Sherlock Holmes, I am not.

I get personal reminders of this now and then. Besides being embarrassing, they are deflating moments. Tough on my ego.

Little things happen that shatter a fantasy I have had since I was a teen, reading the adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Holmes was amazing. His powers of observation seemed so simple and logical, I told myself as I read story after story of his exploits. I never gave up on the hope that I could build my powers of observation. This became even more important when I jumped into a journalism career.

But alas ... I am a simple human being doing what comes naturally. Instead of tuning in to the world around me, I wander off in many directions. I tune it all out so I can see what I want to see. Then reality slaps me upside the head. Such an awakening occurred on Monday.

We were enjoying our getaway spot along a series of waterways linking some small lakes. It’s perfect for kayaking, which my wife enjoys. I stayed behind to peck on a laptop while she paddled off to explore and enjoy nature and sunshine. Her orange kayak was easy to spot from a distance.

I was outside on the deck, but also keeping a watchful eye on the water. I wanted to be ready to help her beach the craft and climb out when she returned. I was surprised, however, when I saw the orange sliver nosing down the canal. It had been less than an hour since she took off.

From the edge of the dock, I shouted, “You weren’t gone very long.” There was no response as she swiveled the kayak away from our landing zone. “Aren’t you coming in now?” I asked. Finally, she replied.

“I don’t know you,” said the strange woman as she paddled away.

“Oh, sorry,” I said, mumbling something about my wife also in an orange kayak.

So, yeah. Sherlock Holmes, I am not. I looked at this woman but did not see her. All I saw was an orange kayak. And there’s the whole woman in the vessel factor. In the distance, I had already checked her off as my wife because she was wearing a hat. It looked nothing like my wife’s hat, but it was a hat.

So the only clues my deductive skills needed to see were an orange kayak on the bottom and a hat on top. My clever logic filled in the gap ... that being the woman in between.

“I don’t know you.” Yep. I felt that slap upside my head right about then.

I’m telling this embarrassing story because it’s funny. But also, it blends well with a relatable observation by James Clear, who I consider an expert in time-life management strategies that he details in his book “Atomic Habits.” I am on an email list and receive insightful quotes and ideas from Clear each week.

He recently noted the following from computer scientist Alan Kay, who reminds us that our perceptions are limited:

“A frog’s brain is set up to recognize food as moving objects that are oblong in shape. So if we take a frog’s normal food – flies – paralyze them with a little chloroform and put them in front of the frog, it will not notice them or try to eat them. It will starve in front of its food! But if we throw little rectangular pieces of cardboard at the frog, it will eat them until it is stuffed! The frog only sees a little of the world we see, but it still thinks it perceives the whole world.

“Now, of course, we are not like frogs! Or are we?” (Source: “The Center of Why?” Nov. 11, 2004) Later in the talk, Kay says, “You can’t learn to see until you realize you are blind.”

I will not give up on my fantasy to build the intellect of a Sherlock Holmes. However, maybe I have a bigger problem to overcome first. I might need to leapfrog off this lily pad I’m on. To get a better look at the world around me. And to avoid eating cardboard.

• Lonny Cain, retired managing editor of The Times in Ottawa, also was a reporter for The Herald-News in Joliet in the 1970s. His PaperWork email is lonnyjcain@gmail.com. Or mail the NewsTribune, 426 Second St., La Salle IL 61301.