Daily I'm reminded that Zach and I have quite a sarcastic relationship. Sometimes I wonder if others do as well, or if we're just different psychotic flavors that, when blended, yield insantiy.
Me: "I think I've been so stressed with school lately that I'm beginning to go crazy."
Zach: "Yeah, I've always thought of you as crazy."
Me: "No, I said beginning to go crazy. God, you never listen!"
Zach: "No need to stand on ceremony, Jim. Just call me 'Zach.'"
Me: "Anyway, wanna know why I'm beginning to go crazy?"
Zach: "Do I have a choice?"
Me: "You're learning. Anyway, the past few days, I've caught myself singing out loud to myself to distract my mind."
Zach: "When?"
Me: "All sorts of places. Yesterday in my immunology class, I nearly started singing '9 to 5', and suddenly had to pretend that I was going to ask a question about memory T cells."
Zach: "So?"
Me: "Well, this morning, in the shower, I caught myself singing 'Circle of Life' from The Lion King."
Zach, amused: "Really? What else?!"
Me: "Well, when I was shut up in the tiny tissue culture room all by myself for hours on end, I entertained myself by singing 'Blame it on the Bossa Nova' and 'Love is Strange'."
pause
Zach: "I don't know either of those."
Me: "The former was the song Ainsley Hayes was singing on The West Wing when she was drunk and met President Bartlet, and the latter's from Dirty Dancing."
Zach: "Ah... Ainsley Hayes..."
pause
Zach: "I don't think I've ever seen Dirty Dancing."
Me: "God, you're such a freak."
Zach: "Well then take God to the movies, Jimmy! Let's go see that one movie about the cigarette lobbyist."
pause
Me, shaking head: "God, you just want me to take up smoking so I'll die sooner."
Zach: "Well, grad school's only making you crazy, not killing you. I can see I'll need some help in the task."
pause
Zach: "And again, you don't need to stand on ceremony. Call me 'Zach'."
Me: "I love you too, freak."
Friend: "Boy, you look chipper."
Me: "I know. But I've actually been having a horrific few weeks."
Friend: "Oh. Then... why the sudden grin?"
Me: "My favorite editorial cartoonist won the Pulitzer Prize in editorial cartooning today."
pause
Friend: "You have a favorite editorial cartoonist?"
Me: "Well, yeah. Doesn't everybody?"
Apparently not.
But, you all should... for, ages ago, we made cave paintings... then we drew characters on the walls of pharoah's tomb... and then we made masks and costumes and wove tapestries by candlelight late into the night... after that, we had da Vincis and Turners and van Goghs the world over... and now we have reached the apex of human expression, where we take the raw good-and-bad of our crisp, tough world and place it in context so ridiculous and satirical that we cannot help but juxtapose it with the reality of our existence, and draw out more uncomfortable truths about our values, our well-being, and our way-of-life than we'd wish to confront on such a sunny Seattle afternoon.
Overheard on the bus:
Female Passenger: "Girl, I've told you this a thousand times! You simply CANNOT put your trust in a guy who pokes holes in your condoms!"
Obviously.
Zach says I should be willing to toot my own horn now-and-then. Time and again, he says I don't give myself enough praise, or credit... downplaying achievements and emphasizing shortcomings. While such an arrangement may sound like an excessive dose of persistent negativity or, worse yet, non-existent self-esteem, I consistently reject his general premise. Yes, I'll admit that, on occasion, I've toned down the significance of an event; I freely embrace my identity as one who does not wish to stand out with any memorable quality that might, at a future date, oblige me to make good on my abilities, knowledge, or whatnot. I don't want to be known as "James, who does such-and-such" or "James, who knows so-and-so" or "James, who can do this-and-that." I'd rather request that humanity simply trust me to know my own abilities and boundaries. I know what I know, and I know what I can do, and there is no need to advertise; but, should the need for my know-how arise, you can rest assured that I'll offer my services or brainpower. Trust me, folks, I'll know when I'm needed.
Perhaps some psychologists out there will assert that, when the time comes, self-doubt or a generally shy consituttion might lead to hesitation at a critical juncture, keeping me silent and in the corner when I should stand up and speak out. While this is the unfortunate risk that us hominids are are stuck with, caged at the mercy of our large (yet cumbersome) brains, I've often found that the correct action executed cautiously consistently triumphs over the rash action taken without hindrance or regards to the greater consequences. Hence why I never leave the house without a plethora of proverbs that both annoy and advise the listener to consider not only the world beyond his or her own existence, but the virtues of nibbling a slice of humble pie each day.
Can one take too much humble pie? Of course. And in such situations, tragically, hominid society is deprived of contributions from a mind plagued by self-doubt and low self-esteem, creatures Pandora should have kept back in her box. It's a delicate tightrope to walk, though, should you come to my doorstep and ask whether the dangers of silence far outweigh the risks of speaking out or, as Zach would say, "tooting your own horn," I'll always smile in that thoughtful way that also reveals my bad teeth, curl up in the corner of my blue couch, wrap my legs in my great-mammaw's afghan and, clutching a struggling and overfed tabby cat to my hooded-sweatshirted torso, cling to the phrase I embraced years during a difficult transition from puberty to beyond-puberty:
"I'd still rather be smarter than I look, then look smarter than I am."
While English teachers (and my sister) might disapprove of the excess of "to be" verbs in that sentence, it's still a persistent reminder of the dangers of putting-on-airs that, if I weren't so shy around needles, I'd have tattooed on my forearm. At the very least, it could serve as a reminder to me before giving "scientific" talks and presentations in graduate school that my solemn duty is to assert what I know, and no more. Again, it's a delicate tightrope to walk - dampening both ego and modesty who battle for me to pretend to know more and less, respectively.
When Zach begs me to toot my own horn, it's no secret that he fears I'm dumbing myself down to the world and, particularly, to the folks I encounter in my graduate studies. But, after I always shoot back with, "I'd still rather be smarter than I look, then look smarter than I am," I also reassure him that I'm not hiding anything either. My abilities are out there, but on a need-to-know basis. The fact that I actively avoid both tooting and the horn doesn't mean I've also buried my brain beneath Elliott Bay. In a time and place where we too often polarize our lives and live on the extremes (either pretending to know more than we do and spreading a plague of ignorance, or repressing the expression of knowledge to the detriment of all), is it too unbelievable that I daily try to keep my feet planted in the center, and will neither boast nor hide from the rest of you?
No flare. Just do what one must always do when one is in pursuit of the truth: pay attention to that man behind the curtain.
You need not look and slice through layers of ego-puffing propaganda, or look through a fog of secrecy and evasion... simply LOOK, and try not to miss the forest for the trees.