Consensus Reality?

I find it strange how different my perceptions of myself are from the perceptions others have of me. I think I know myself pretty well—I'm self-reflective, (mostly) comfortable in my own skin, pretty self-aware, thoughtful, intelligent, perceptive—yet I keep encountering people who see me very differently than I see myself.


The most obvious (and startling, at least to me) disconnect has to do with my appearance or attractiveness. I have always thought I had a realistic view of myself—nothing special, not ugly but plain—and I was okay with that. I always felt my sterling character (LOLz!) would more than compensate for my rather ordinary appearance.


The fact of the matter is that I still think of myself that way—nothing special, plain but not ugly—but that perception seems to be skewed somehow, at least based on recent statements made by others, as well as an experience or two that would seem to suggest the reports are accurate and my perceptions flawed.


I'm currently in a play: Neil Simon's Laughter on the 23rd Floor. The cast (an amazing cast; I'm honored to be numbered among them) includes two lovely young women. Before last night's dress rehearsal, in the course of a conversation about my marital status (never married, no children, few relationships), both women said that they didn't understand; that I was quite good looking (and they'd talked about it frequently).


What?


The explanation that seemed obvious to me was that "there's no accounting for taste," until I remembered something that happened on Monday.


As I often do, I took myself out to dinner at a fairly nice downtown restaurant, BeX Bar & Grill. I often dine out alone; if you're comfortable in your own skin, it isn't really any different than dining in alone and you don't have to do the dishes after.


The hostess seated me and almost before I could blink, a very pretty waitress slid into the booth across from me, gave me a sultry smile, and asked me what I'd like...to drink.


"Gah, guh, uh, uhr, uhm..."


Not my finest moment.


In truth, none of my finest moments involve interactions with attractive women.


At any rate, I managed to stammer out a drink order, she gave me another sultry smile, and she glided away.


That exchange was repeated with minor variations throughout my meal. She'd glide up, sit down across from me or stand very close to me, maintain bold eye contact, grace me with sultry smiles, and speak...suggestively.


I think maybe she liked me.


What makes this event (as well as several other encounters that, on sober reflection, bear it a strong resemblance) and the observations of the two young women in the cast so baffling to me is that it represents a world-view completely at odds with mine. I look in the mirror and I see just what I expect to see, a man with plain features, not ugly, but not handsome, either. It would seem that at least some others see me in a very different light. How is it possible for human beings to see things so differently.


I don't know.


I wonder, however, whether the consensus (as evidenced from multiple sources) is more likely to be accurate than my singular perception. Is perception a case where the majority really is right?


I don't know.


I just don't know.

Let It Burn

I've never actually hyperventilated from fear before.

I don't remember ever exhibiting such a visceral, exterior, visible response to fear. Maybe I've never been so frightened. I've come close—asking a girl on a date is nearly as scary—but I've never gotten to the point where I had trouble just catching my breath. Today, I'm terrified.

But I did it anyway. I set the torch to the timbers, and the bridge is burning. It's taking all my strength to just let it burn, but I'm letting it. I'm resisting the impulse to rush in and stamp out the fire before it gets too hot.

Let it burn.

I've done a lot of daring things in my life. I've rappelled down a 90 foot cliff. I've leaped off a cliff into murky water. I've white-water rafted. I've zip-lined. I've eaten at Da Crack. I scuba dive, I ride a motorcycle, I teach high school...I live life on the edge. But none of that as turned my guts to water, made my breath catch in my throat, made me tremble, nothing—not even asking a girl out.

I am my father's son. I am my mother's son. Those two respectable, sensible, appropriately cautious apple pie citizens raised me to be respectable, sensible, and cautious and I'm grateful for that—it's given me a certain freedom to pursue my passion for learning, to pursue my passion for serving others, to pursue my myriad interests. I would not be who I am today if not for that upbringing.

But who I am today needs to take a big chance, a big chance. Who I am today needs a new kind of freedom, one that is only possible if I cast off those otherwise-admirable qualities of caution and restraint. Who I am today needs to embrace uncertainty and insecurity.

Still, it's scary.

Defying a fundamental fear is exhilarating. The fear is part of what makes it exhilarating: fear provokes an adrenalin rush. The exhilaration doesn't displace the fear, but it does counterbalance it to some degree. Additionally, there's an element of pride that contributes to the exhilaration: it feels good to face and overmaster something that's been an insurmountable obstacle before.

While I've been writing, the fire's been growing. Soon it won't be possible to stamp it out. In just a few hours, there will be no bridge; no retreat possible.

Let it burn.

Courage!

Not quite two weeks ago, I decided to pursue happiness even if that pursuit meant giving up the security I currently enjoy. This decision did not come easy for me and I find myself inclined to second-guess it even though in my heart I know it is the best decision I could make. I am, perhaps quite understandably, afraid to leap into the unknown (you can read my reflections on the subject here).

But (as I wrote before) I am unwilling to be ruled by fear. As Winston Churchill said, "Fear is a reaction. Courage is a decision." The reaction is appropriate—there are real risks if you Leap Before You Look—but decisions should be based on more than just fear.

Still, fear has kept me from implementing the decision I've made. The next step can't be taken while I hold onto the handrail of current security, but I've hesitated to let go. In fact, I'm still hesitating, though I think the time for hesitation is past. More and more urgently I find myself prompted by my conscience to "cut the cord" that both binds me to an unsatisfactory situation and provides me with a sense of security. Until I do—until I take real action, until I burn that bridge—I will find it too easy to "settle" for what I have rather than reaching for what I crave.

Ambrose Redmoon wrote, "Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear." There's so much that I want, that I look forward to, that I hope for, that is more important than fear, that courage is my only recourse. It's time to 'screw my courage to the sticking place' and trust that 'I will not fail.'

C.S. Lewis said, "You are never too old to set a new goal or to dream a new dream," and Anais Nin wrote, "Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage." Both those quotes—in fact, all the quotes I've cited today—resonate with me. It's time to cut the cord, to burn the bridge, to take that leap of faith, to toss the dice with everything on the line. Goodbye tenure, goodbye home-ownership, goodbye illusion of safety...

Hello possibility, hello liberty, hello infinity.

Brother Can You Spare a...

...dime?

So...I am a good writer—it's one of the areas in my life where my confidence is quite high. I'm good, I'm fast, and (if someone is willing to pay me) I'm even cheap; you can have all three in this instance.

A fan (God bless family!) asked recently, "Why aren't you published or writing articles for money in great magazines and newspapers?" My reply was, "Because I don't have a clue how to market myself as a writer."

Please note that I didn't say, "Because I'm not good enough." I am good enough—awesome is as awesome does, after all—I don't lack talent but rather knowledge. And ignorance is a curable condition.

Now is a good time to ask the question; I'm sure at least one of my readers can advise me, so... "How do I market myself as a writer?"

Show me the money!

My Awesome Life

A few days ago, my sister noted that since I've changed my diet/lifestyle a couple of weeks ago, my energy and mood seems more balanced. I hadn't really given it much thought, but she was absolutely right—I've been more consistently more upbeat and even optimistic since making these changes, and I attribute it to a metabolism that is just working better: I've had plenty of physical symptoms to suggest that my metabolism is working better, but I was too busy enjoying my "new life" to notice that my emotional state has been more positive.

In fact, my life is awesome.

I'm still facing the same challenges and frustrations I've always been, and I find them...challenging and frustrating. I am not immune to the vicissitudes we all must face, and I'm not always cheerful or happy. Yet none of that can change the fact that my life is awesome; it's wonderful to finally, clearly see it.

I've had an intellectual understanding that my life was awesome for some years. I've known it, in my head, and that's not to be denigrated. As an intellectual, I've always considered it important to have that cerebral "knowing." It's valuable. Yet experiencing it more viscerally, in the gut and in the flesh, is...

Well, it's awesome.

And because I'm finally "feeling it," I'm ready to make some changes. For example:

I'm too busy being awesome to fit personal drama into my schedule. I care about you, but I don't care about the problems you refuse to face or the challenges you refuse to accept, and aren't those things where personal drama begins?

My awesome life has little room in it for people who aren't sufficiently awesome. It isn't difficult to be sufficiently awesome... but if you're consistently negative, consistently selfish, consistently playing the victim, consistently refusing to accept help when it's offered, consistently standing still when you could be moving on, then really I don't. I still love you, you still matter to me, but there's just no significant place for you in my awesome life. I pray daily (and awesomely) that if you do not achieve awesomeness, that awesomeness will be thrust upon you.

I'm not expecting perfection—I'm well aware of my own imperfections, and don't expect something of others that I can't deliver myself—but I am demanding awesomeness. Please be awesome.

Because I'm awesome, it's important that I treat others awesomely. Even those who, sadly, aren't sufficiently awesome to have a significant place in my awesome life deserve to be treated awesomely. I will strive to treat everyone, from my most awesome friend to my least awesome enemy, awesomely.

And because I'm awesome and awesome people embrace challenges, I'm less fearful than I have been of some of the more daring decisions I've been contemplating. After all, I'm awesome, and awesome people don't settle for less-than-awesome lives. When the going gets rough, the awesome remain awesome.

Principles, in Principle

Just about everyone favors the principle of "principles." In an ideal world, everyone would live according to enduring principles that applied all the time and that changed only rarely and after careful consideration. In this ideal world, we could anticipate how people would behave—we could trust them, at least to be consistent, over the long haul—and plan accordingly.

I'm sure you've noticed by now that this is not in fact an ideal world. ;-)

Frequently—perhaps even usually—people today espouse principles they claim to live by, but those principles aren't enduring; whenever they turn out to be inconvenient or un-self-serving, exceptions are made or they are modified so that those "principles" (and I use the term advisedly) become utterly situational, inconstant, and unreliable. What I think of as actual principles, most people see more as guidelines, subject to ready modification at the first moment they place unpleasant demands on them.

Those aren't principles, people; they're guidelines.

Guidelines are great, and I have a great many of them. They aren't intended to be principles and I don't pretend they are; I identify them as guidelines because I don't think it's appropriate to be bound to them. I only have a very few principles, but I happily bind myself to them no matter what the circumstances or who they effect because I think they're that important:

• be honest
• be tactful
• acknowledge my own
• faults
• biases
• weaknesses
• be fair

I don't always live fully according to my principles, but I strive to and when I find I've violated one I work assiduously to correct my error. I am vigilant about this; I want to be the kind of person who operates on principle, instead of according to expedience.

I know full well that makes me a rarity in today's society. I'm well aware that it makes me vulnerable to those who are "pragmatic." The unscrupulous will always have an advantage over me, because I have chosen to bind myself to principles while they aren't bound to anything.

I'm fine with that. I'm not responsible for who they are, only for who I am. And I choose to be, to the best of my ability, a person of principle.

Gossip is a Drug

Yesterday I happened to overhear bits and pieces of a conversation among several people I know, like, and have always respected. I wasn't eavesdropping—in fact, I was "on the job," so to speak, and because I was on the job I didn't hang on every word—but these people didn't seem concerned about who might overhear them, and I picked up on a few words or phrases here and there; enough to get the gist.

The topic of conversation included situations I'm familiar with, and the tone and tenor of the conversation was sometimes condescending, often judgmental, generally snide, and just plain nasty...in short, it was gossip.

Like many drugs, gossip is intoxicating: it feeds the gossip's ego, it provides the illusion of an Olympian (god-like) point of view, and it's titillating—it feeds voyeuristic tendencies. Like many drugs, gossip is (psychologically) addictive: gossips become 'addicted' to the 'buzz.' And like many drugs, gossip is destructive: it's destructive of relationships, it's destructive of trust, it's destructive of character, it's destructive of integrity.

And like addicts who don't consider themselves addicts, gossips tend not to think of themselves as gossips  at all. "Everyone's entitled to an opinion" is part of the refrain, and "Don't I have a right to free speech?" And of course it's true that everyone's entitled to an opinion (even gossips), and everyone has a constitutionally protected right to free speech (even gossips).

This isn't about rights, but rather about what's right. Although I defend the free speech rights of neo-Nazis, I do not think them right, and I exercise my free speech rights in opposition to their arguments. Having a right doesn't make one right, and gossip is such a petty thing to stand on your rights for, destructive out of all proportion to its banality.

Gossip is a drug, destructive of lives and relationships, but too many gossips just can't stop.

And if there was a 12-step program for gossips, no one would go.