Last night I learned a few things...
I learned that I'm not savvy enough to wield a wok.
I learned that overheating your wok can produce humongous plumes of smoke.
I learned that in the face of humongous plumes of smoke, I tend to lose a sense of logic.
I learned that when your wok is pluming pluming smoke, the best course of action is probably to remove it from its heat source.
I learned that opening the back door of your apartment instead will do nothing to alleviate the problem and will, in fact, make it worse by setting off the building's fire alarms.
I learned that hearing the building's fire alarms will cause your neighbors to believe there is a fire in the building.
I learned that telling your neighbors there is no fire is probably more important than holding a fan pointed at the open window in your kitchen.
I learned that in the time you fail to inform your neighbors there is no emergency, they will go ahead and call 911.
I learned that the St. Paul fire department is very speedy.
I learned that a call of this magnitude will garner not one, not two, but three large fire trucks to arrive on your tiny street.
I learned that fireman do not enjoy being interrupted when they are talking into their radios.
I learned that the firefighters will insist on coming up to your apartment to make sure everything is OK, no matter how much you assure them it is.
I learned that a good way to enhance your embarrassment in this situation is to have glasses of wine sitting out when the fireman comes into your kitchen.
I learned that in the environment of mass panic, the word "wok" sounds exceptionally ridiculous, particularly between two firemen.
I learned that none of this is remotely cute or funny.
I learned that having fire trucks on the street causes neighbors from the entire street to emerge in curiosity.
I learned that it takes more time for the trucks to move from your street than it did for them to arrive in the first place.
And last, I learned that there is no amount of apologizing that can make you feel better about the mass disruption you've just caused or un-earn your new title as Worst Neighbor.
Think I should make everyone some cookies? Or does that seem like a pretty risky apology, given my history in the kitchen?
And that's why the doctor told me I would never wok again.
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
Teasing (Disclaimer: Soul-searching post here)
Just came across this wonderful post about teasing on Gretchen Rubin's Happiness Project blog.
Like Gretchen, I'd never thought much about teasing before now. I know I do it. That's for sure. And I know I've made concerted efforts over the past few years to become more sensitive to other people's feelings and to really reduce the sarcasm in my life. And I think I've done a good job so far. Certainly there are slip ups, but for the most part, I think I've figured out when teasing is and isn't a good idea.
Usually my teasing takes the form of adoration - other people's quirks just charm the heck out of me, and I want to express that to them. So I gently tease. I cajole. (Or at least, I think I'm being gentle. I hope.)
And I, like many commenters, take other people's teases as a form of flattery - they trust me enough to know I can take it. There are limits, sensitive subjects that will leave me feeling down, but for the most part I have a hearty self-deprecating spirit.
But what was most interesting to me after reading the comments was how people's family history with teasing shaped their perception of teasing on the whole.
A family of teasers
My family definitely teases. Sometimes lovingly. Sometimes hurtfully.
My mom comes from a family of loving teasers, but she is very sensitive to their remarks. No blame on either party here. They love and genuinely want to help each other by pointing out areas they could improve.
Unfortunately for my mother, she is probably the most sensitive of all six siblings. She developed a defensive form of teasing - one that flails and can be quite mean at times. But she only deploys this when feeling cornered and never teased us about things like our social lives or appearance as children. (Maybe about our dancing, though.)
My father, on the other hand, came from a family of cruel teasers. They picked on him quite a bit, most likely because he was the kindest among them. I get the feeling this is the primary form of affection he received as a child. He now shows affection through teasing, though it's frequently ill received. It's a juvenile form of teasing, often inappropriately used. He has had a lot of trouble at work because of this, and he can be quite offensive to those who don't know him. He's the kind of guy who will question your masculinity for wearing a pink shirt but will mean it with the best of intentions.
Thanks to my father, I developed a thick skin. Thanks to my mother, I learned to not get too defensive. Thanks to my mother's family, I learned how to tease out of love.
But it took me many years of alienating people and offending them to learn how to tease skillfully. I've put off more people than I care to admit in my time. The thing that was hardest for me to learn (and I'm still working on) was that I could offend one person by teasing another. For instance, saying of a workout video character, "She really needs to reevaluate her bangs," could cause my neighbor to become worried about what I think of her own hair.
To me, this feels like hypersensitivity, but I understand it and am willing to accommodate it. It takes practice, for sure.
But I still find myself teasing a great deal. I tease my husband for his habit of immediately Googling the menu of any restaurant we're considering trying, knowing what he'll order before we leave the house. And he teases me for my obsession with plucking gray hairs from my head. I tease my mom for never wearing her reading glasses and always holding her menus at arm's length. And she teases me for my hypochondria.
But those are my two closest and most loving relationships. Next is my sister, who I've learned hates to be teased. I do my best not to tease her at all (though this is a deeply embedded habit that I've still not fully eradicated).
Now I'm wondering about my little brother, who just graduated high school. He seemed irritated by the fact that he didn't get high honors and that people who loaded up on easy classes did. I wonder if it was hurtful when I wrote on his graduation card, "You did it! With medium honors!" Until now, I assumed he'd appreciate the joke, that it would give him an excuse to laugh about an irritating situation. But maybe it just hurt.
Wow. When I started this post, I was of the impression I was a good teaser, but now I'm not so sure. I'm improved, definitely. But it seems I may have further to go than I'd imagined.
Gretchen's teasing post has given me a lot to think about. I'm not sure I have a satisfactory conclusion to offer. I'm left just hanging, wishing I knew the answer.
[Update: Before I could publish this, I had to call my brother and apologize for my insensitive remarks. I asked if it had bothered him, and he said, "No...?" Then he wished me luck calling everyone I've wronged. "With the way our family works, you may be calling for a long time."]
Like Gretchen, I'd never thought much about teasing before now. I know I do it. That's for sure. And I know I've made concerted efforts over the past few years to become more sensitive to other people's feelings and to really reduce the sarcasm in my life. And I think I've done a good job so far. Certainly there are slip ups, but for the most part, I think I've figured out when teasing is and isn't a good idea.
Usually my teasing takes the form of adoration - other people's quirks just charm the heck out of me, and I want to express that to them. So I gently tease. I cajole. (Or at least, I think I'm being gentle. I hope.)
And I, like many commenters, take other people's teases as a form of flattery - they trust me enough to know I can take it. There are limits, sensitive subjects that will leave me feeling down, but for the most part I have a hearty self-deprecating spirit.
But what was most interesting to me after reading the comments was how people's family history with teasing shaped their perception of teasing on the whole.
A family of teasers
My family definitely teases. Sometimes lovingly. Sometimes hurtfully.
My mom comes from a family of loving teasers, but she is very sensitive to their remarks. No blame on either party here. They love and genuinely want to help each other by pointing out areas they could improve.
Unfortunately for my mother, she is probably the most sensitive of all six siblings. She developed a defensive form of teasing - one that flails and can be quite mean at times. But she only deploys this when feeling cornered and never teased us about things like our social lives or appearance as children. (Maybe about our dancing, though.)
My father, on the other hand, came from a family of cruel teasers. They picked on him quite a bit, most likely because he was the kindest among them. I get the feeling this is the primary form of affection he received as a child. He now shows affection through teasing, though it's frequently ill received. It's a juvenile form of teasing, often inappropriately used. He has had a lot of trouble at work because of this, and he can be quite offensive to those who don't know him. He's the kind of guy who will question your masculinity for wearing a pink shirt but will mean it with the best of intentions.
Thanks to my father, I developed a thick skin. Thanks to my mother, I learned to not get too defensive. Thanks to my mother's family, I learned how to tease out of love.
But it took me many years of alienating people and offending them to learn how to tease skillfully. I've put off more people than I care to admit in my time. The thing that was hardest for me to learn (and I'm still working on) was that I could offend one person by teasing another. For instance, saying of a workout video character, "She really needs to reevaluate her bangs," could cause my neighbor to become worried about what I think of her own hair.
To me, this feels like hypersensitivity, but I understand it and am willing to accommodate it. It takes practice, for sure.
But I still find myself teasing a great deal. I tease my husband for his habit of immediately Googling the menu of any restaurant we're considering trying, knowing what he'll order before we leave the house. And he teases me for my obsession with plucking gray hairs from my head. I tease my mom for never wearing her reading glasses and always holding her menus at arm's length. And she teases me for my hypochondria.
But those are my two closest and most loving relationships. Next is my sister, who I've learned hates to be teased. I do my best not to tease her at all (though this is a deeply embedded habit that I've still not fully eradicated).
Now I'm wondering about my little brother, who just graduated high school. He seemed irritated by the fact that he didn't get high honors and that people who loaded up on easy classes did. I wonder if it was hurtful when I wrote on his graduation card, "You did it! With medium honors!" Until now, I assumed he'd appreciate the joke, that it would give him an excuse to laugh about an irritating situation. But maybe it just hurt.
Wow. When I started this post, I was of the impression I was a good teaser, but now I'm not so sure. I'm improved, definitely. But it seems I may have further to go than I'd imagined.
Gretchen's teasing post has given me a lot to think about. I'm not sure I have a satisfactory conclusion to offer. I'm left just hanging, wishing I knew the answer.
[Update: Before I could publish this, I had to call my brother and apologize for my insensitive remarks. I asked if it had bothered him, and he said, "No...?" Then he wished me luck calling everyone I've wronged. "With the way our family works, you may be calling for a long time."]
Monday, May 17, 2010
Fits of fancy
I'm prone to short-lived bouts of infatuation with various things - food, people, topics, activities, routines, even punctuation marks. Something will pique my interest, and then I'll entertain myself with it till I tire of it and move on. I'm sure there's something to be said about my perseverance in this trait, but that's not what I'm here to talk about.
I'm here to talk about people.
Like with anything, I sometimes get very interested in certain people. And thanks to social media, it's alarmingly easy to find out a great deal about someone's life. Through just a few clicks, you can learn who someone is married to, how old their children are, where they work, why their last relationship ended, the last place they went for drinks, what they drank, etc.
Often people use ugly words for this sort of curiosity, referring to it as "stalking" or "lurking," and I can't blame them. It's creepy to think that someone would follow every word you say, would know more about you than you think they should. We all assume people are occasionally tuning in for glimpses of our life, not reading the novel all in one sitting.
But what happens when a fit of fancy causes me to idly meander through your musings, tweet after tweet, post after post. Within 20 minutes, I know a whole hell of a lot about you. And suddenly, without even realizing it, I've accidentally surpassed the socially appropriate amount of knowledge for two quasi-strangers to have about each other. Yet all I've done is consume content you've made public.
My own curiosity, my inquisitive nature, has made me uncomfortable on many occasions. I don't mean to learn so much about people, but the voyeur in me always wins.
And you put the content out there.
I say this because although many of us preach the importance of safeguarding your online presence, few of us really comprehend how much of ourselves we share with the world (not sure I'm among them).
Personally, I'm a bit of an exhibitionist - I'll be flattered if you know anything about me. But others seem to almost recoil when you know something about them. And as a consumer, I don't think the burden should be on me to stop when you feel I've had enough. The burden should be on you to only give me what makes you comfortable.
Maybe that makes me a creeper, a lurker, a stalker, or any number of unpleasant monikers. Or maybe that just makes me honest. I have a sneaking suspicion we're all consuming much more of each other's content than we're willing to let on, and these ugly labels are just cover for embarrassment about our own voyeurism.
But then again, maybe it's just me. Feel free to block my creeper bum now. (After you've commented to prove that you're not lurking, of course.)
I'm here to talk about people.
Like with anything, I sometimes get very interested in certain people. And thanks to social media, it's alarmingly easy to find out a great deal about someone's life. Through just a few clicks, you can learn who someone is married to, how old their children are, where they work, why their last relationship ended, the last place they went for drinks, what they drank, etc.
Often people use ugly words for this sort of curiosity, referring to it as "stalking" or "lurking," and I can't blame them. It's creepy to think that someone would follow every word you say, would know more about you than you think they should. We all assume people are occasionally tuning in for glimpses of our life, not reading the novel all in one sitting.
But what happens when a fit of fancy causes me to idly meander through your musings, tweet after tweet, post after post. Within 20 minutes, I know a whole hell of a lot about you. And suddenly, without even realizing it, I've accidentally surpassed the socially appropriate amount of knowledge for two quasi-strangers to have about each other. Yet all I've done is consume content you've made public.
My own curiosity, my inquisitive nature, has made me uncomfortable on many occasions. I don't mean to learn so much about people, but the voyeur in me always wins.
And you put the content out there.
I say this because although many of us preach the importance of safeguarding your online presence, few of us really comprehend how much of ourselves we share with the world (not sure I'm among them).
Personally, I'm a bit of an exhibitionist - I'll be flattered if you know anything about me. But others seem to almost recoil when you know something about them. And as a consumer, I don't think the burden should be on me to stop when you feel I've had enough. The burden should be on you to only give me what makes you comfortable.
Maybe that makes me a creeper, a lurker, a stalker, or any number of unpleasant monikers. Or maybe that just makes me honest. I have a sneaking suspicion we're all consuming much more of each other's content than we're willing to let on, and these ugly labels are just cover for embarrassment about our own voyeurism.
But then again, maybe it's just me. Feel free to block my creeper bum now. (After you've commented to prove that you're not lurking, of course.)
Friday, May 07, 2010
Women, language, and the onus
Women, it's time to stop referring to yourselves and letting others refer to us as "girls." If you are 20 or older, I've got news for you: you're a woman.
The term "girl" is diminutive and serves to keep us down. We are not children. We are adults and should be referred to as such.
I will grant you that in college you can still get by with "boys" and "girls," but I'm not talking about exceptions to the rule here. On a daily basis, people say things like, "She's a really sexy girl" (let's hope you mean "woman," or we've got a problem) or "We need more girls on the field" (really? will third graders help this team win?).
Stop it. You are referring to grown, adult women. We are not lesser individuals and do not need to accept a pint-sized moniker.
Men do no tolerate this. They don't have to. How often do you hear any man older than, say, 23 referred to as a "boy"? Yes, men have a handy non-committal term in the form of "guy," but that does not excuse this inequity.
And guess what? The onus is on us. We have to consciously use the right language and correct people when they say "girl" but mean "woman." It's up to us to own it.
It may feel awkward at first, but it's up to us to correct and educate. Don't be afraid to stand up for your adulthood.
Step up. Take a stand. One woman at a time, we can work our way toward an environment of equality.
The term "girl" is diminutive and serves to keep us down. We are not children. We are adults and should be referred to as such.
I will grant you that in college you can still get by with "boys" and "girls," but I'm not talking about exceptions to the rule here. On a daily basis, people say things like, "She's a really sexy girl" (let's hope you mean "woman," or we've got a problem) or "We need more girls on the field" (really? will third graders help this team win?).
Stop it. You are referring to grown, adult women. We are not lesser individuals and do not need to accept a pint-sized moniker.
Men do no tolerate this. They don't have to. How often do you hear any man older than, say, 23 referred to as a "boy"? Yes, men have a handy non-committal term in the form of "guy," but that does not excuse this inequity.
And guess what? The onus is on us. We have to consciously use the right language and correct people when they say "girl" but mean "woman." It's up to us to own it.
It may feel awkward at first, but it's up to us to correct and educate. Don't be afraid to stand up for your adulthood.
Step up. Take a stand. One woman at a time, we can work our way toward an environment of equality.
Thursday, May 06, 2010
Being transparent
My immediate reaction when I hear about someone placing a high value on her privacy is, "Why? What do you have to hide? Or what are you unwilling to share?"
For me, sharing myself is a way to connect with people. Have you ever noticed how receptive people are when you are genuinely open and giving of yourself? It puts people at ease. The more open you are with yourself, the more likely it is that someone will find something about you they can relate to.
Certainly, there is such a thing as overshare. I'm not going to go around announcing every time I burn the rice or buy a new bottle of shampoo (unless, of course, either incident was particularly spectacular). That would be obnoxious and dull.
But when someone wants to have a genuine conversation, why would I hoard information about my life from that person? What if they want to know about the kind of milk I buy? What if they're apartment hunting in my neighborhood? What if they want to talk about how to choose cat litter?
Most human interaction is an exchange of information about life's mundane details. Being online simply helps you interact with (share mundane details with) more people in a broader scope. You broadcast your life, and you find more and more people who can relate to you.
I'm not sure why technology makes that concept seem so convoluted. It's simple, really. We've always known it. "Give yourself, if you wish to get others." - David Seabury
For me, sharing myself is a way to connect with people. Have you ever noticed how receptive people are when you are genuinely open and giving of yourself? It puts people at ease. The more open you are with yourself, the more likely it is that someone will find something about you they can relate to.
Certainly, there is such a thing as overshare. I'm not going to go around announcing every time I burn the rice or buy a new bottle of shampoo (unless, of course, either incident was particularly spectacular). That would be obnoxious and dull.
But when someone wants to have a genuine conversation, why would I hoard information about my life from that person? What if they want to know about the kind of milk I buy? What if they're apartment hunting in my neighborhood? What if they want to talk about how to choose cat litter?
Most human interaction is an exchange of information about life's mundane details. Being online simply helps you interact with (share mundane details with) more people in a broader scope. You broadcast your life, and you find more and more people who can relate to you.
I'm not sure why technology makes that concept seem so convoluted. It's simple, really. We've always known it. "Give yourself, if you wish to get others." - David Seabury
Monday, May 03, 2010
Too funny
Couldn't resist sharing this adorable moment. Scene: we're in Chicago catching up with friends at Goose Island Brewery, and the subject of riding the "L" trains came up.
Me: "I was really happy that we took the trains in an English-speaking country before heading to Germany this fall, because I wasn't sure if Husband had ever ridden trains like that before."
Friend to Husband: "Was this your first time?"
Husband: "Yep ... Well, I guess I rode the monorail at Epcot once."
Me: "I was really happy that we took the trains in an English-speaking country before heading to Germany this fall, because I wasn't sure if Husband had ever ridden trains like that before."
Friend to Husband: "Was this your first time?"
Husband: "Yep ... Well, I guess I rode the monorail at Epcot once."
Monday, April 26, 2010
Buddhism and art
Been reading up on Buddhism lately. Not sure why exactly, but I felt compelled to learn more, so I picked up Awakening the Buddha Within by Lama Surya Das.
Like any religion, it has its believable moments and its hogwash, though I find its believable moments to be somewhat more believable than most. As far as I can tell, it seems to be less about self sacrifice and living for others than most religions and more about finding inner peace so you can be a guiding light.
Then again, that sounds an awful lot like Christianity, doesn't it? Hmm...
Well, anyway, I came across a passage today that struck me in a peculiar way. It's talking about a man who was preparing for a solitary meditation retreat with a mind to record his epiphanies on a notepad and turn them into haiku. His mentor was not too keen on this idea and snatched the notepad from him:
This one sentence was a serious jolt to me. I was particularly bothered by "the display cases of artistic ambition," having always been of the impression that creating art is an incredibly valuable, spiritual experience.
He goes on to say that you need to experience each moment because the joy of living life is "inexhaustibly rich" (a point with which I agree wholeheartedly):
Is that really what art is? A big, frothy pile of foam? Isn't it the collective catalog of human ambition, desire, pain, and joy? Isn't it the one thing that separates us from animals, our ability to imagine the world not only as it is but as it could be? Isn't it the greatest gift we can give the world?
Thinking I must be mistaken, I waited for the sentence I knew was coming - the one in all nonfiction immediately following a bold idea, which softens and partially repeals the bold statement, providing great comfort to those whose worlds had just been upturned - but it didn't come.
Those words are just sitting in my brain like a heavy meal sits in your stomach, and the same questions linger. Will I be able to digest this thing and turn it into something useful, or will I have to expel it from me by force?
On one hand, I agree that experiencing individual moments is a source of pure and instant joy. Have you ever stopped in your tracks to notice the way a streetlamp illuminates a tree's leaves against a late evening sky? Have you ever noticed the very first breath of autumn? Have you ever reveled in the sublime comfort of finding exactly the right position on your pillow?
Moments like these are joyous and transient. They punctuate our lives with deep connections to our immediate present.
But I like to think these moments are made more powerful by the running inner monologue - the one that's constantly noticing, recording, remembering the thought bubbles, the flotsam, the jetsam. If it weren't for this acute awareness of our thoughts, would we be so in tune to our senses?
Isn't it the very desire to create art that leads us to lucid awareness of what we're experiencing at any moment?
If I had no desire to record my thought bubbles, would I even notice them? Would moments just pass me by as I wandered aimlessly through a sensory life?
Surely centuries of human artistry cannot be wrong; there is great value in art. Most certainly, there is.
Yet I wonder, if so many Buddhists appear so happy, do they know better? Is art a distraction from life rather than a celebration of it?
Like any religion, it has its believable moments and its hogwash, though I find its believable moments to be somewhat more believable than most. As far as I can tell, it seems to be less about self sacrifice and living for others than most religions and more about finding inner peace so you can be a guiding light.
Then again, that sounds an awful lot like Christianity, doesn't it? Hmm...
Well, anyway, I came across a passage today that struck me in a peculiar way. It's talking about a man who was preparing for a solitary meditation retreat with a mind to record his epiphanies on a notepad and turn them into haiku. His mentor was not too keen on this idea and snatched the notepad from him:
He exhorted Ginsberg simply to be aware of the ongoing process of transparent awareness itself, rather than getting caught up in collecting the flotsam and jetsam of the mind and continuously rearranging its contents in the display cases of artistic ambition.
This one sentence was a serious jolt to me. I was particularly bothered by "the display cases of artistic ambition," having always been of the impression that creating art is an incredibly valuable, spiritual experience.
He goes on to say that you need to experience each moment because the joy of living life is "inexhaustibly rich" (a point with which I agree wholeheartedly):
Not like those little thought bubbles we are always trying to collect so that at least we have something to show for ourselves - a whole pile of little thought bubbles on a pad, big deal! Is that all we shall have at the sunset of our lives, a big, frothy pile of foam?
Is that really what art is? A big, frothy pile of foam? Isn't it the collective catalog of human ambition, desire, pain, and joy? Isn't it the one thing that separates us from animals, our ability to imagine the world not only as it is but as it could be? Isn't it the greatest gift we can give the world?
Thinking I must be mistaken, I waited for the sentence I knew was coming - the one in all nonfiction immediately following a bold idea, which softens and partially repeals the bold statement, providing great comfort to those whose worlds had just been upturned - but it didn't come.
Those words are just sitting in my brain like a heavy meal sits in your stomach, and the same questions linger. Will I be able to digest this thing and turn it into something useful, or will I have to expel it from me by force?
On one hand, I agree that experiencing individual moments is a source of pure and instant joy. Have you ever stopped in your tracks to notice the way a streetlamp illuminates a tree's leaves against a late evening sky? Have you ever noticed the very first breath of autumn? Have you ever reveled in the sublime comfort of finding exactly the right position on your pillow?
Moments like these are joyous and transient. They punctuate our lives with deep connections to our immediate present.
But I like to think these moments are made more powerful by the running inner monologue - the one that's constantly noticing, recording, remembering the thought bubbles, the flotsam, the jetsam. If it weren't for this acute awareness of our thoughts, would we be so in tune to our senses?
Isn't it the very desire to create art that leads us to lucid awareness of what we're experiencing at any moment?
If I had no desire to record my thought bubbles, would I even notice them? Would moments just pass me by as I wandered aimlessly through a sensory life?
Surely centuries of human artistry cannot be wrong; there is great value in art. Most certainly, there is.
Yet I wonder, if so many Buddhists appear so happy, do they know better? Is art a distraction from life rather than a celebration of it?
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Irreverence
I am often irreverent. This may very well be the quality with which I grapple most, waffling between prizing and loathing it. And it may also be my most definitive quality.
In my previous post I talked about having waves of selfhood and needing to get back to being myself. Well, I am sorry to report pitiful progress, and I think it may be tied to irreverence.
After Ignite (yes, THAT word again), I was seriously mortified by my irreverence. How could I get up there and jest when so many people were taking it seriously?
You might guess that these feelings were triggered by a particular person, and you are correct. There was someone in the audience who I desperately wanted to impress and who was decidedly not impressed. I have plenty of good reasons for wanting to impress this person and thinking that irreverence would be a valued quality, but it seemed I was wrong. So I began to chastise myself for being so irreverent.
And then this person showed more signs of valuing irreverence, so I tried again and failed again. Several times. Each time was worse than the last. (You'd think I'd learn quicker, but you know how it is when you're really trying to be impressive.)
So over the past month and a half I've been gradually trying to shut down one of my definitive qualities.
Not surprisingly, my self esteem has plummeted and my relationships have suffered. I've shut myself off, found excuses not to participate. I've gained weight. I've wallowed. I've been a real bummer -- and much of it is rooted in the disapproval of someone to whom I am about as significant as the weather in Connecticut.
How silly, right?
Throughout all of this, I've been viewing irreverence through the lens of someone who disapproves: a defense mechanism, a way to avoid substance, not worth my time, etc.
But when I started to think about why I am so irreverent, why I so frequently crack wise, why I go on so many ridiculous tangents, I realized it all stems from my highly active imagination.
You cannot say the phrase "inject some rigor into this project" without me imagining a doctor inserting a giant needle into the forearm of an 8' Mexican wrestler, who immediately jumps up and ferociously growls, "Grrrrrr!!!" before bounding off. (P.S. His cape says "project.")
That's just how my brain works. I imagine all sorts of wild and crazy things. I see double entendres and puns and comedic images all the time.
Fortunately, my imagination also allows me to quickly see alternate solutions, crossed signals, audience needs, potential obstacles, etc. My imagination brings tremendous value to projects. It is perhaps my most valuable quality in the professional world, one I need to encourage and cultivate.
And yet, I can't expect my imagination to work in a business vacuum. If I don't exercise it, encourage it, embrace it, no matter what form it takes, it may atrophy or disappear entirely. I'm unwilling to take that chance.
I have to accept the bad with the good. I will always be a smart ass. It is a part of my identity and an unfortunate side effect of the wonderful gift of imagination.
So, although there may be smart assery, and although I may turn people off along the way, at the end of the day, I'll know that encouraging my imagination is the right thing to do. It's something I need to own, every day.
Hopefully this realization will help me get back to selfhood. I had a similar revelation about emotion a few years ago -- you have to let in the bad along with the good. As obvious as it seems, I needed to really learn that one, and it has made an enormous difference in my life. Perhaps this will do the same.
Perhaps.
P.S. This does not mean I'll stop working to discern between appropriate and inappropriate times to make jokes. It just means I'll try not to berate myself if I choose incorrectly.
In my previous post I talked about having waves of selfhood and needing to get back to being myself. Well, I am sorry to report pitiful progress, and I think it may be tied to irreverence.
After Ignite (yes, THAT word again), I was seriously mortified by my irreverence. How could I get up there and jest when so many people were taking it seriously?
You might guess that these feelings were triggered by a particular person, and you are correct. There was someone in the audience who I desperately wanted to impress and who was decidedly not impressed. I have plenty of good reasons for wanting to impress this person and thinking that irreverence would be a valued quality, but it seemed I was wrong. So I began to chastise myself for being so irreverent.
And then this person showed more signs of valuing irreverence, so I tried again and failed again. Several times. Each time was worse than the last. (You'd think I'd learn quicker, but you know how it is when you're really trying to be impressive.)
So over the past month and a half I've been gradually trying to shut down one of my definitive qualities.
Not surprisingly, my self esteem has plummeted and my relationships have suffered. I've shut myself off, found excuses not to participate. I've gained weight. I've wallowed. I've been a real bummer -- and much of it is rooted in the disapproval of someone to whom I am about as significant as the weather in Connecticut.
How silly, right?
Throughout all of this, I've been viewing irreverence through the lens of someone who disapproves: a defense mechanism, a way to avoid substance, not worth my time, etc.
But when I started to think about why I am so irreverent, why I so frequently crack wise, why I go on so many ridiculous tangents, I realized it all stems from my highly active imagination.
You cannot say the phrase "inject some rigor into this project" without me imagining a doctor inserting a giant needle into the forearm of an 8' Mexican wrestler, who immediately jumps up and ferociously growls, "Grrrrrr!!!" before bounding off. (P.S. His cape says "project.")
That's just how my brain works. I imagine all sorts of wild and crazy things. I see double entendres and puns and comedic images all the time.
Fortunately, my imagination also allows me to quickly see alternate solutions, crossed signals, audience needs, potential obstacles, etc. My imagination brings tremendous value to projects. It is perhaps my most valuable quality in the professional world, one I need to encourage and cultivate.
And yet, I can't expect my imagination to work in a business vacuum. If I don't exercise it, encourage it, embrace it, no matter what form it takes, it may atrophy or disappear entirely. I'm unwilling to take that chance.
I have to accept the bad with the good. I will always be a smart ass. It is a part of my identity and an unfortunate side effect of the wonderful gift of imagination.
So, although there may be smart assery, and although I may turn people off along the way, at the end of the day, I'll know that encouraging my imagination is the right thing to do. It's something I need to own, every day.
Hopefully this realization will help me get back to selfhood. I had a similar revelation about emotion a few years ago -- you have to let in the bad along with the good. As obvious as it seems, I needed to really learn that one, and it has made an enormous difference in my life. Perhaps this will do the same.
Perhaps.
P.S. This does not mean I'll stop working to discern between appropriate and inappropriate times to make jokes. It just means I'll try not to berate myself if I choose incorrectly.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Perfection as a barrier to participation
One of the things that keeps me going is my belief that people, as a general rule, seek to improve. I look at science and technology as the iconic illumination of this theory. Humans want to find more knowledge and improve existing practices. We, as a species, are progressive.
As a result, we idolize those we perceive to be better than we are. Look at Hollywood and our culture of celebrity obsession. These people are famous because, for some reason or other -- be it riches, beauty, connection, talent, or luck -- these people have something we don't. They are in some way superior to the rest of us, and for that we place them on a pedestal for worship.
This is also why we have awards. We want to recognize those of us who achieve more in their pursuits than anyone else. We want to encourage competition and acknowledge the winner. We want everyone to constantly try to do more, to reach further, to be the best.
---
Today, in a brief exchange with one of my Tweeps (@TheBeanCast), I was not surprised to learn that studies by award agencies show that one of the major barriers to participation is intimidation. Of course it is. Being the astute folks that they are, smart media and marketing people are aware of the importance we place on excellence, and so they cram it down our throats. We are fed examples of greatness as an ideal to strive for.
From a real-person perspective, when I see someone who has done something amazing, often instead of thinking "I could do that too!?" I think, "Wow. What an incredible person. I wish I could be like that." And with that sentiment, I resign myself to failure before I've even ventured to try.
This is a marketing dilemma I face frequently. I want to showcase the best and the brightest, the most remarkable stories... But do people relate better to something more attainable?
As a marketing professional, the problem is not terribly troubling. It's just a matter of finding stories that are inspiring but not intimidating.
But as a regular person, this intimidation truly inhibits me. I see myself passing up opportunities, because I assume I'm not good enough, or I tell myself I'll wait until I've improved X, Y, or Z before I'll even attempt to participate. But how will I ever improve or learn if I don't throw myself into the mix?
--
Are we wrong to be idolizing exceptional people? Or is it necessary as a part of human nature to establish an ideal, to set our sights on a goal?
As I began to write this, I thought I knew the answer, but I am afraid I've backed myself into a philosophical corner. Maybe it is just the years of social conditioning telling me to seek inspiration from celebrity icons. Or maybe it actually makes sense. I'm not sure anymore.
I welcome and encourage comments from any passersby. Just starting to get serious about this blog, so I appreciate your help getting it started.
As a result, we idolize those we perceive to be better than we are. Look at Hollywood and our culture of celebrity obsession. These people are famous because, for some reason or other -- be it riches, beauty, connection, talent, or luck -- these people have something we don't. They are in some way superior to the rest of us, and for that we place them on a pedestal for worship.
This is also why we have awards. We want to recognize those of us who achieve more in their pursuits than anyone else. We want to encourage competition and acknowledge the winner. We want everyone to constantly try to do more, to reach further, to be the best.
---
Today, in a brief exchange with one of my Tweeps (@TheBeanCast), I was not surprised to learn that studies by award agencies show that one of the major barriers to participation is intimidation. Of course it is. Being the astute folks that they are, smart media and marketing people are aware of the importance we place on excellence, and so they cram it down our throats. We are fed examples of greatness as an ideal to strive for.
From a real-person perspective, when I see someone who has done something amazing, often instead of thinking "I could do that too!?" I think, "Wow. What an incredible person. I wish I could be like that." And with that sentiment, I resign myself to failure before I've even ventured to try.
This is a marketing dilemma I face frequently. I want to showcase the best and the brightest, the most remarkable stories... But do people relate better to something more attainable?
As a marketing professional, the problem is not terribly troubling. It's just a matter of finding stories that are inspiring but not intimidating.
But as a regular person, this intimidation truly inhibits me. I see myself passing up opportunities, because I assume I'm not good enough, or I tell myself I'll wait until I've improved X, Y, or Z before I'll even attempt to participate. But how will I ever improve or learn if I don't throw myself into the mix?
--
Are we wrong to be idolizing exceptional people? Or is it necessary as a part of human nature to establish an ideal, to set our sights on a goal?
As I began to write this, I thought I knew the answer, but I am afraid I've backed myself into a philosophical corner. Maybe it is just the years of social conditioning telling me to seek inspiration from celebrity icons. Or maybe it actually makes sense. I'm not sure anymore.
I welcome and encourage comments from any passersby. Just starting to get serious about this blog, so I appreciate your help getting it started.
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