Saving Whales and Decorating Cakes
How I Learned to Love not Being an Expert
Success in my career equaled being a jack-of-all-trades, a generalist. As a chief of staff, you have to know a little about a lot of things, especially in a science organization like the one where I worked in for 27 years. I am not an expert on Huanglongbing or bovine spongiform encephalopathy, but I have sufficient knowledge about these topics to edit a briefing paper on them.
Throughout my career, working with brilliant scientists, part of me has regretted not becoming an expert in one or two specific topics. I envy the status that having expertise bestows upon the bearer. There must be such peace of mind when you head into a meeting knowing no one can trip you up with questions you can’t answer. In contrast, as a generalist, you are the one asking questions. You have to prepare for those interactions so you know what questions to ask. It’s tough when you find out after the fact that you didn’t know the right questions to ask.
As I get older and my free time expands in proportion to the time my children spend out of the house, I find I have time to take up hobbies I have neglected. I raise chickens. I crochet. I prioritize time with my husband and friends. I am trying to declutter and organize 20-some years of junk.
And all of a sudden, I don’t want to be an expert at any one thing. I want to explore lots of things. I want to view the world as I did when I was a kid, when everything was exciting and I wanted to learn about many different things.
Being the youngest child in the 1970s, and the surprise of four siblings, living in a neighborhood with few children gave me a lot of free time. When I was five or six, I would knock on doors in my neighborhood, asking if thepeople at that home had any small children or pets who wanted to play. I have a vivid memory of sitting at the end of my driveway, singing 🎶 Somebody Come and Play 🎶, a greatest hit from Sesame Street.
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If you grew up in this era, you likely remember the long summer days, spent outside from dawn to dusk, only coming in for a meal or snack occasionally. Perhaps, like me, you were a latchkey kid, coming home after school and letting yourself in the house with the key that was in the garden glove hanging in the garage. There were no computers, no cell phones, and only 3 to 5 TV channels.
There was, however, a complete set of Encyclopedia Britannica on my parents’ shelves, encompassing an entire world of topics. There were stacks of Smithsonian and National Geographic magazines. There was a lot to learn. There was an old stereo console with records that ranged from Tchaikovsky to Fleetwood Mac, Dvorak to Seals & Croft, and every single record made by the Carpenters. I still know the words of every song from Cat Stevens’ greatest hits and the original Broadway musical score of Camelot. My ability to pick up lyrics came from listening to all those records and not being able to look up the words on Google.
Now and then, I would come across a cause that sparked my interest. I remember a children’s magazine about animals from around the world. There were stories about harp seals and whales, and the fact that they were over-hunted and endangered. In the back of that magazine were pull-out posters with 100 or so blank lines to fill with signatures and mail back as an act of advocacy to save the seals and the whales. I proudly returned both of those posters, completely filled with signatures.
I read a lot of books, some from my parents’ and sisters’ libraries, and some from the Nichols Library in my hometown of Naperville, Illinois. I read all the Little House on the Prairie books, all the Anne of Green Gables books, the entire Sherlock Holmes series, A Wrinkle in Time, A Wind in the Door, Trumpet of the Swan, The Secret Garden, and eventually grew into classics like The Once and Future King, The House of Seven Gables, Anna Karenina, A Lantern in Her Hand and Robinson Crusoe. But my favorite Nichol’s Library resource was the old (and giant) microfilm machine that sat in the back corner of the reading room, and the archive of Naperville Sun newspaper films housed nearby. I could spend hours down newspaper rabbit holes, a distant precursor to Facebook scrollings. For the life of me, I cannot remember what I was looking for or what fascinated me, except that the flawed, blurry, too light or too dark (never just right) images were a perfect peek at the past.
Twice a year at Saints Peter and Paul school, where I went to kindergarten through eighth grade, we had “Vocation Days”. The day would be split into two parts, and we could pick two skills we wanted to learn. I learned valuable “life skills” like rudimentary carpentry, sewing and hemming, how to make terrariums, and how to decorate cakes. Some of these sessions inspired me to visit the library and check out books to learn more about a particular topic. Also at Saints Peter and Paul we played softball in spring and fall and volleyball in the winter every day at lunch from 3rd to 8th grade. I was not very good at these sports, but we were required to play. I never became an elite athlete, but I learned enough to be a solid member of my adult champion volleyball teams and coach my daughter’s softball team for 5 seasons.
I was always on the lookout for something to do after school. I acted and crewed in plays at school and in town at the local theatre, the Summer Place. I was on the swim team, year-round, sometimes waiting for a ride home from the YMCA in freezing temperatures and amusing myself by breaking pieces of hair off that peeked out from under my hat. I branched out to “water ballet” (synchronized swimming) when presented with the opportunity. I was Joseph Naper’s niece in a 3-day recreation of the town founder’s trek from the shores of Lake Michigan, riding in a Calistoga wagon pulled by Clydesdales who ran amok, crossed the highway median, and trampled a Trans Am (yes, you read that right!)
My childhood was rich with experiences and learning. Even more so, I realize that due to my circumstances, I had to entertain myself. Like most kids, I had a natural curiosity and thirst to learn. With the time and opportunity, I discovered a variety of things that interested me.
You know what? It’s no surprise I know a little about a lot of things. In retrospect, I came by that honestly. And I realize I do have an area of expertise. I am an expert at being a generalist.
