Once upon a time I could ID almost any cactus with just a glance (teddy bear cholla and saguaro). My mother can ID Indian jewelry at fifty paces. I have friends who can identify yarns from blurry photos. (We won't even get into the friends who can name every ingredient in any dish I have ever made.)
Most recently the man I think of as the sewing machine whisperer.
He loves all things sewing and sewing machine related. He knows the history of the manufacturers, what the trends were in several decades (not with textiles or patterns, but the technology of the machines), and has saved many a machine from the dust heap.
Sewing became - other than.
Other than clothing that isn't necessarily designed for either my skill set or figure.
Other than darts and tucks that I can never get quite even.
It has become a symphony of straight lines (sort of), lining up and matching checks, plaids, or stripes. Practical items like pillowcases, backpacks, needle cases.
Then I broke the machine and promptly kicked myself in the posterior (if I hadn't used it, it wouldn't have broken)... actually 28 yards of vintage Ralph Lauren fabric procured from a thrift store broke it. It was a fabulous buy at a thrift store, enough to redo all of my sofas, chairs, and even a couple of valances.
Rather than go to a chain store, CraigsList saved the day. The man who can tame any sewing machine that crosses his path without a droplet of perspiration to dampen his brow. In one week and five minutes, I found out what I had done wrong so many years ago with my bobbins and tension. The week was to get the machine serviced, the five minutes for the tutoring.
I guess the lesson in all of this is to find your passion and move forward.
Too bad selecting dog toys isn't a real career - I could be the next woobie whisperer.