Master of None

This morning while driving to work the song “Butterfly” by The Choir came up on shuffle play and I immediately broke down in tears. This is one of the songs I consider to be a classic example of Tim Chandler’s style, with groaning swells and playful sliding in the instrumental section. The reason for the tears is that Tim Chandler passed away about two weeks ago and he will never again grace the world with new and exotic (yet still melodic) bass lines. But this post isn’t really about Tim’s passing, although it is related.

One of my daughters used to say that she wished she was really, really good at just one thing. My wife and I would argue that she is extremely talented at makeup (her own and friends who ask her to do their makeup for proms and photo shoots) but she denies it. Tim was an incredibly gifted musician, a man whose unique style should have elevated his name to that of Flea and Claypool (that is, if the world even knew what a bass player does, which in this case Tim often colored waaaaay outside of the lines). If there was one thing that Tim did well, it was music related.

In the past couple of days this started me thinking about myself. Is there anything I do really well? It would be fantastic if I could say that yes, I Kickapoo at my job but in reality, I’m a solid B player. There are a couple of A players on my team, including one guy who just received an employee of the quarter award for the second time in three years… out of a company of thousands. He’s now my arch-nemesis. My strength comes in creative solutions and while I started at this company when it was quite young, it’s since been bought out and most of the problems have been solved. And so I maintain data instead.

In mentioning this to my wife she stated that I’m good at woodworking and music, but I disagree. I’m capable at both (well, capable at woodworking and merely mediocre at music) but excel in neither. I can “get the job done” in both but I wouldn’t say that either of them is elevated to a level of fine craftsmanship. Which is pretty much my problem… the stereotypical “jack of all trades and master of none.” Perhaps hundreds of years ago I would have been a tinker, that guy driving from town to town in his wagon full of junk, fixing things just well enough so that there would be work for me again the next time I came to town. Or in the 1950s I think I would have been an excellent special effects guy, in a time when there were no rulebooks and you had to mix art with science and one guy had to do a little bit of everything. Or maybe I should have been a Jim Henson muppeteer. I’ve often found myself drawn to the world of puppets, although maybe this thought is because I just finished reading a book on the creation and history of Sesame Street.

My wife also mentioned writing and this is a tough one to gauge. Like music, I write because I have to*. I’ve been “coming up with content” ever since I learned to read and write. But how would I know if I’m decent at it? I’ve submitted a few of my stories for publication and all have been rejected. Sure, tales abound of some famous author who had a now classic novel rejected by thirty publishers before it found a home but my skin is not that thick. Maybe it should be. Maybe 2019 is the year I take the small trove of stories that I’ve written and shop them around in earnest. The problem is that no one gets rich on short stories and I really need to get rich by the summer of 2019. Seriously.

I don't mean for all of this to sound like a downer. I've had worse times in my life by far. It's just something ruminating in the back of my mind as I get closer to age 50 and come to terms with "Yeah, this is probably it. I shouldn't expect any kind of massive upswings." To quote another dead musician, "It is what it is what it is."

* If I don’t have something that I’m working on, like writing or a song or a home project, then I feel unconnected and of low worth. Yes, I know I should probably see a professional and get this fixed.