When I was a kid, my dad told me to pick a sport, practice a lot and stick with it. That way, in high school, I’d join the team and have built-in friends. “Later, you can aim for a college scholarship,” he said with a wide, confident smile.

I knew this was good advice. It was bold, financially minded and forward-thinking. The only problem? I was terrible at sports.

But my clumsiness and athletic mediocrity weren’t going to stop me. I chose tennis, and for years, I took lessons and played with my mom after school. I didn’t love the game, but I stuck with it and put in countless hours sweating on the court.

Despite my efforts, when I got to high school, I tried out for the team and didn’t make it. I barely lost out on the last JV spot to a slow-moving junior. I was crushed. I cried to my dad that afternoon.

This happened a lot: my dad would give me smart advice, I’d follow it and I’d end up feeling lost or disappointed for one reason or another.

One year, Dad encouraged me to take horseback riding lessons. He loved horses and thought it would be a good thing to bond over. But I was so terrified of animals that I could barely go up to even the littlest pony and pet it on the nose.

Another time, he told me the best jobs would be in Stem and advised me to study up on the sciences. He even bought me a telescope to look at stars. I wanted to be interested, but I just wasn’t excited by constellations or even the moon.

I was frustrated. There I was, lucky enough to have a smart dad who knew a lot. And........

© The Guardian