Recall. Apply. Fade.

In the last week, my manager asked me to rate my skills.

I find that sort of structure and assurance around rating personal expertise an unusual challenge.

For one thing, I have a level of modesty that means I find it hard to assert to the degree of what I know. To say that I’m adept or proficient at X, Y, or Z suggests a comparative certainty. I feel like it invites comparison, although for a decade I’ve been assessed at work on a 5-tier scale, with Meet Expectations in the middle, which doesn’t promise much of anything.

I’m decidedly average, thanks. Dependable and average. That sort of personal assessment doesn’t lead to much self-worth.

The other thing is that, for all the effort one might invest in defining levels of skill, there remains a spectrum of subjectivity. Proficiency is not a singular point within which all those of common skill can be conveniently pigeonholed.

I have another problem with the process. I don’t retain a constant level of expertise. In the moment, when I’m focused on something, I have a greater inherent grasp of a skill than when I’m not applying it, and over time that grip weakens and fades. If I do something today, I cannot guarantee I will have the means to do it again in a year or five. At least, I won’t have the wherewithal to complete the task immediately. It might take a minute, a day, or a week, but a spontaneous response will almost certainly not be forthcoming.

I usually have to take a run-up. Or have the fair warning that by this time next week I need to complete a certain task or offer a specific, well-supported opinion.

So, in that respect, I am a lifelong learner. But it’s a jagged path that often necessitates looping around and approaching with fresh eyes. It’s like leaving engraved silverware unattended for months or years. You have to go back with the understanding that it will take a bit of effort and focus, some elbow grease and a dollop of polish, after which you will see the etched words once more.