It’s true, I’m not very skilled.  There’s nothing I can point to and proclaim, “goddammit, I am exceedingly excellent at that”.   I’m also not very talented.  I can’t sing.  I can’t do calculus.  I’m crap with a hammer.  My repertoire of ways to wow you can best be summed up as meh.

It’s quite the contrast from when I was a child  and I suspected that I’d be good at things.  Like if I just tried to do something, or maybe tried really hard (a few times) I’d  naturally be able to do it, whatever “it” was.  It’s an odd notion to carry around and I’m not entirely sure why I used to think that way.  Perhaps children who are loved and shown that the world is open to them, believe that they can do anything.  And for the most part, that’s a good thing. 

Being an only child, I often played alone.  Or with my cat, Pirate, who was a rebel and brilliant at everything.  She even fetched balls and brought them back to me.  Great cat.  Totally off topic…anyway, my success as a kid wasn’t dependent on the success of others. There was no team or coach or sibling that I played with or emulated.  A lot of my time was spent in the company of me.

That’s not to say I was neglected.  My parents divorced when I was three, and the relationship with my father during my formative years was often strained by his struggle with alcohol.  Let’s just say he wasn’t always present.  I lived with my mother, who dropped out of high school at 15 and graduated cum laude from University at 32.

They were both intelligent, capable people who led lives somewhat in the margins of society.  The traditional trappings and definitions of success eluded them.  They weren’t wealthy, and they weren’t trying to climb any corporate ladders.  They divorced when getting divorced wasn’t commonplace.  There was just a lot of shit to deal with and we all know the amount of time my generation spent with their parents is infinitesimal compared to what typically occurs today.  I was a latch key kid.  So many 70s children were.  I was in many ways the ruler, queen, shaper and dreamer of my own upbringing.  I was left to my own devices and in spending so much time in my head, I created a lot of my own belief system.  The concept of success was mostly shaped by my own understanding and definition.

As a child, my parents never said I could or couldn’t do something.  For the most part  I just assumed I’d be able to, even if I didn’t really want to.   Children typically don’t focus on one particular skill or hobby or interest long-term, without some significant guidance, pressure, purpose or yearning placed upon them.  Usually a coach, caretaker or someone in their life pushes them in a particular direction.  Of course there are extraordinary exceptions to this and some kids just know what they want and are driven with enthusiasm to do it.  But not me.

As I grew into a young adult,  my frame of reference changed as my world got bigger, and I still didn’t yearn to master anything.  There was no burning desire to be an athlete or an astronaut or a chef.  Nothing deep in my heart propelled me into choosing my college major or even my career.  Many things just kind of happened, they fell into place.  This in part was due to my being feckless.  It sounds so strange to say that now, and if I could go back I probably would relive most of my life again with more intention.

Growing up and older, I tended to steer away from trying new things that tested my ability (not new experiences necessarily, but developing new skills) and a lot of what held me back was fear.  Fear of failure, fear of embarrassing myself, fear of commitment.  So the notion that I had as a child, of being able to do anything, grew into this notion that I couldn’t do much or shouldn’t do much of anything because I might not excel at it.  My motto could easily have been just stay the course and play it safe.

 

Now, as a middle aged woman I’m much closer to not caring about success,  perfection or fear.  What I want to do now, with whatever time remains for me, is to experience new things.  A lot of new things.  Things that in the past I was afraid of, things I might not be good at, things that tickle my fancy. I want to know what they feel like in my brain, my bones, my heart.

Here are a few of those things:

Running-I am not fit but fortunately for a good part of my life I was able to mask that with decent genes (excuse the pun).  But let’s face it, after little exercise, two kids and a potato chip too many, I’m way past that point.   So now that I’m in my 40’s I decided to start running.  I suck at it.  My breathing is all messed up, my hip joints ache, I feel like my heart might explode every time I round three miles.  I have no form.  No form!

Garage Band-which for those not in the know,  is a digital experience, and  nothing like actually playing guitar or drums or synthesizer in a real band.  But it allows me to mimic the sound of whatever instrument I want, with the added bonus of being able to explore my vocal ability, which oddly enough does not exist as I hoped it would, even with reverb.

Baking- too specific, precise, too many variables, too many sweets don’t rise to the occasion.  I’m good with stockpots. A bit and a pinch, a slapdash meal.   But I continue to fight the good fight with my flour and eggs and a hope and a prayer.

Running, Garageband and baking are  just a few of the things I’m into at the moment.  I don’t know how long I’ll stick with them or how good I’ll get at them.  Like a lot of people I don’t have much me-time and there are so many other things to try and potentially be shitty at.

A couple of years ago my oldest daughter started piano lessons and I help her practice at home which means I need to understand what she’s learning.  I’m basically teaching myself to play the piano with her.  I’m by no means a maestro but I do enjoy  pounding out these simple tunes, looking at the grand staff and figuring out the notes, learning something completely new against a framework I am not at all familiar with.  It’s pretty amazing.

In September I  ran a 10k in Brooklyn.  Most of the folks participating were young, fit, and avid runners.  To train for race, I ran off and on for a couple of months.  Mostly off, and mostly convincing myself that even if I couldn’t run six miles during training, I’d surely be able to do it no problem on the day.  The reality was that I couldn’t run straight through and I had to stop a few times to catch my breath.  I came in third to last in my age group (what, no bronze medal?  Oh third to last, I thought you said third).

I’ll run another 10k at some point and I’ll do it better.  I’ll be more prepared.  I’ll never come in first but I couldn’t care less because it’s not about being first, it’s about doing it.

It’s taken half a lifetime but I’m detaching myself from the traditional definition of success.  Maybe it’s because I’ve failed   I don’t always need to be focused and fierce and reliable.   I doubt I’ll have the time, mental acuity, desire, flexibility, motivation and what have you to become an expert in anything at this stage of my life.  But I’ll enjoy just doing the damn thing anyway. We don’t need to be gleaned to perfection.  We just need to get out and experience life.  Go forth and fail, sometimes it’s the best kind of success.