a truly enjoyable book. Some things educate; some things entertain. The really great ones do both. I want to be really great. I suppose the only way is to work and learn. I can only pray that what I strive for lies within me—if not it will be a very sad day when I reach the middle of the labyrinth and find no golden fleece. Time will tell.

In the meantime I will look forward to X-Men 3.