Originally published December 2019 in The Aging of Aquarius
I don't remember when I first realized that I was never going to be special. I don't mean as a person. I'm a good guy, and I'm proud of that, but when we're very young, we imagine a world of glory and achievements just waiting for us to arrive and pick them up as fate has arranged.
When we’re kids, we're told we can be anything we want to be. It's a lovely lie.
I wanted to be a major league baseball star. I daydreamed about it for years and played the game joyously. I was decent. I could hit the ball a mile but was a terrible runner, and chasing down a fly ball in the outfield was always an adventure. At some point, I suddenly understood that hitting World Series-winning home runs would always remain in my imagination because I could never be good enough to play center field for the Giants when Willie retired.
The seed of doubt was planted in me early, maybe fifteen or sixteen. Once they take root, doubt seeds spread like dandelions.
I wanted to be a professional actor, and as a young adult, some pretty knowledgeable people told me I was good enough to study, learn, and succeed. I'm still not sure what stopped me from trying—fear of failure, I guess. My wife, the lovely and feisty Carolann Conley-Williams, says I actually fear success. It's an interesting possibility.
And that's where I am now: 68 years old, most of my futures behind me, and sometimes still wondering why I've carried self-doubt through a very happy lifetime.
Maybe being happy is enough.
I've had a very good radio career. I've hosted morning shows in major markets and learned my craft as well as anyone in the business. I say that with expert objectivity. I'm very good, but I'm not great.
I can write, but I don't. I want to, but I don't want it enough to really work at it. Aspiring writers always say they write for their own satisfaction, but I think that's a nifty bit of self-deception. What's the point in writing if people don't read your work and love it?
Writing is hard, lonely work fraught with doubt.
As the years passed, I began to learn that doubt can be a comforting friend. He requires nothing more of you than acceptance.
I describe myself on social media as a "Happy husband, proud dad and grandpa, unrepentant underachiever." I wrote this to be charmingly humble, but it has suddenly dawned on me that it's all true and honorable.
I am an underachiever in one sense, but I love my life, every bit of it. I wouldn't change a thing—not one instant.
Pushing 70, I'm beginning to understand that finding glory in one's ordinariness can be deeply satisfying.
My old friend, Doubt, brought me here.
Maybe that's good enough.
You came to a great conclusion - sometimes a focus on things other than being an "achiever" means you have great relationships, work that you've enjoyed, a hobby (writing) that brings you pleasure, etc. There are lots of us who haven't pushed ourselves in directions we know we could excel in. Like you say, the key is that you love your life. There are many achievers who can't say the same thing. Insightful article!
Your memories of baseball in your youth mirror mine so much, so I get where you’re coming from. And, like you, it was a little earlier, like 14, that reality set in, I wasn’t going to play 2nd base for the Cubs.
You’re being very good but “not great” in your radio career may have been a godsend. You see the so called “great ones” end up with their egos inflated and losing the edge that made them rise above the rest. So, being “very good” (not quite “great”) just might have made you a better personality in the end, since you were able to be you and not someone you were perceived to be.
I’m willing to bet I would have enjoyed listening to you in the day.
It really does sound like you have plenty of reasons to be thankful and happy with few regrets and for sure will enjoy life moving forward.