Sometimes I wonder why I bother writing at all. Every time I get what I think is a brilliant idea, I learn some saint already thought it some 600-1600 years ago. And when I think I can re-word this idea in some clear or beautiful way, well I learn Chesterton has already done that too, and he’s done it 10 times better than I could.
So I despair that I will never have a new idea or add beauty to the world. But then I realize, there are no new ideas, because the truth is already evident. And there is already beauty in the world; it’s just about finding it and acknowledging it. I’m privileged to enjoy the beautiful ideas of others and shouldn’t worry about my contribution so much as my alliance