Okay, last week was a little bit of a downer, but as I’ve mentioned in previous posts, sometimes you’ve just gotta put on your big-girl panties and get on with it, even if they chafe a little bit.
So, where am I, now that I’ve gotten rid of the most recent super-wedgie? Well, I’m proceeding apace: I have decided to allow an expert to finish this final part of the task for me.
The thing is, we all have gifts, things at which we just naturally excel. We also all have things at which we just naturally don’t. I know, there’s all that inspirational writing out there (some of which I’ve actually written myself) about never, never, never give up, etc. But if I’ve learned anything from this self-publishing process (and in life in general), it’s that in some areas of life, you simply have to rely on an expert. Examples of expert-required situations: 1) Anything electrical or plumbing-related; 2) Any type of surgery; 3) Anything that is just too important to settle for crap results–i.e., taxes, wedding day makeup or hair, etc. For proof of my personal maxim, all I need to do is look at a couple of old pictures:
This is me, at around 5 weeks. Cute, huh? Except for the protruding forehead. Lots of babies are born with less-than-perfectly round noggins, but in my case, it was from a rare defect, craniosynostosis. My parents had to make a difficult decision, because not only was the condition rare, but in 1969, the surgery to correct it was still somewhat experimental. Complicating matters, the neurosurgeon told my mother that if he didn’t operate by 6 weeks, it would be too late–brain damage would already have begun.
Yep. That’s right. They called in an expert. I’m glad they did. It must have been terrifying for them, but this is just one of those situations where you need an expert.
Now, I’m not saying that my publishing Widow Woman is remotely on a par with craniosynostosis (okay, I am. But I’m allowed, since I own them both). What I’m saying is that I’m glad that in 1969, there was a neurosurgeon named Dr. Manno who was an expert, and that that’s the man my parents trusted to save me.
I think, all things considered, that today most folks would consider my surgery to have been a resounding success, and that whatever fears or costs bringing in that expert entailed, the results were worth it. The only evidence today of that surgery is a large scar, and that’s pretty well hidden. Of course, I do struggle with some things–maps, math, chess, technology–but they tend to be things that are common struggles for many people. We’ll never know if the things I struggle with come from brain damage already occurring by the time of my surgery or if I just suck at math, but I do have strategies to deal with my deficiencies, as we all should. When I have to deal with those areas, I look for aids (Google maps, thank you); work harder (remember my GRE travails?); defer or avoid (chess and football diagrams fall into this category) or–you guessed it: I call in an expert.
There. Now you get where I was heading with this. We all have weaknesses, and yes, some of those things you can fight and conquer, but others? Well, that’s when you find someone else who has the strength you lack in that area. I believe, in my heart, that that is why we have all been made so different–it forces us to work together, to complement each other. I would never perform surgery or try to teach math–it’s simply not my strength. But I also know that there are many people who would never try to write. “How do you do that?” they ask me. I don’t know–how do you solve an equation or perform the Queen’s Gambit (Google tells me that’s a classic chess opening)? I only know that I know where my strengths lie and where they don’t, and I’m happy that there are other folks out there who can fill in those gaps for me.
