On context-shifting, easy bonding, and developing new muscles
April 11, 2019
Dear Eva,
Perhaps because I’m still in the afterglow of time spent in a new part of the world, I have context-shifting on my mind. That is, what it means to be in new environments, tackle new subjects, interact with new humans. One thing is for sure — it’s exhausting! As we have talked about before, it just takes so much more energy because we can’t go on auto-pilot the way we do when we are in settings we know, with people who know us. I think about how my dad (who has lived in the same house in Des Moines, Iowa, for 51 years) zips through the side streets on his well-worn “shortcuts” to places around town, seeming to function completely on muscle memory. He has complete mastery over his surroundings, which brings comfort and confidence.
When we drop ourselves into new contexts, we suddenly have to absorb new ways of thinking, new ways of pronouncing words (even within different cities in the U.S.!), new cultural references, new types of food. Whether it is traveling to a new place, being around people with completely different cultural interests, or working in fields with terminology completely foreign to you, some floundering is inevitable. A friend who worked at a restaurant in Chicago said people would have the most ridiculous ways of pronouncing seemingly pedestrian items on the menu, like saying “qwitch” when they ordered quiche. We always got a good laugh out of that one, but yet I also distinctly remember the time I got politely corrected by a college friend for pronouncing pho like it looks. These tiny moments of shame are an unavoidable part of context-shifting, exploring new terrain, learning new topics. I know this all too well going through business school, where so much of what we learn feels like it is in a new language to me.
Of course, it is as obvious as hell that new contexts will mean learning new things, which means there are times you will feel small. But for whatever reason, stating it matter-of-factly — that some dose of shame is part of learning — is something I had never done until recently. It makes me think about how my children must feel as they figure out how to navigate this world, fumbling through and surely feeling silly at times along the way. It gives me more empathy. And it helps explain why it’s so much nicer to feel a command over what it is you are doing; there is less possibility of shame.
Shame is such a fascinating emotion, one entirely dependent on social forces. I have thought quite a bit about shame in recent months in the context of the diversity, equity, and inclusion work we have done at Creative Commons. Shame plays an integral role in those conversations because it is the danger always lurking there as we try to have difficult conversations and find ways of moving about in the world that are inclusive to people with different identities and backgrounds. I think the backlash against so-called “political correctness” is a response to the threat of shame. Rather than taking the time to learn about the needs and desires of people different from us and risking feeling embarrassed when we inevitably trip up, we reject the entire premise. The mere possibility of shame shuts down the possibility of new, authentic human connections. What a shame! (terrible, Sarah)
Maybe developing a muscle for experiencing shame might be one of the most important things we can do? If we think of feeling shame less as a signal of human failing and more as the inevitable result of human growth, then it sure feels a lot easier to swallow. That feels like a nice little nibble that I want to chew on, particularly as I ponder how to raise two young white boys into resilient, enlightened, kind men.
Until next week,
Your friend,
Sarah
Friday, April 12, 2019
Dear Sarah,
It’s Friday morning heading into Friday afternoon and again it has been one of those weeks! As I mentioned when we talked, I keep my notes on looseleaf paper instead of in journals or notebooks, and I had made some jottings for this week, and now I cannot find my jottings! We were both feeling a bit of brain fatigue last week and it’s carried over for me into this week. My jottings were further on the topic of sports, which I brought up casually in my letter last week. Okay — I’ve located the jottings!
I was thinking about how in my mention of sports last week I didn’t even bring up the aspect of sports that is all about competition (which, perhaps, some people would say is the point of sports). I was thinking about sports, or sport, from the point of view of the athlete. Disclaimer: I am not a professional athlete. You could perhaps consider me the most casual of amateur athletes. I like daily exercise and I ran track in junior high school, running “exhibition” sprints (“exhibition” describing the groups of runners who ran races following the sprints when the fastest runners had their go at glory), occasionally running in relays wherein the team’s fastest runners were the anchors, offering all of us a chance to feel good, and I also threw the shot put, my notable achievement in that regard being that I was neither the worst nor the best, but firmly in the middle. So, as one who is not a professional athlete, I wonder if real athletes are always thinking about the competition part of sports? Do you become an athlete because you like to compete and win? In my mind I picture athletes becoming athletes because they have a skill for it, they are leaning into the things they are good at, they are going where their body takes them, and pushing their endurance, building themselves into something strong and stronger. I feel pleased when I feel good from my daily exercise, I feel pleased when my head is clear and my body takes the shape of itself. So I wasn’t focused on the competitive aspect of sport when I wrote last week, but after I wrote my letter to you and was reading our letters together I was thinking about competitive one-on-one sports, and how these letters are slightly less like a regular tennis match, and maybe more like an infinite tennis match, though not as exhausting as that would be. We are hitting the ball back and forth much longer than any tennis players would be expected to. Perhaps we are two ping-pongers, keeping the ball in play as long as we can. Does a sporting metaphor apply to our letters at all? We’ll see!
The other thing about sports that has been on my mind is their obvious bonding potential: they simply draw people together in an easy way. We will wear the same colors, we will turn up at the same time, we will get excited for our team, we will hope that our team wins. I enjoy the colors, enjoy looking at sports on television occasionally, enjoy the striking green grass if it’s a grass sport, strong bodies wrapped in vivid contrasting colors darting here and there across the swath of green or the warm tan wood of a basketball court. We were recently watching college basketball during tournament season. Among other sports, I enjoy college basketball. The NCAA tournament took place in Minneapolis this year, and M and I went to see an open practice for Michigan State, who made it into the Final Four but sadly lost in the face of Texas Tech’s sturdy defense. We went to this open practice, and even just the practice — seeing all those little-big bodies at a distance practicing their throws, the energy gathering in the stadium as people watched and the team practiced what it would feel like to run around on that court in competition with other college teams — it filled me with emotion. This flavor of emotion was for those college students, who you and I know are so youthful, and with such pressure on them in these moments, thousands upon thousands of people watching and hoping for them in a general way, and each one of them responsible in a specific way for their own hopes and dreams as well as others’ hopes and dreams. Encompassed in a ball! And the swift movement up and down the court, and the surprises, stealing the ball away, losing it, missing it, getting the ball stuck firmly between the hoop and the backboard. With all of us there watching, in the room and from miles around.
On a different note, today is my birthday! I am thinking about my recent trip to LA and a dinner we had with friends, at an Armenian restaurant called Carousel. The food was very tasty and here’s the thing: it was someone’s birthday that night. The lights went down and as an amazing beats-filled electronic dance-pop version of Happy Birthday filled the room, a server came out with a treat speared by what looked like a firecracker. We all clapped and danced! It was one of the best birthday acknowledgments at a restaurant that I’ve ever seen. Then the lights came back on and we returned to our dinner. Then, a few minutes later, the lights dimmed again, and another birthday treat came out for another celebrant! Two birthdays in one night! We all clapped and danced again, laughing together at the sheer joy and coincidence of it all. Dinner resumed. Then the lights dimmed again, and another firecracker came out for another table! And then another! And then there was another version of the celebration, a general and congratulatory version of the song, complete with a treat and a flare! And then one more birthday! We listened to the song and clapped and danced no fewer than six times, and possibly seven or eight, it became a blur as tables around the restaurant pledged their reasons for celebrating and we all clapped and congratulated the recipient of the firecracker. It was a joyous night of celebration — of some birthdays, and in the end, of a good day for all of us.
I’m looking back at your letter from last week and it is making me think about lots of things — and I’m going to pick up those threads in the coming weeks! For the moment I’m reveling in sport and celebration! Have a lovely week, and until next time,
Your friend,
Eva