For Aspiring "Know-It-Alls" . . . (It's Not What You Think)

So tired of it I finally kicked it. I think.

All my life I have felt the need to apologize for being good at certain things because my particular abilities made other people uncomfortable. Well, not everyone obviously, but some people.

I won't tell you how old I am to save you the sudden rush of discomfort that inevitably follows such an admission, either because you pity me for taking so long to get to this point or because you are older than I am and haven't arrived there yet yourself. Either way . . .

I was watching an episode of "Mad Men" recently in which the lead character, Don Draper, tells a young female employee, Peggy, who aspires to climb the ranks in the advertising world by using her talents in that arena (God forbid!) that she should never apologize for doing something well. She felt guilty for succeeding. Something clicked.

In any case, I verbalized to myself out loud this morning that I refuse to apologize for being good at the things I am good at. Period. God gave each of us our gifts in the expectation that we would use them appropriately, and it is not possible to use them appropriately if you keep them locked in a dark safe so that they might not offend.

Besides, it is glaringly apparent that some people aren't bothered in the least that they might be offending others, even when they are obviously in the wrong. So why should I make myself a hostage to this practice? And anyway, the gift I have in mind is of the sort that that is actually quite helpful when I use it, and, technically, I'm depriving people of something that might help them if I don't offer it to them. So, you see, I am actually obligated to use my gifts, and how can you apologize for something that you are morally obligated to do?

My "secret" gift that I've orphaned for so long?

Being a know-it-all.

There have been so many times in my life when I have felt it impossible to tell someone something that seemed obvious to me, but which seemed to elude them. And many times when I did speak up, I was even accused of being a know-it-all. When you're very young, that can hurt. So I shut up. No, I'm not talking necessarily about family, either. In some cases, yes, but in other cases, no.

Gradually, over recent years, through painful experience, and learning to stick my neck out in little bits here and there, I have realized that my contributions are, indeed, contributions, and not simply "butting in" or "showing off." I used to cringe at the prospect of telling someone something that I thought they might need to hear for fear of being told off for it. I hate confrontation. Or at least I used to. It doesn't bother me so much anymore. Don't get me wrong, I don't run around speaking my mind any time and any place I choose. Just when and where I feel it's the right thing to do.

The fear of confrontation came, I think, from the fear that, in any given encounter, I might have to stuff my own feelings, invalidate my own opinions, and, in fact, violate my own psyche in order to accommodate the person standing or sitting before me. After all, I was strong enough to take it, and they might not be. Right?

Slowly, I've come to see such instances not so much as "CONFRONTATIONS", but as "Opportunities," which, when taken, usually leave both parties stronger for the exercise. Where I used to see "potential foes," I tend now to see "potential friends, cohorts, or allies." Of course, I've had to learn the "language" that accompanies being a know-it-all, but each time I allow myself to exercise my particular gifts, I come away calmer, more lucid, stronger, more positive. And a heck of a lot more comfortable in my own skin.

Now, when someone doesn't appreciate what I might have to offer, I can let it slide right off my back . . . most of the time, anyway. I'd be lying if I said I have become impervious to rejection. But I'm much better at handling it today than I have been on any day of the past 40+ years.

Not so long ago—even very recently, really—I would never have allowed myself to write something like this in a public space. But I have, and I don't plan to apologize for having done so today.

Well . . . one month later . . .

If I ever pen a memoir or an autobiography of myself (Perish the thought!), I believe I shall have to call it something like "Fits & Starts" or "Dribs & Drabs." I would hate to live life on a timer, but some things seem just to beg for one. Writing, for me, is one of those cases.

I'm now finally sitting down to start my agent query letters, however many there might end up being. Wish me luck. Say a prayer. See you later . . .

Eeek! I'm a Retro-Criminal!

I just realized this morning after an online discussion, that I am part criminal! No, really, it's true!

If I were to do all the things I once did under today's laws and regulations, I would be breaking the law on a regular basis. Let's see . . .

• I drank in public when I was 18 years old.
• I drove an automobile at the tender age of 16.
• Shhh . . . I still talk on my cell phone while driving, for the purposes of communicating my whereabouts to my family! (Note: It is not yet illegal in my state.)
• I went through airport customs without so much as a second thought as to what I was actually bringing in my toiletry bag.
• A few years ago, I actually made it through TSA customs TWICE, unwittingly carrying a heavy-duty BOX CUTTER that I had used at the recycling dumpsters to break down cardboard boxes (keep in mind that this was post-911).
• Speaking of recycling, once upon a time, I didn't bother.
• I used to walk into a museum or an amusement without opening my purse for inspection.
• I used to ride in the back of a pick-up truck, without a seatbelt!!! (Not that I would recommend that to anyone on the road these days, mind you.).
• When I was really small, I used to ride in the front seat of my grandfather's caddy, sitting ON the armrest that folded down onto the bench, WITHOUT a seatbelt, WHILE the car was moving. (Again, not recommended now.).
• We played dodge ball in school.
• We ate raw eggs. Yes, I know it's not illegal, but it sure feels like it.
• We used to give gently used toys to charity. I've been informed by those who take in donations at thrift stores that it is no longer legal for them to accept ANY stuffed animals and many toys because of lead.

If I had more time to sit here and think, I'm sure the list would be longer, but then you might not have time to read it.

Feel free to comment with a list of your own!

Apple Pie for Breakfast . . .

Shhhh. Don't tell the kids. They're not awake yet.

Dear Santa

My two younger children have written their letters to Santa for this 2010 "Season-to-End-All-Seasons," my youngest enlisting her teenaged sister to help her in dashing out the letters (which she did lovingly and painstakingly) that composed the Greeting and Body of the letter. Said youngest is capable of signing her own name, thank you.

I was highly amused. It began, "Dear Santa, This year for Christmas I would like the following items: . . . ," followed by a list of the desired, mostly girly, items.

Her sister, a few years older than the girly one, simply followed suit—and quite pointedly—with, "Dear Santa,  For Christmas I would like the following items: A dog (I must choose breed); An awesome Christmas; To put the presents under the tree; To get a Santa costume." And the various pieces of the aforementioned costume were drawn and labeled beneath, in lieu of a signature.

Now, I do hope Santa is a secure person because no longer do my children ask how he is doing, nor do they attempt to account for their behavior during the past year. Only one of them signed off, "Thank you! Love, . . . ." (and that was probably something her elder sister slipped in anyway). The other one signed the letter with disembodied costume parts, and she addressed it to her parents . . .

If you've ever seen the movie "The Santa Clause" with Tim Allen, you'll know how Allen's character gets the job in the first place. Well, I think my husband and I had better keep an eye on this one to make sure that child #3 doesn't use some clever device to relieve us of our Santa-ly responsibilites. I just hope in all the excitement that she remembers how Santa actually foots the bill for his once-a-year shindig. Her bank account couldn't handle it.

All in all, I think it's funny, even though we constantly have to swim upstream to teach our children what's really important in life. Forgive me, they do make me laugh sometimes. Ho Ho Ho!

Soberspace. I mean, cyberspace.

Since my Social Network controls the interface with all of my contacts, and it won't allow me post more than 240 or so characters on a status update, I'll post here what I've been trying to say . . .

MELANIE is not sure she likes email, social networks, the internet, or cyberspace. I want my life back. Give me paper stationary, even if it doesn't happen as frequently. Give me face time with my family instead of watching them watch the screen as they carry on multiple online conversations simultaneously. Take away this temptation, this nuisance, this bane of existence, and make life feel real again instead of virtual. But, alas, I love all my friends and family, so, no, I'm not ready to give it up yet . . . what price, connectedness?

. . . but I type and sigh, type and sigh . . . and think of all those people in the movie Wall-E, with their virtual screens, carrying on individual conversations with virtual faces, while their real-time, flesh-and-blood neighbors, no more than an elbow's distance away, do the same. And the entire time, none of them consciously recognizes that there are people all around them.

Am I conflicted? Obviously. My vanity as a social person who likes to "have my share of the conversation (Lady Catherine in "Pride & Prejudice")" would be loathe to separate from the round-the-clock party that exists "out there" in 2010 and beyond, while my vanity as someone who likes to write, would feel bereft without my electronic umbilical chord to the wild west of the publishing frontier.

But there is also something in the back of my mind that tells me that this is not a good road we're all on. It is inevitable in its own way, and it does deliver to us the illusion that we are all celebrities, all the time, but a sense of loss continues to hover. Loss of what? Loss of time, for one thing. Loss of skills developed through meaningful pursuits for another, which leads to a loss of real-time productivity. The time I used to spend on handiwork of many descriptions—hands-on, real, touchy-feely work in which skills were acquired and honed a little at a time, day-by-day, year-by-year, and which enriched my life and the life of those around me—is now often spent catching up on the latest gossip, photos, rants, and brain-dregs that any of us cares to throw up there for the cyber-world to consume, and be consumed by. And it is no good trying to paint a pretty picture of this new reality using the crumbs of past productivity and euphemisms designed to distract us from the actual.

I don't think my life would end if I just stopped contributing to the flow of electrons. But I do think that I would feel out-of-step with those closest to me. I wouldn't get the joke; I wouldn't know that there was something happening this weekend that I really did need to know about; And I know from experience that others would feel justified in chiding me for being a troglodyte, or the proverbial camel with its head in the sand.

After all, everyone is expected to be accessible online, by email, social network, mobile device, and any other means possible to the known world and beyond. I guess it's a bit like the paparazzi for celebrities, convenient when you want the publicity, inconvenient when you want peace and quiet. In the end times, connectedness will be the currency, and we will all be slaves to it.

I'm not prepared to change my level of exposure to the cyberworld yet, and I certainly can't tell anyone else what to do, even if I wanted to. But for me, it is a subject that bears scrutiny from time to time, and you just happen to be witnessing one of those times.

Japanese Real Estate

I hope everyone's Thanksgiving Holiday was enjoyable. We were able to spend a good bit of time with family we don't get to see very often, so we have no complaints—aside from the usual, "We never get to see enough of everyone; we should get together more often!"

This week everyone headed back to the working interim that falls between the end of November and the end of December, though it is hard to take any of it seriously with all the invitations to the various festivities that litter the calendar at this time of year. That being said, I, too, shall attempt to get back to work . . .

 Okay. I bet this is what most people think of when they think of Japanese cities. This is actually the view from our hotel room in Yokohama, near the bay.

Another city street scene, this time from Miitaka, Tokyo, I believe. The McDonald's franchises there have a great garlic and lemon sandwich. I'd go for it in a heartbeat if they offered it here.

Another hotel view, this time of Yokohama Bay and Yamashita Koen ("Park"). This bayside park makes for a fantastic early morning walk. The park, according to Wikipedia (and I think I heard this long ago when we actually lived in Yokohama.), was built on the rubble from the 1923 Kanto Earthquake.

Now, up the hill we go in Yokohama to where all the interesting old gaijin ("foreigner") homes are located. Yokohama was where all the foreigners settled in the late 1800's, and there's a very large cemetery devoted to them, fittingly called the Foreign Cemetery.

 It's impossibly large and overgrown with old growth to catch a shot of very much of it, but I'll show a couple of photos of particular spots within the cemetery.

That will have to do for now where the cemetery is concerned. I happen to really like cemeteries. They're peaceful places conducive to meditating on the more profound aspects of life. That being said, however, I do not seek them out in the evening. Overly active imaginations and all that.

Below are more shots I couldn't resist including.

 

The problem with waiting four months to report on a set of photos is that memory is not as reliable as digital format. I can't remember the precise purpose of this gorgeous old building, though I know that there were a couple of tea rooms/coffee shops in the area when we lived there, and there was a community organization housed in one of them as well. Probably a historical society.

Above, one of my favorite photos. It is currently up as my wallpaper. I see it every day.

 

A closer shot of the same house and garden.

One of the churches on the Bluff.

Another lovely old home. I would love to have gone inside these homes, but between having little time (We followed our adventure muse and simply wandered up the hill to see what we would find at the top of it!) and not knowing the owners in the least, it was, alas, not meant to be.

Now this one above, I'm pretty sure, had a coffee shop inside, with seating in the garden outside. I ate here once or twice with a co-worker when we worked on the bluff at one of the international schools. True to Japanese form, all of the homes we saw were meticulously maintained. They were beautiful. I don't know if there is an association to preserve historical homes and other buildings, as we have in the U.S., but it would not at all surprise me. Just gorgeous.

Modern siding (and color) on an otherwise antiquarian home.

This one, too, looks like a real gem. Love the columns, the iron work and the green trim against the grey(ish) stucco.

Well, that's it for the foreign (mostly Victorian era) homes in my collection of photos from our recent jaunt to Japan. I guess I haven't even touched on the traditional Japanese homes and establishments. Another post, another day.

Sayonara.