We’ve all heard the adage that “a straight line is the shortest distance between two points.”  If we’re headed to a local store we plan the most efficient route.  If the store is two miles away, we’re not likely to travel there by way of Las Vegas (unless we’re already in Las Vegas).

In choosing how to use our time and energy we aim to be efficient.  We pick the lowest hanging oranges first. We choose the shortest line at the grocery store, or the gas station.  If we move to Los Angeles from San Francisco we find local doctors and other convenient service providers.

There is good reason for this.  By being linear (efficient), we conserve time and energy.  We seek the “maximum bang for our time and energy buck.”

Just as our supply of money is finite and must be allocated, our supply of time and energy are also limited.  I think about this whenever I want to see a major sporting event.

This year, my son and I bought season tickets for the Los Angeles Rams home games. Of the nine or ten home games, we attended only two. We watched the rest on television.  You’ve probably noticed that, when you watch football at home, at the end of the game you’re already home. I once had to wait almost two hours just to get out of a parking lot at the Los Angeles Coliseum.  At home the hot dogs don’t cost ten dollars each.  And the bathrooms are always clean.  You don’t have to wait in a line for anything. You also get instant replays and expert commentary.

As for the unused tickets? They were given to others who might enjoy the experience more than me (and if any were unused – the sunk-cost theory covers any remorse).

My blog is always between 200 and 600 words.  I figure if it’s short you’re willing to spend a few minutes with it.  But I’m not going to try to hold your attention for half an hour. A TV reporter told me that a typical TV news story used to average about three minutes, but that reporters are now encouraged to keep their stories to under one minute.

However, I think we also go for quality.  How short was your longest kiss?

Well, efficiency isn’t everything. Sometimes we just want to take the scenic route.

Alan

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