I’ve always been jealous of people who are really great at something.

I know I’ve been dealt more than a fair hand at life. I’m average-looking with average intelligence and am generally considered to be a nice person.

I was a good student but never Mensa or Harvard material. I can hold my own in most sports, but never competed provincially or at a higher competitive level. I can make a mean stew and banana bread, but would never cut it on Master Chef Canada.

I can write passably, but nowadays with ChatGPT, Bing and Gemini, any human and now machine can spew out the drivel I share each week in my little Crappy Act as Dave likes to call it.

The list of things I suck at is even longer. I can’t sew or hem, I wouldn’t know where to begin on any building or home renovation project and I’ve inherited my father’s innate inability at wrapping presents. (One of my favourite things to do on Christmas Eve was watch my father make a batch of wrapping every one of my Mom’s presents while drinking a few glasses of rye and ginger.)

It doesn’t help that the entertainment industry flaunts in our faces the many talents of celebrities who seem to be great at everything. Jim Carrey is an accomplished artist. Actresses like Anna Kendrick, Anne Hathaway and Kate Hudson can act, dance and sing like songbirds plus have successful businesses on the side. Anthony Hopkins writes symphonies for gods’ sake. And those Helmsworth brothers, Chris and Liam. It’s not enough they’re gorgeous and talented actors, they can even dance.

When I retired, I hoped I would discover something I’m great at. I tried painting since my Mom was an accomplished painter.

I signed up for a 3-hour workshop where the theme was painting a beach scene, since it was the dreary winter months. Using a photo as our inspiration, my friend Angela and I spent the next three hours practising our brush strokes painting white sand beaches, blue waters and palm trees. While people ooh’ed and aah’ed over each other’s canvases, mine somehow ended up resembling L.A. after the wildfires. One guy actually said to me, “Yeah, those palm trees aren’t good.”

I tossed the finished painting on my dresser for a couple of weeks, trying to decide whether I should fix it, paint over it or just throw it out. One day I came home and it wasn’t there. Dave had hung it as a joke in the kitchen above the stove. It’s still hanging there. A true masterpiece. Judge for yourself.

Okay, so maybe painting isn’t my thing. But just maybe it’s not as important to discover what you are great at, so much as what you are most passionate about and love to do.

For now, I will keep searching for my greatness.