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The problem with a liberal arts education is that I know a little about a lot of things, but not that much about anything in particular. But that’s also the benefit of having been an English major at a time when most of my classmates were specializing in various fields of engineering. They’re all rich, I assume. I never had much to do with them when I was in school, and I don’t know what’s happened to them since. So let’s just say they’re all rich.
Despite all the obvious advantages of being rich, I’m content with my decision to go the other route. What I learned in school has allowed me to sit at home, alone, on a rainy Sunday and not be bored with my own company. I’m a fickle serial enthusiast. It takes very little to amuse me, and my low expectations make it possible for me to be satisfied with the hand I’ve been dealt. If I’d worked harder when I was younger, I could probably have stacked the deck in my favor. Maybe I would have been happier with the end result, but I can’t be sure, and I don’t think I would have enjoyed the journey as much.
So I read three books at a time and get just enough out of them to feel enriched. I pore over magazines and newspapers and websites and rarely have any trouble coming across articles I find interesting enough to think about, although they rarely cause me to dig more deeply into the subject matter. I skim a lot, in point of fact.
My skills are defined by what I made of my narrow talents, and I’ve done the best I could with both. People who have made more of themselves have my admiration and respect, plus a bit of envy, but not enough to make me regret my decisions. I’m well aware of my own limitations, but I think I compensate well. Well enough, at least. |
