There’s a phrase, “jack of all trades, master of none.” It suits me, because I have a myriad of hobbies and interests. I’ve always been this way as far back as I can remember. I always thought it was a way of seeking approval and identity. I wanted girls to like me. And what do girls like? Jocks. Ok, good, I’ll try and be an athlete. What else do chicks dig? Musicians. Great, I’ll learn to play guitar. Women like dudes who are handy around the house? I’ll figure out how to build things. The fairer sex is enamored with brooding artist types? Well then I guess I’ll wear that mantle, too. Oh wait, that one is built into me already.
Truth is, they are all built into me. I’m hardwired with an overabundance of curiosity and a finite supply of time in the day. It’s a bad combo.
It also keeps me stuck. I am constantly biting off more than I can chew, and subsequently choking as a result. One of the problems with growing up in an abusive household is that you are not given a proper mirror, so your personal reflection of self-worth is perpetually distorted like one of those funhouse mirrors. The only way to combat it is by creating a persona that is good and valid and loved, even if seems to be make-believe in your own mind. I was told more times than I can count how useless I was. Subconsciously, I set out to prove my worth in any tangible way imaginable. What could I measure against and then point to and say, “see, I have value. It’s quantifiable right there.”
I have been blessed with a reasonably intelligent mind. I can figure out most things. I cannot, however, ever figure out which way I need to turn out of a parking lot. I could get lost in a paper bag. Apparently God thought it important to create me directionally challenged, and lately I’ve been wondering if that’s a metaphor for my life to this point.
I am not one of those listless drifters, lazy and unmotivated. Quite the opposite, I’m usually charging hard in one direction. Actually, several directions. I’ve got way too many balls in the air at one time, including at the moment trying to write this book. I’ve owned my own business for almost 20 years now, though I can count on one hand the number of years I would quantify as “successful.” I’ve entered and left business partnerships, some good, some horrendously bad. I’ve been wooed into business deals that start out promising and fizzle into nothingness despite my best efforts. I’ve traded countless hours of time for equity stakes in companies that never see black on their balance sheet.
Along the way, I’ve worn more hats than a library full of Dr. Seuss characters, usually at the same time. I’ve recently come to the conclusion that this is untenable. I can no longer be everything to everyone. I can’t create the products and do the work and make all the sales and keep all the books and be the face of the franchise.
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