It’s not talent you lack, but ambition

(More old-school wisdom from the mcarp archives…)

Why don’t you make something arrogant and superficial of yourself?

I came back from a story one day to find the fortune from a Chinese cookie stuck to my computer terminal screen.

“It is not talent you lack,” the slip of paper said, “but ambition.”

Some free character analysis, courtesy of one of my coworkers. Who knows what the purpose was?

I left it taped to my screen for months, though. Because frankly, I thought it was true.

Obviously, something was wrong with me. Why had I willingly stayed in the same medium job for 15 years, instead of carpet-bombing top-10 stations with resume tapes? Why was I driving an old Cutlass, instead of a BMW or leather-upholstered Suburban? Why was I still wearing glasses, instead of having laser eye surgery?

Why did I not care whether I had the lead story, or whether I was officially designated a ‘high-profile’ reporter? Why was I not lobbying for longer standups, and more live shot ‘face time’?

Why was I not living in a so-called ‘select neighborhood’? Or playing golf with chamber of commerce officials or Republican party leaders?

It seemed reasonable to me at the time that if I’d had any ambition, I would have been doing at least some of those things, like everyone else I knew.

That Carp. Smart guy, but what a slacker.

It took me a long time to understand that I did not lack my own ambition — I lacked other people’s ambition. And it frustrated them that I was chasing my own goals, instead of theirs. And I became frustrated whenever I fell into the trap of letting others decide for me what I should want.

Maybe I set my own bar fairly low. It was never important to me to be seen as a celebrity. I didn’t enjoy signing autographs, or making personal appearances. Why should someone want my autograph? The service I provided — reading aloud news stories they could have gotten just as easily from the paper — was no more valuable than, say, changing the oil in their cars. But they didn’t ask the FastLube guy for his autograph.

I liked my home town. It felt familiar and comfortable. We had moved frequently during my childhood, and it was important to me to have a sense of belonging somewhere. I saw no reason to live anywhere else. I travelled a lot as a reporter, and saw only one or two places I liked better than where I was.

I could not bring myself to genuinely care about most of the trappings of my (other) brilliant career. I tried. For a few years, I had myself sold on it — and I was as close to the perfect, Volvo-driving, Italian suit-wearing, Cole Haan-shod Stepford anchor as I could make myself.

But I couldn’t make it last, and more importantly, I couldn’t make it convincing. I was like one of those people in “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” trying to pass for a ‘pod person’ without actually being one.

Whoever put that cookie fortune on my computer probably thinks I’m a complete failure now. I live alone, in a quiet place, and spend a lot of my time thinking and writing. I’m still driving the beat-up Cutlass. The Cole-Haans and Italian suits are still in the closet, but I wear running shoes and jeans every day. I haven’t worn a tie since December of 1998.

I don’t get everything I want from life. No one does, I suppose. But I decide for myself what I want, and I don’t let others make the decision for me.