I used to think I was good at what I did. Now I realize I simply do those things I’m good at. The contrast is subtle, but it’s definitely there. Actually, we might all be fashioned from that cloth.
Case in point…. It took me 30+ years to finally have kids. (I know you’d all like to joke that it took me that long to figure out how to have a baby, but believe me, I practiced that maneuver all by myself for years.) It took me so long because I just don’t do the things I’m not good at. I didn’t think I’d be good at parenting, so I didn’t give it a try. I suppose it’s a matter of confidence. Or a lack of trepidation, more likely! (Again, the most scintillating contrasts are subtle.)
My job as an “analyst”… It’s the same thing. I’m not a mechanic or a carpenter or a farm hand, avocations I’d prefer, because I ain’t worth a shit at any of it. In fact, I’m so veritably inept, I’ve been told I could break an anvil with a hammer — and that, believe it or not, was a ~pulled~ punch! I’m only an analyst because I inherited a gene or some such shit that enables my mind to perceive things in accordance with the virtues assigned to that particular endeavor, or lack thereof. Weird little inconsistencies just seem to stand out for me … I heed the mathematics of it…. Music, too. And writing, especially. My mind sees words like other brains see numbers. (Or how certain brains envision breasts.) So writing’s somethin’ I always done pretty good.
Please don’t think you must assuage my regret because, really, there is none. My point is not that I’m limited, just that I’ve *noticed*. Judgments and score-keeping are for all those gods I don’t believe in; I just want to *comprehend*. Noticing is the most exhilarating part of Life, in my opinion. Once you are able to see something, as it [most likely] exists, and you finally *understand* it, there’s a feeling of freedom that envelops you. My freedom has come with the objective, and surprise, observation that I do what I’m good at, not that I’m good at whatever I choose to do.
Now I can do whatever I want.
Of course, there are those paths less travelled, or travailled, as the case may be. I took a job as a customer service representative for a while. The poor people I had to deal with, idiots though they may have been, deserved far better than I gave them. I realized rather quickly that I do not suffer fools, or perceived fools, gladly. These people, who had some problem, and called their company trying to solve said problem, and got stuck with me — well, I’m sorry. To some of you, I’m sorry … to the true idiots who don’t know to check if a power plug is connected first; well, you deserved what you got.
Anyway, for this reason, I know also that I’m just not cut out for teaching. For my family’s well-being, I hope my son is as quick on the uptake in school assignments as I was, or his mother will truly have her work cut out for her. After the daughter having problems in third grade … well, she’s agreed to never ask me to help the kids with homework again.
Other things that I’m aware of my ineptitude in exhaustive, excruciating detail: fine-line detail work, in whatever medium … these big sausages connected to the end of my hands are really just not cut out for that kind of delicate operation … it isn’t pretty when I’m done. I can sew a stitch, but I’ll only do it on my socks where no one can see it.
However, may you all turn your hands to things you are good at, and know the happiness that ensues!
Tioraidh!
Ky
