AUGUST 22, 2025 – Yesterday I wrote about mastery, and as I pondered that concept further today, I thought of its companion—specialization. Just as I can claim mastery over very little in life, so too I lack any notable specialization. Sure, you could consider me a “real estate lawyer” professionally or go out on a limb and call me a “violinist” (once upon a time) avocationally, but by neither education, training nor experience do I possess the sort of specialization that would land me an invitation to speak at some international conference of worthies—for a handsome honorarium and five-star accommodations. Fine. I never aspired to have “C.F.S.A.E.B.,” for example, or any other set of letters after my name denotational of some specialization. I was a naturally inclined “liberal arts major” from the very outset of my student days.
As an undergraduate I respected students who took deep plunges into their respective majors. You knew these people were the sorts who were bound for a Nobel Prize, perhaps, in chemistry, mathematics, economics, or literature. But me? I was just smart enough to know I’d never be smart enough to compete with the intense brainiacs. I felt much more comfortable around “normal smart” people who were classic liberal arts students—characters such as Tom, my roommate for three years, a biology major who did very well in all the “hard sciences” but also took (and aced) advanced Russian language and literature courses. He was curious enough, as well, to take Professor Beam’s legendary course in Ancient Art of the Mediterranean. As it turned out, Tom revealed that he was quite the artist, as well, when as part of one assignment, he drew amazingly detailed illustrations of several Greek lekythoi on display in the college’s art museum. If I wasn’t even “normal smart,” I was smart enough to develop an appreciation for Chekhov, thanks to my roommate’s influence.
The most “specialized” I got educationally was taking a raft of courses about American jurisprudence—in law school—but as I rudely discovered after graduating (and passing the bar exam), I was a long, long way from what would become the primary “focus” of my law practice in the decades to follow. Likewise, avocationally, I pursued several interests with mid-level intensity—and occasionally, compulsive intensity—but in the end, “specialization” eluded me.
The other day I had occasion to ponder again my lifelong inclination toward “non-specialization.” I had to return a book to the library, and having just finished reading three highly satisfying books (including the one to be returned), I figured I’d see if my next book club book—Origin of the Species by Charles Darwin—was available, then browse the stacks for a few minutes. As it turned out, Origin of the Species was checked out, and since the library closed in less than a half hour, the browsing opportunity was limited. I’d have to be efficient.
I tore upstairs to the history section and slowed down for the aisle marked “World History.” I wasn’t sure where I was headed—my non-specialist’s specialty, Russian history, or my sub-non-specialty-specialty, Poland-Lithuania-Ukraine, or a return to my other sub-non-specialty-specialty, the Middle East, or . . . having just finished a biography of Mao and Simon Winchester’s The Man Who Loved China, perhaps something more about China or surrounding lands.
Just then, a bookish voice over the loud speaker intoned that the library would be “closing in 15 minutes,” and “if you wished to check out any materials, you should do so now.” This put me in a mild panic. So many books; so little time. In the moment I happened to find myself in the “Modern Asian History” subsection of “World History.” One of many books caught my eye, probably because of the book’s girth and simple title: Pacific and its author—Simon Winchester.
After a quick glance at the blurb, the reviews and the table of contents, I was sold. I’ve heard of and even read other books by Winchester, but Pacific was new to me. With time to spare, I checked it out and departed the library. Within minutes I was seated on our back porch, enjoying the book as I imagine one would enjoy the same accompanied by sparkling lemonade and a tray of grapes, cheese and crackers while seated in a reading alcove in a quiet garden of some aristocrat’s sprawling estate. In other words, I was in heaven.
That I’d chosen another book by Winchester was no coincidence. Being very much a “liberal arts major” himself, Winchester writes for the non-specialist. But he does so with very much the inquisitive and investigative bent of a journalist, which is what vocation Winchester pursued before he dedicated his life to writing what has become a long list of extraordinary books about an extraordinary array of subjects.
I have waded into only the first few chapters of Pacific, but it is proving to be another thrilling voyage. I will give a broader report once I cross reach the opposite shore of this ocean that covers 64 million square miles—one-third of the earth’s surface. Keep your radio tuned to his frequency.
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© 2025 by Eric Nilsson
