My little brother always reminds me that a Jack of all trades is an expert of none. I like to think that I’m pretty darn good with words, with people, with getting a message across when I need to. I won’t say I’m always good with any of those things, but when I make up my mind to be particularly social, I make new friends; when I’m trying to get something for nothing, become a damn good sales person; when I need to whip out a 20 page paper in a few hours, I turn into quite the Wordsworth. So I may not be an expert, but I’m good enough to get by, better than most. I don’t think even Einstein would call himself an expert – the more you learn the less you know – you know the cliché I’m referencing.
So I’ve got the things I’m “good at,” if only in my own head. But I’m also okay at a lot of things. I can look at a problem and figure it out pretty quickly. I can work through numbers (calculus aside), I can draw okay, my handwriting is decent, I can cook and clean and change the oil in my car. So, expert or not, I’m glad that I’m okay at a lot of things. I’m glad that when people need a second opinion, they value mine; when they need someone to confide in, they call me; when they need someone to draw an outline for painting pottery, they give me the marker. Being okay isn’t all that bad.