We all remember the old story of Goldilocks, who wandered into the home of three bears during a walk in the woods. On the kitchen table she found three bowls of porridge. One was too hot; one was too cold; but the third was just right, and Goldilocks ate it all. Then she walked into the living room to rest in a chair. The first chair was too big, and so was the second. The third and smallest one was just right, but as Goldilocks settled into it, the chair broke into pieces. Still tired, she wandered upstairs to the bedroom and found three beds. She tested them all as she had the porridge and chairs, finding the third bed just right.

This story illustrates a key analytical process that supports generalism: using all of one’s senses to determine which process, outcome, product, or individual seems to be the best fit. It’s about “wearing” (or owning) your decisions. It’s about making the choice that best fits you because it must serve you.

Papa Bear’s porridge was fine for him. Mama Bear’s chair was best for her. But not for Goldilocks. She had to make her own decision based on her own needs and desires. She had to find which porridge suited her best, which chair was most comfortable and sturdy, and which bed provided her the best nap.

This is a crucial process for good generalist. Which suits? Which lasts? Which works best? Given all the analytical and quantitative measures, the final test should be that of the Three Bears story.

The Academy Award-winning film is based on actual events in the lives of King George VI and an Australian speech therapist, Lionel Logue. The future king (at that time known as Prince Albert, Duke of York) turns to Logue as his last hope in overcoming a severe stammer. The rest of the movie shows both the progress of the therapy and the development of the two men’s friendship over the course of several years.

It’s a compelling film on many levels. But as someone who’s interested in empowering non-specialists to work more confidently with specialists, I was particularly struck by what The King’s Speech has to say about expertise, confidence, and self-worth. Here are four truths we can learn from the movie.

Specialists are no guarantee of success

An early scene shows the Duke of York being treated by a specialist (evidently the latest in a long series of them) whose treatment includes placing marbles in the duke’s mouth. This expert no doubt had impressive credentials, but his techniques were of no help at all.

I don’t mean to imply that specialists aren’t useful. As the movie goes on to show, another specialist (Logue) not only helped the king, but changed the course of his life.

Just remember that the act of bringing in a specialist, all by itself, does not guarantee success. You need to do your part. That includes carefully choosing a competent expert, asking plenty of questions, making your desires known, and holding the specialist accountable. Otherwise, you may end up with a mouth full of marbles.

Even kings have confidence issues

The film portrays a future king who is not only justifiably terrified of speaking in public, but overwhelmed, at least momentarily, by the prospect of bearing the burdens of monarchy while global war looms on the horizon. Most of us, thankfully, don’t have such an enormous level of responsibility. But many of us lack confidence in our own knowledge and abilities.

One of my goals in writing about generalism is to help you develop that confidence. Whether you’re taking your desktop computer to be repaired or asking for an update on a multimillion-dollar construction project, don’t let yourself be intimidated. As the owner of the computer, or the manager of the construction project, you’re the “king.” Square your shoulders and, as George VI eventually did, demand the respect that is your due.

Success is measured by results

One of the crucial scenes in the movie occurs in Westminster Abbey on the eve of the coronation ceremony. The Archbishop of Canterbury, believing that Logue is not an appropriate person to treat the king’s speech impediment, has had the commoner’s background checked. The archbishop informs the king that Logue lacks proper credentials—in fact, he’s not even a doctor.

The king, who from the beginning has unwittingly been addressing his therapist as “Dr. Logue,” is quietly infuriated. After dismissing everyone else, he confronts Logue, accusing him of fraud.

Logue responds by citing his true credentials: experience. He discovered his calling by helping soldiers who returned from the Great War shell-shocked and unable to speak. Logue pressed beyond traditional muscle therapy and relaxation, empowering the soldiers to find their voices by giving them confidence that a friend was listening. His success was unprecedented.

When recruiting a specialist to help you succeed, remember that credentials do matter—but they’re not always found on a piece of paper. Proven results are more valuable than any diploma.

We all have voices

After Logue defends his qualifications, the king, unconvinced, turns his back and walks a short distance away. He bitterly describes what he envisions as the inevitable outcome of Logue’s supposed fraud: a voiceless king who will let his people down in their hour of need. Once again, the reluctant ruler reveals his inner lack of confidence.

Turning back, the king is shocked to see Logue casually perched on the coronation throne as if it were a lawn chair at a garden party. Furious at this outrageous breach of etiquette, the king sputters at Logue, ordering him to get up at once. Logue stays put. He makes light of the throne and the monarchy, goading the king into becoming more and more angry. Finally Logue asks, “Why should I waste my time listening to you?” The king bellows, without no trace of a stammer, “Because I have a right to be heard—I have a voice!”

“Yes, you do,” Logue quietly responds, rising from his seat on the throne. He assures the monarch that he will, indeed, be a good king.

King George VI literally found his voice by overcoming his stammer. The film paints a portrait of a man who also found his metaphorical voice: his confidence. Before he could rule, he had to see himself as worthy of commanding others’ respect.

We all have that same right to be heard. Don’t let specialists intimidate you, belittle your knowledge, or brush aside your needs and concerns. Find your voice—and use it to get what you want.

Society steers us toward specializing, and specialist skills are certainly in demand. But success is also highly dependent on our generalist skills.

A study released in January 2012 reinforces this point. It shows that college graduates who scored relatively high on a test that measures general skills, such as critical thinking and problem solving, were three times less likely to be unemployed than graduates who had relatively low scores.

The test in question is the Collegiate Learning Assessment (CLA), which presents students with realistic problems. To solve them, students must analyze complex materials and evaluate whether they are relevant and credible. According to the test’s developer, the Council for Aid to Education, student’s responses reveal “their abilities to think critically, reason analytically, solve problems and communicate clearly and cogently.”

The study–—published by the Social Science Research Council under the title “Documenting Uncertain Times”—followed up with recent college graduates who had taken the CLA as seniors. Among those whose CLA scores were in the highest one-fifth of the group, a little over 3 percent were unemployed, compared to 9.6 percent of those whose scores were in the bottom one-fifth.

Richard Arum, the study’s lead author, was quoted in a USA Today article as saying, “Students would do well to appreciate the extent to which their development of general skills, not just majors and institution attended, is related to successful adult transitions.”

The study doesn’t dispute the value of being a specialist. But it suggests that in today’s highly competitive job market, developing strong skills in generalism can give you an edge.

Just as important, I learned how to command respect from specialists. As a woman and a non-specialist, I often faced questions like “What’s your engineering degree in?” (I don’t have one) or skeptical glances that seemed to say “What do you know about this, little girl?” But in many cases, I was the one who prevented mistakes and got the project back on track by asking the common-sense questions that the “experts” had missed.

Through these and other experiences, I gradually developed the skills and strategies that I’m sharing on this website. For years I didn’t know how to explain what I do for a living, but now I have a name for it—I’m a generalist.