Lawyers joke that an “expert” is someone from out-of-town. They arrive to testify regarding their specialty and, just because they came from some high sounding institution, they have an extra measure of credibility. Jurors are impressed that they came all that way just to help them understand what happened in the case.
But everyone ought to be an expert at something. White collar or blue, urban or rural, educated or not, every person can be expert at something.
I get a kick out of Clint Eastwood’s character in the flick “In the Line of Fire” where he plays an aging, antisocial Secret Service agent. His expertise, of course, was protecting the President and, as a sidelight, playing jazz piano (as Eastwood actually does). But he didn’t stop there. In the final scene, predicting the actions of some pigeons at the Lincoln Memorial, he says to René Russo, “I know things about pigeons, Lilly.” Nothing is too mundane to be expert at.
Some people are expert at board games like chess or Scrabble. Some people have enviable mechanical ability. Some people can locate a needle in a haystack and thread it with one eye closed. The point of expertise, in whatever area, is that it gives life substance and provides a feeling of accomplishment. Sometimes it can even provide a good living.
I once subscribed to a great magazine, long since gone under, called Quest. It ran articles about people who excelled at what they did. One person might be a research scientist. Another was a rural goatherd. People from all niches of life were highlighted because they were expert in their chosen field, and no field was too insignificant for praise.
To be expert at something is to care. In a recent post I recalled a wonderful writer, Leo Rosten, who wrote: “The purpose of life is to matter, to be productive, to have it make some difference that you lived at all.” Happiness isn’t fun, he says, it is self-fulfillment which “is given to those who use to the fullest whatever talents God or luck or fate bestowed upon them.”
It matters not what one’s area of expertise is, but there needs to be something about which we care enough to become good at. For instance, I happen to be a crackerjack dish washer. I pride myself on this ability and I won’t permit my wife to do it. It’s my area of expertise. If she attempts to horn in, I just shoo her away and tell her:
“I know things about pigeons, Lilly.”