A recurring theme in my life is “Allison is not realizing her full potential.” It’s been a constant refrain for as long as I can remember. From teachers to bosses, I’ve heard it over and over and over.

When I was in the sixth grade, “they” put me in a pilot program for “Gifted Underachievers.” A well-intentioned specialist would come to my school once a week, and earnestly act as a go-between for me, my teachers who resented me for being high-maintenance, and my parents. She was a very nice lady and she tried hard, but I was no less an underachiever when she finished with me than when she started.

I have been told I’m smart. Empirically, it’s true. It has to be. I was tested in three separate states and they all came to the same conclusion. Gifted. They can’t all be wrong, can they?

But here I am, pushing 40, looking around at my life and asking the same question I’ve been asking since sometime around the second grade – “Gifted at what, exactly?”

My friends and family have been subjected to my endless speculations and ramblings about what I’m supposed to be when I grow up. And I have come to the hard truth that I am really good at two things: talking and making party favors for kids’ birthdays. Those are the things I love to do more than anything else. One of my friends says I’m good at helping people, which is true to an extent. I like helping people and I like feeling useful. I have empathy in abundance. Unfortunately, I lack patience with people. Also, I’m pretty much worthless when it comes to paperwork and documentation. So that effectively eliminates the fields of counseling, social work and teaching. I’m terrible at science, so coupled with the lack of patience thing…no to anything in the health care field.

Back to talking and the kids party favors. I’ve never considered either as a serious career possibility. I’ve always thought the former necessitated a certain amount of narcissism, which I find distasteful. The latter is just not a realistic way to make a living. People who are like me and truly enjoy making party favors can get on Pinterest just the same as I can. I suppose I could do favor bags for weddings and corporations, but the only thing I’d enjoy less than a corporation is a bride. Brides are awful. I know – I’ve been one.

Speaking of being a bride, I don’t know how many times my mother said to me over the years “The thing that is most appealing about someone in the beginning turns out the be the biggest challenge in the long run.” As is typically the case, she was right. In college, I met a boy. He was driven and had absolute confidence in his own abilities. Nearly twenty years later, we’ve been married almost fifteen years. He is every bit as driven as he ever was, and still absolutely confident in his abilities. He found his life’s work very early, and is successful. He has an uncanny ability to see how things are supposed to work. This is extremely difficult for someone like me, because – to mix metaphors – he’s already seeing the end game and I can’t see the forest for the trees. Nothing will make you feel more like an underachiever than living with an overachiever.

I was driving home recently, reflecting on my lack of professional success, compared to my “potential.” I’ve always thought my husband was just more driven, or had more passion. To a certain extent, that’s true. But the crucial difference isn’t what he has that I don’t – it’s what I have that he doesn’t. Fear. That guy is fucking fearless. He is relentless, and he puts himself out there. He has never been afraid that people won’t like him – and many don’t – but by any measure, he is a success. He has a thriving business, a family that is crazy about him, and friends who are fiercely loyal. I, on the other hand, have always been governed by anxiety and worry. I often self-censor because I worry about what other people think. He has elephant hide, and my skin is paper-thin.

So, as I approach my 40^th year, I resolve to be brave. To say what I think. To tell my stories. Maybe that’s my purpose…to share my fuck-ups (they are many) and my victories (they are also many), so you can feel less alone or, at the very least, regard me as a cautionary tale and learn from my mistakes.