You Just Need to Be Infectious

You don't need to be big to be powerful. You just need to be infectious.

The fear of being known.

The key to sounding like a "straight guy" is keeping in your mind the idea that enunciating is gay. The worst thing for a straight guy, the straight guy's number one fear, is being understood. Being known. It seems all cool and confident, but it's actually, "Don't look at me. Don't look at me."

That is a quote-paraphrase hybrid I transcribed, capturing the essence of the exchange in a short video from The Late Show with Stephen Colbert, a snippet of an interview with Cole Escola about his desire to "play a straight guy" as an actor.

Question: You get to name a new book genre based on your comfort reads. What is it?

My Answer: Hmm, depending on my mood, either "Philosophical, Gritty Epic Fantasy" or "Cynical, Humorous Narrator Telling a Character-Driven Story of Deep and Insightful Personal Growth." - Both being types of entertaining encounters with Darkness, just one adventurous and mythical, the other internal and personal.

The sense of pride you feel for having to helped cultivate the sense of humor of the nine-year-old who playfully tells his parents he's not going to get ready for school, "because trying is the first step to failure."

From a Colleague:

Y'know, I think the part I'm particularly enjoying about the woodworking/hatmaking/etc is the suggestion that at some point you woke up and said "actually, I think I'm done cosplaying as a run-of-the-mill person and will henceforth be letting my weird little light shine. Have a nice day". It's magnificent and inspiring to behold.

It's like you noticed that the strap on your masking face had broken and decided that actually, no, you weren't going to spend any more time fixing that, and instead were going to spend your time on stuff you like more, and we love to see it.

My Response:

Thanks. It's hard growing up in small town Kansas feeling like you don't really understand your peers and they don't understand you, that you have different thoughts and values than they do--but not wanting to stand out because of your shyness, introversion, and Mennonite-engrained value of humility. I was always somewhat drawn to the "alternative" and theater groups, but never had the courage to look or be different. I've never actually cosplayed and don't really have a desire to because I don't want to look different for short periods of pretend, I want to look different for real because that's who I am.

Colleague:

Oh man, that transition that comes from realizing that most people really don't have any particular feelings about whether you're wearing an oak leaf pendant is WILD. Like, oh wait, most people just see me as a cylinder in space that they're not supposed to bump into and are not, in fact, judging every facet of my appearance and demeanor? I WOULD LIKE A REFUND OF THE LAST 40 YEARS, THANK YOU. lol

And I have a whole tirade about placing value on modesty (though as a person AFAB and raised in a differently evangelical church I have a slightly different relationship with the concept), but I suspect you can guess the key points.

Oof. This one (below) hits close to home. I think it captures the essence of every performance review at work I've ever received. "We really value what you bring to the organization, just don't be so you as you do it." And is at the heart of my pervasive insecurity and anxiety. Every interaction I have with other people includes nonstop inner turmoil trying to figure out how much of me and which parts of me will be acceptable for the circumstances. It's why I prefer to spend as much of my time alone as possible, because that's the only time I'm every truly relaxed and at peace.

Fun story: When I was in graduate school for my library degree, the department had the practice of a mid-way diagnostic evaluation. After you completed your introductory 12 hours of classes, you took a test to make sure you had properly learned all of the foundational knowledge you needed. Then the professors met to talk about you and determine whether you were suited to continue in the program. I came out of that evaluation with probationary approval. I aced the test and had received top grades in every class and on every assignment, but the professors didn't approve of my demeanor in class. I fidgeted too much and appeared too physically distracted. More importantly, I asked too many questions and challenged their thoughts too frequently instead of accepting them. I had to write apology letters and show up to class looking more eager to absorb their wisdom in order to convince them I was worthy of finishing their program.

The essence of my professional life has included continual effort to make myself more acceptable to others, but it seems I can only change so much because the feedback has remained constant. If I want people to actually approve of me, I can't be my true, authentic self. I keep trying to learn the right amount and parts of myself to share, but haven't figure it out yet after nearly 30 years.

And even as I complain about not getting to feel like I can always be my full self, I'm critiquing that thought. I know I have all the privileges (white, male, etc.) and assume I get to be closer to the true me than most others. I don't have to mask and code switch nearly as much--and I can get away with complaining about it more loudly. I know this is something everyone has to deal with, not just me.

Manager:

This is more of the part I’d like to maybe chat about in person when we have another moment, but I’ve observed Admin’s ~gaze~ as seeing you as a ‘contrarian.’ [Person] has mentioned they have had conversations with you over the past few years, and that seems to have cemented that concept for them. I’m not a fan of labeling anyone as just one thing.

Me:

I gave up years ago on "them" seeing me as anything besides The Contrarian (capitalized). It's my box and who I'll always be as part of this organization. Instead of fighting it anymore, I just embrace it—which probably does feed a spiral and make me more combative because I expect immediate resistance whenever I try to offer input about anything.

Manager:

On one hand, I don’t think you’re alone in our organization as The Contrarian. While you might operate from the ‘always asking questions / presenting different POVs’ place, I see others do the same regularly. I think the power lies in your ability to explain why you present this way – and honestly anyone who knows anything about CliftonStrengths would look at your Top 10 and go ‘ohhhh… yeah… this is who [Degolar] is.’ Input/Learning/Intellection/Ideation/Analytical/Strategic… holy moly. 😊 Your mind is constantly taking in information and trying to make it all make sense. Oh! And Connectedness!

I think it's those two outliers in my StrengthsFinder top 10 that keep me pressing, the Connectedness and Individualization. [Someone] mentioned at [a meeting] that she interpreted my Input to mean I like to have input into things, but it's not that, it's the Connectedness. I care about your decisions because I think they ultimately impact me in some way; and I worry over my decisions because I think they will ultimately impact you in some way. I don't think we can ever escape each other and should always be thinking of each other and taking each other into account. And I think we should each get to do that as our unique selves (instead of conformity) because of the Individualization.

One of my favorite things I've written on my blog, summing up thoughts about the imaginative play of groups of children, along with role-playing games like D&D and other adult equivalents, is:

And, really, in a very broad sense, isn't this what we're doing when we discuss politics and religion, when we gossip and spread rumors, when we create mission and vision statements for our workplaces, when we try to figure out how to live with one another as neighbors and define ourselves as communities--aren't we really just negotiating the rules of our shared games and trying to find groups to be part of whose styles match our own? How we define reality is up to all of us to figure out together, and it happens in the interplay between us.

(See: It’s All of Us: or, Believing Can End Suffering; It's a Kind of Love)

I think it's important that we exchange our differing ideas and opinions and take time to properly consider and negotiate them—and when I see that not happening, it's so hard for me not to push for it. I really like that [Admin] wants to get our conflicts out in the open and work through them because I believe in doing the same—I'm just not thrilled with how she's been doing it. I continue to speak up and be a contrarian even when I know I risk annoying people and getting myself in trouble partly because I just can't help myself, and partly because it's a deep-set value that I think we need more of in our organization (and society). We need more communication and consideration of everyone's perspectives and more inclusive negotiation of what it means for us to be us.

So I especially appreciate your pointers for becoming more skilled at communicating that effectively. Because even as I risk it I never want to upset people or make them feel invalidated. That is unproductive and creates more needless conflict. I'm taking your advice to do a better job of prefacing my questions and concerns, particularly knowing you've seen it be effective. I'm also a pragmatist, so I want to be a helpful, benevolent thorn in people's sides more than I do an irritant. 😉 I want us to be better together than we are as individuals.

My recently-created sign for political protests and rallies.

Admin:

3. What steps have you taken to resolve any conflict that you have within this group?

Me:

Being around people means conflict of one sort or another is inevitable on a constant basis. I do my best to be always attuned to body language and nonverbal cues that someone might be upset and will frequently check in verbally when I see need to ask people if I've upset them or their in disagreement with me—and I will try to find ways to let others know if I am bothered by something they've done or said. I believe in trying to be open about conflict and addressing it head on as much as possible in the hopes of working things through and resolving them instead of letting them simmer and fester. I try to be quick to admit fault and apologize. Currently our region's leadership team is still very much in the forming and storming stages, so I was glad to see the [work group's] 90-day plan include learning to work more effectively with the [colleagues]. We have work to do to properly understand and appreciate each other.

Admin:

Ok, can you talk abt the steps you are taking to resolve any conflict?

Me:

Talking. Listening. Having open, honest conversations to consider each other's views and feelings and trying to find resolutions that leave everyone satisfied and more connected to each other.

It's not a formula or a strategy, it's an intention and a mindset. Be humble. Apologize when needed. Listen more than you speak.

There are no steps, simply lots of conversations that don't avoid the hard topics.

Admin:

Ok, sounds like lots of steps or actions to me, thanks for telling me more

My review of the book Chlorine by Jade Song

Humans and monsters both understand stories about magic and marvel and myth are made interesting by their stemming from trauma and violence and blood.

This is an intense, disquieting story about the intensity of emotions, identity, and existence teenagers experience, particularly girls, with the pressure to have particular bodies and conform to particular norms. Some stories show metaphorically how damaging it can be; this one takes a more literal turn.

The writing is vivid. At times I started to think it was too dramatic and overwrought, then realized it captured narrator-protagonist Ren's perspective exactly. It is powerful and disturbing, personal and horrifying--and yet also insightful and satisfying; it doesn't horrify to simply to evoke, it has an important tale to tell. This is very good storytelling.

That's the review; here's some bonus content.

Chlorine has always been a happy smell for me. I grew up in swimming pools. Could swim before I could walk, spent summer recreation time at the pool every day, competed on swim teams through the end of high school. I feel at home in the water, more graceful, more myself, like I belong. And the scent of that feeling is chlorine. I can walk into a dark, damp, basement swimming pool, and as soon as that smell hits my nose I have the same emotional response as walking outside on a fresh, sunny spring day after the slog of winter. A dirty laundry room smelling of bleach triggers a cheerful response just from the lingering odor. Regardless of circumstances, without any conscious thought, the smell of chlorine makes me happy.

I did not swim competitively in college, but I did run cross country and track. At one point a writing professor assigned our class a "personal research paper." Find a topic to research that you are personally connected to and work the new information into some kind of memoirish paper. I chose the topic "runner's addiction." I only had a vague thought before I started digging into both the research and my psyche, but I wrote about how my sense of self-worth at the time was tied to my need to run at least a few miles every single day. If I hadn't yet accomplished the day's work, my thoughts cycled obsessively about how I was going to accomplish it. I planned my meals and activities around it. If I missed a day--even on Coach's orders to rest--I felt shame and beat myself up. It was compulsive, an addiction.

So while I was never this extreme, I get it:

She was right to be worried. I was addicted.

Addicted to the lactic acid running through my veins, to the brittle feeling of my hair, to the damp towels on the bottom of my backpack, to the scent of chlorine ever-present on my body. For some time, in the weeks after my father left, I had a compulsive habit where I licked my skin and chewed my hair--my pores and follicles absorbed so much chlorine that one bite or lick would resurface the chemical's exquisite taste into my mouth. I woke up every night choking on the hair collecting in my throat, coughing up hairballs like a cat onto my duvet. Fed up with the clogged shower drain, my mother sat me down and presented to me in no uncertain terms an ultimatum: if I kept chewing my hair, licking my skin, growing muscles, and letting my grades suffer, I would have to quit swimming.

I couldn't do anything about my unfeminine body. Who declares what is feminine and what is not? Wasn't strength a form of femininity? I loved my muscles. If anything, I wanted my limbs to become even more muscular. But I did promise her I'd stop chewing and licking myself. And I promised I'd keep my grades up if she indulged my chlorine-fueled fantasy.

She acquiesced. So I ate food instead of my hair. And I studied hard, though I didn't actually care--grades were merely the vehicle to get me where I wanted to go: the pool.

And now I was barred from it by my usually reliable head, now turned villain.

Chlorine. How I loved thee! In chemistry class I'd peer at the periodic table and narrow in on the Cl block; I was acquainted with Cl better than I was with Au or Fe. And I preferred chlorine over fresh H2O--drinking and showering second and third to swimming first.

My body shook with cold-turkey shakes, the chlorine withdrawal terrible and profound. I read in health class during the Tobacco Prevention component of the syllabus that experts would often recommend the cold turkey method to quit certain addictions. Even as a mere young high schooler, with chlorine as my unstudied and uncharted addiction, I had perceived this phrasing ridiculous. As if the way you quit could be a choice. Not a necessity. Not an action imposed onto you.

With my concussion, I floated even further away from humanity, unconnected to what had kept me grounded. Who was I? What was I? What was my life worth if I couldn't stay in the pool?

I don't wish to become a mermaid, but I get it.

My review of the book Infectious Generosity: The Ultimate Idea Worth Spreading by Chris J. Anderson

The idea of this book resonates with me and is one I believe in, and it is full of things I liked reading. I found the total package a bit disappointing, though. I would have found Anderson's arguments more compelling if his supporting evidence hadn't been so anecdotal and circumstantial, and I found his final section, the "call to action," the weakest and least in touch with experiential resistance to his ideas. I think he is writing from a place of privilege to the privileged, and could use the perspective of those most in need of infectious generosity. Nevertheless, the book is full of good ideas that are worth considering; and is certainly accessible and enjoyable.

And many quotes and excerpts I appreciate.

You don't need to be big to be powerful. You just need to be infectious.

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As head of TED for the past twenty years, I've had a ringside view of many of the world's most significant discoveries, inventions, technologies, and ideas. A friend asked why I chose this specific topic to write a book about. My answer was that I've come to see generosity as the essential connecting thread between the most important lessons I've ever learned--as an individual, as the leader of an organization, and as a citizen of the world. For years, TED's tagline has been "ideas worth spreading," and I have come to believe that generosity is the ultimate idea worth spreading. . . . 

[Generosity] is the idea that we should make efforts on behalf of others, not just ourselves. . . . 

Generosity is fueled by deep biological instincts. But those instincts are fragile. They need to be strengthened and shaped by our reflective minds. In every religion and in almost every culture there has been an effort to elevate the role of generosity, because it is the key to realizing our potential. It is generosity that inspires reciprocal trust and make cooperation possible. Cooperation is what allowed us to create civilization. Generosity is therefore core to all that humanity has built, and to what we might yet build in the future.

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We're taught to think of generosity as an act done purely for selfless reasons. But I'll make the case that it can be much more than that. Today, more than ever, the decision to be generous can be simultaneously an act of sacrifice and, profoundly, an act in the long-term self-interest of the giver. The people who are generous are the people who will come to enjoy the deepest happiness. And the companies and organizations that are generous are the companies and organizations that will own the future.

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Humans over time built a suite of essential emotional adaptations, including sympathy for those in need, gratitude for those who have helped, anger at those who cheat and never give back, and guilt at not doing enough. It's these emotions acting in concert that drive our instincts for generosity and ensure that they're employed frequently, fairly, and effectively. And the genes that build these emotions have thereby constructed a remarkable strategy for themselves to survive and thrive and be passed on. Indeed, our ancestors passed them on to us.

These emotions were fine-tuned for how humans lived as hunter-gatherers in small groups of maybe 150 individuals, and as a consequence they don't necessarily extend beyond members of our tribe. Indeed, psychological research confirms that most of us naturally categorize people into "in-groups" and "out-groups." Typically, the former are people we grew up with or who are part of our community. Our empathetic instincts are dialed up much more strongly for those in our in-group. For others who are perceived as outsiders, we may well initially react with indifference, suspicion, or even cruelty.

But here's the exciting thing. Social science experiments have shown that the boundary between in-group and out-group is malleable. It is not indelibly linked to characteristics such as skin color, religion, geography, or accent. For example, in one study, giving a diverse groups of individuals a single team name, or simply seating them together, rapidly created in-group loyalty.

In other studies, being told someone's story transforms how people think about that person. When you see that another human being carries the same fears, hopes, and dreams that you do, it makes it utterly natural to treat them the same way as anyone else in your in-group. The widespread reading of novels is credited with helping expand people's circle of empathy, and there have been similar effects from watching movies and TV shows.

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It's a clear-cut finding in social science: Generosity makes you happier.

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To make generosity turn exponential, the first challenge is simply to get noticed. One of the deep flaws in our psychology is that our attention is biased. It locks onto things that would have once threatened our survival. Threats of all kinds. Suspicious behavior. Anything that might harm us or our families.

Meanwhile, stories of goodness are lovely, but . . . you know . . . they can wait. . . . 

Threats, outrage, and disgust are compelling. .

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The truth we're in danger of forgetting about ourselves: Humanity is not defined by the evil done by a few. It is defined by the goodness done by the majority.

Every time you amplify generosity, you are helping to turn the tide. You're helping to paint a fairer picture of the world, one where we can all shake off our fears and realize there is a pathway to a more hopeful future.

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I believe that fixing the Internet should be one of humanity's top priorities. Until we've done that, every other problem will be hard to fix. Human civilization depends on trust and cooperation. Right now the web is doing more to erode that trust than build it.

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In every sphere of our life, the antidote to being owned by our instincts is to cultivate healthy habits.

Humanity is not defined by the evil done by a few. It is defined by the goodness done by the majority.

A poem:

Pamela Lucinda Moss

The Library’s Roof Is a Meadow

When the librarian knocks at my door, I ask

if she has a warrant that’s been signed by a judge.

 

She says no, and I wonder if she wants to talk

about my bibliographic record, or discuss my requests

 

for interlibrary loans. I have long sought asylum

in the stacks that border on the self-help section,

 

found sanctuary in the shelves that carry the 158.9s,

but honestly, since the pandemic, I’ve resettled

 

in the digital land of Libby that lacks the concept

of overdue status—when your time is up,

 

that’s it. Your items are just disappeared.

I haven’t seen you in a while, the librarian says,

 

but I’ve been thinking about how I used to check you out

and catalog your cards that were so green,

 

like the eco-friendly grass on the library’s roof,

that naturalized meadow, and I’ve been wondering

 

if you’d shelve your solitude and join me there,

in solidarity, because a place of renewal

 

should be everybody’s birthright, and I miss

your astonishingly undocumented, circulating love.

from Poets Respond

= > ÷

One final thought.

The Hard Work of Seeing More

Weighing different viewpoints is an act of leadership because it's hard work. It takes practice to do well, and nobody ever does it perfectly. We all have blind spots.

That's one reason I have always been a huge proponent of reading fiction. Not just because it's enriching and entertaining. And serious people do it. But also because it helps us develop a cognitive ability called theory of mind, which is about our abilities to take on the perspectives of others. . . . 

That's an argument for reading fiction. But also one for considering multiple stories about the world. When we seek out new angles, we see a bigger world, and give ourselves a better chance to do bigger things in it.

See more. See a bigger world.