What are you good for?

Patty here…

My mother tells me that one day when I was a toddler she made this off-hand comment to me: “What are you good for?”

“Loving,” I answered, because at the time it was the only skill on my resume.

That got a big laugh around my house. The script became a running joke that was often repeated over the years. My mother doesn’t ask that question anymore because by now she knows what I’m good for, but she still reminisces about the exchange.

Looking back, I have spent my entire life trying to answer that question and a second broader one—What am I good at? I envy people who are piano prodigies at age four or those who emerge from the womb knowing they’re destined to be a dermatologist or a hand model. There’s no wasted time working in boring jobs or accumulating worthless college degrees. Life’s voyage is already charted.

At age six I thought I was going to be the next Sarah Bernhardt after a high school drama teacher “discovered” me in a church Christmas play and told my parents I had talent.



My expectation of stardom followed me until my junior year in college when my boyfriend asked me why I was parading around on the stage when I could be making an actual contribution to society. I immediately rushed out to take the Law School Admissions Test. By noon on the day of the exam, I came to my senses and decided that law wasn’t for me. It was a wise decision, according to my recovering attorney friends.

I had a bunch of jobs after college, and because I’m a good organizer and a quick study, I was good at all of them even though I didn’t love any of them. What I really wanted to do was to make a living by using my creativity. Therefore, in my spare time I studied art and took dance classes. I hired a voice teacher in the vain hope that the screeching I heard coming from the shower was produced by rusty pipes in the wall and not from those in my throat. At some point, I realized that my “gift” (if I had one at all) would never lead me onto a Broadway stage.

Then somebody told me if I did what I loved, bundles of money would soon follow. I decided to test the theory. I loved going to movies, sitting in a darkened room, riding that emotional roller coaster while Jujyfruits gummed up my teeth. I loved lounging on a beach, reading a good book while inhaling the intoxicating aroma of Bain de Soleil #4 orange gelee. I loved talking trash with my friends over pitchers of Rainier beer, which incidentally made one of the best commercials ever.



So I threw myself into doing the things I loved, waiting for fame and fortune to reward my efforts. However, the only money that appeared was the monthly paycheck from my boring job, forcing me to conclude that what I loved doing wasn’t necessarily going to pay my rent.

Still, I couldn’t shake the belief that one day I would find something I could do better than a few other people. Maybe I was chasing a phantom dream, but it’s like the concept of a soul mate. Either you believe or you don’t.

And then I became a writer. I don’t love to write but I love having written and I actually make a few bucks stringing words together. Writing books is the most difficult job I've ever held. Some days I struggle to find the right words and I’m hard on myself when I fail. The crazy thing is I can’t stop even though some days I’d like to do just that. Maybe it's the challenge that propels me forward or perhaps it's just plain masochism. Regardless of what motivates me, I’m not ready to give up just yet because—who knows?—it may be the thing I was meant to do.



What are you good at and when did you know?

Happy Monday!