We all want to “fit in.”  Even at our own peril.

When I was sixteen I traveled to Chicago to participate in a speech program for high school students.  On a Sunday afternoon I arrived at the university campus that was hosting the summer program. On the lawn in back of the dorm I found a tackle football game in progress.

At the time I weighed over 200 pounds. The other boys took one look at me and assumed I played football.  “Yes, I’m a lineman at my high school,” I lied, trying to fit in when, in truth, the nearest I ever came to a high school football game was cheering from the stands.

I was invited to join the game.  Of course I agreed.

On the first play the opposing tackle surged right over me, knocking me onto my butt.  Second play, same result.  On the third play he not only knocked me over, but also hit my leg.  As I fell, I tore something.  I hobbled around campus for the entire five weeks of the program.

It turned out that the lineman who knocked me over actually did play high school football, and, I later discovered, he had been named third string all-state from Tennessee.

The lesson was obvious, and I have applied it ever since. Don’t pretend to be something you’re not.

For example, people often use “Courtship Behavior” when dating. This is something I believe is self-defeating.  Presenting a false front is useless, at best. Before I even asked her on a date, a woman I once knew told me she preferred men who were six foot three and who had blonde hair and blue eyes.  I thought I could probably transform myself into blonde hair and blue eyes, but six foot three was beyond me. Needless to say, there never was a date.

“Fitting in” may seem important.  But aren’t we really seeking a sense of connection and community?  If we are, I believe it’s more productive to find individuals and groups with whom we share similar values or activities – those people with whom we can actually form meaningful and authentic connections, rather than bending ourselves into pretzels by claiming that we experienced at playing football when we aren’t.

Of course, this is far easier for me to accomplish at 81 than it was at 16.  For one thing no one now would believe I play football.

Cheers.

Alan

The most important lesson I learned in high school was not from my classmates or from a lesson plan. (I’ve shared an earlier version of this story with you before, but find it worth repeating and remembering.)

I enrolled in high school Latin because I thought it was a pre-requisite for law school.  That turned out to be wrong, and I should have taken something more practical – like Spanish. But at least I can now distinguish my sine qua nons from my quid pro quos.

In Latin class I sat behind Pete Lipmann, who was the only member of my high school class to attend Cal Tech, one of the most difficult colleges to get into in the United States.

Our Latin teacher was Mrs. Agulia.  She had won a big grant to study in Rome and, in addition to Latin, she taught us a lot about the ancient city. Also, as it turns out, she taught me an important lesson, in English, about dealing with other people.

When our final exams were returned, Pete had received a “B+,” while I had received an “A-.”  Both Pete and I were hovering between a final grade of an “A” or a “B” in the class.

I was not known either for my diplomacy or my discretion in those days. When I saw our respective grades from the final exam, I blurted out in front of the entire class, “Mrs. Agulia. This is great.  Now if you give Pete an “A”, you’ll have to give me one.”  Perhaps I was upset, believing she liked Pete better than she liked me.  If she did, I’m sure I gave her reasons.

Mrs. Agulia was less than 5 feet tall, but commanded the room with her eyes.  She stared directly back at me.

“Alan – I don’t have to do anything.”

Then there was silence.

The following week we received our report cards.  Pete received an “A.”  I received a “B.”

Touché!

Even today this memory from more than sixty years ago reminds me that a sense of entitlement never got me very far in life. Since then I have learned that a sincere appreciation for others, expressed with kindness, not only feels better, but also yields a more positive result for everyone.

To Mrs. Agulia, wherever you are, I again thank you.

Alan

“Did you miss me?”

This is a standard greeting between friends who haven’t seen each other for a while.  The expected reply is – “Yes, of course I did.”

But there is always a question in my mind.  Should I be rote, or should I be real?  Or something in between that we call “polite”?

I used to have an internal debate about this, because I knew what was expected, but I also knew that, personally.  I seldom miss people when I’m not with them.  I tend, instead, to focus on the people I’m with in the moment.  That makes perfect sense to me.  As I have written in the past, I’m pragmatic.  If I wake up at 5:30 am worrying about something I can’t do anything about, I simply go back to sleep.

Today when asked “Do you miss me,” I like to offer a different, but truthful, response.  Something like, “I’m delighted to see you.”

A few people might press the point.  “Yes, but did you miss me?”

Darn! So much for being polite.

My short answer is something like this: “I always enjoy seeing you, but when we’re apart I hope you are enjoying yourself, either with someone else or by yourself, just like I am.”  I don’t really think about what others might be doing or, who they’re with, when we’re apart.

I know there are those who yearn in the absence of a loved one.  But I think it is both generous and self-serving to give them well wishes in your absence, and to assume they reciprocate.  All of us should enjoy our lives to the fullest all of the time.

Perhaps that is more than you wanted to know.  Or do you live your life like I do, trying to maximize each moment?

I also reserve my emotional energy for people, not things.  I love my friends and family.  While I like my home and car, they can be repaired or replaced.  People cannot.  So I seldom say that I love a “thing”.

I spend my emotional energy on those I’m with, including my readers with whom I’m delighted to share my blog.  I hope you have a wonderful week… and that you won’t miss me.  At least, not until next Tuesday morning.

Love,

Alan