I love me. I love me not. Most days, this rhyme ends on a positive.
When asked what I love and hate about myself, I truly only have one answer. I love my intelligence. I hate my intelligence.
Oh, that was not what you meant? Hmm. Let’s hate first, so we can love long later.
I truly do not hate my intelligence, but I really dislike some of the situations it tends to lead me into without an escape hatch. Yes, that is likely the most oxymoronic thing I have ever typed.
Despite my analytic calculations for the probability a situation will turn a particular way, I end up in half-baked situations with their resultant lukewarm outcomes which inevitably leave me cold. One would think (obviously I do) I would calculate in the chances my soufflé was going to fall. *snort* Not a chance.
The flaw in my mathematics is merely the variables which are out of my control.
- The non-compliant child
- Russian roulette players
- Memes without the open-mindedness to listen to anything
I routinely underestimate the speed of stupid, the mass of ignorance and the drag coefficient of insanity. Joint tasks and those which require the assistance of someone else are completed in far more time than allotted. My only solution to this is to move the deadline to allow myself the chance to salvage the work or recruit other hands to help me finish.
This failure is my fault in a number of ways. First, I give an inordinate amount of credit. When I speak, I do so under the belief my listener speaks the language. More often than I like to admit, the language I use is lost on my audience because the words I choose are used so infrequently they have not left staccato definition prints on the listeners mind.
Second, I credit my audience with the ability to ask me to clarify what may be murky in the first rendition. Turns out, no one asks for help. The advice has been dispensed so many times, it has taken root in our society: If you do not understand the question, skip it and move on to the next one.
Third, I will not talk down to anyone. Every summer, my hair lightens to strawberry blonde, and people speak to me slower and in smaller words. It infuriates me. I would rather seem academic than condescending. I speak to everyone, including my children, the same way. Incidentally, dumbing down is not a choice.
Fourth, I believe you and in you. When you say you can do something, I believe you can and you will. This naïveté is rooted in my own honesty: If I cannot do something, I admit it and do not intimate I will attempt to forego such disability in your instance. As it turns out, it is far more a singular tenet than I ever would have imagined.
In the FAB world, I hear from a number of sources I am intelligent, brilliant, scary smart. I am gracious enough to say thank you, yet I never manage to be grateful with a genuine smile. Most often, it is a fleeting wry smile or smirk. My body language is not being counterindicative; instead, it is being more fully honest.
Intelligence is now a wall between me and my complimenting listener. It is a noticed difference which breeds insecurity. No, not everyone who says it is threatened by me; rather, what filters through the wall is less than before. Someone decides this or that will not interest me because I am intelligent.
Very few in my world have ever been passionate at picking my brain, despite it having long open hours and handy, comfortable baskets.
On the list of talents I would give up, intelligence is not one of them. I need it to function and employ it to help those in my sphere function better at their chosen endeavors. Occasionally, I use it to warn others of misfortune, when I know they will be receptive (i.e. They ask.).
I use it to foster one of my favorite hobbies, discovery. Not once have I lost my passion for learning. It tends to keep me out of trouble.
It is an essential tool which helps me teach. I have many students, colleagues and friends who partake regularly.
It allows me to more accurately accomplish, which saves me time to do something I like to do: Nothing.
What do you like most about yourself? Is it a love/hate relationship?
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