My 64th birthday is at the end of this month. Not that old, right? We have senators, Supreme Court justices, presidents, who are a lot older. They cling on to their positions because they know that once they step down, they immediately transform from being a master of the universe, all eyes on me, to something more like a product past its shelf life. From Whole Foods to Bargain Market, in the blink of an eye. They become invisible.
While I’m not as old as Clarence Thomas or Bernie Sanders, I’ve reached the age that compliments tend to come with an underlying insult:
“You look great… for your age!”
“No way your 64!”
“Wow, you still walk everywhere!”
Sometimes, realizing that their attempt at praise actually sounds more like an insult, the lauding person shifts their strategy, searching for a pure positive. But even that comes off as a kind of challenge
“Well, you may not have your youth, but you’ve gained wisdom!”
Wisdom being something that you gain over time, like weight, or extra shopping bags.
At my age I’m supposed to have wisdom. The thing is, when I look in the mirror, I see… that someone’s robbed my face! I stand there, staring, like a pimply teenager thinking, maybe it’s Halloween, I’m dressed as an old guy. Not a great costume, but it was in the closet, probably my dad’s old face…
Wisdom. That’s the consolation prize, the trade we make for our youth. Is it worth it? Is it even actually real, or something we just say to make us feel better. Like, yes, we do live in an actual democracy, money doesn’t buy happiness, everyone has a soul mate.
What wise thoughts have I accumulated, year by year, experience by experience? Don’t you, or maybe I, want to know? Let’s give it a try, shall we?
When we’re young we’re told everyone’s equal. We all have the same shot at becoming president, or a rock star, or rich. Anyone can go to a topnotch college, become an astronaut. You just need to try hard enough.
This rock-solid belief is being unrelentingly pushed at the same time we’re put through a series of challenges designed to judge whether or not it’s actually true. It’s called “school.” Every day, for at least six hours, we’re handed a set of brain-dependent tasks and assessed on whether we have the stuff to grab that golden ring, an “A!” Or smiley face, glittery star, or cute puppy sticker.
By third grade, a bit later for some of us, we realize that we’re not actually all created equal. I became aware of this when my teacher announced our classroom seating arrangement. I, the only Jew in class, with Black curly hair, was placed next to the only African-American kid. We sat at our shared desk in a sea of blond or brown-haired children, like a dark island. My desk mate was friendly, if a bit shy, as was I. We were definitely equal to one another, but something felt…off.
The school day started with the Pledge of Allegiance, “for liberty and justice for all.” Not too deep into the year, at recess one of the older kids grabbed my newly prescribed horn-rimmed glasses off my face.
“Four-eyes, four-eyes!” he taunted.
“Gimme back!” I yelled, impotently.
He threw the glasses to his friend, who cleverly repeated, “Four-eyes, four-eyes.”
This went on for a lifetime. It’s still happening in some parallel universe. In this one they got tired of their game and threw my glasses at me.
For liberty and justice for all my ass, I muttered.
Trying and working hard matters. But we all have different gifts. Some people are just stupid. You’re not supposed to say it out loud. Certainly, don’t write a name in a bathroom stall. But it’s pretty much a known fact, even if we pretend otherwise. Maybe, when you’re sitting in a math or science class, you realize, I’m stupid! I’m the stupid one.
My realization came in kindergarten, courtesy of the prominently displayed chart showing who had learned how to tell time and tie their shoes. My name was not on it. For a long time. I still don’t know how to tie my shoes correctly.
When that happens, by the way, that crystal clear insight that you’re dumb, or not so good looking, or don’t know how to tie your shoes in a way that sticks, be cool, be cool. It’s a condition, like early balding or toes that curl weirdly, you can’t fight it.
It’s okay. Cause the secret, the wisdom, is that being smart, or pretty, or a great athlete, isn’t generally what guarantees success. Only a handful of us become superstar models, professional athletes, or scientists. To be good at life, for most of us, what’s really important, the thing that’ll carry us through the hard times and get us to the good, is personality. Personality trumps everything.
Personality doesn’t mean nice. Nice is the of tube socks of personality. “She’s nice,” never gets you invited to a party, or asked on a date, or a work promotion. You can start with nice but need to add the rest of your personality attire. Funny is always good, assuming you can pull it off. Being creative, in any number of ways, works, even if only to amuse yourself. You could be a badass. Have a sense of style. Handy.
The best wrapper for any of these traits, that pulls everything together into a pathway to success, is vulnerable confidence. Confidence that doesn’t tip over into being a know-it-all, emotionally untouchable or unable to apologize even when you’re dead wrong. Vulnerable. Confidence. Like, when you see a puppy you’re equally able to cry at how cute it is as pick it up and play with it. You can walk into any room as if you own it but always notice the single person in the corner standing awkwardly and go talk to them.
Personality should be taught in school, alongside English, and sex education, to give people a chance to try different things on. We’re born with traits and inclinations, but we have huge control over our personality. We have the capacity to be a one-person orchestra, dialing up what works, dialing back what doesn’t. You can be the friendly one, the brave one, the cheerleader, the one who helps out the teacher, or steps up first to volunteer. Even if your brain isn’t quite as robust as others you can figure out how to maneuver in a crowd, engage someone in a conversation, make a person feel good about themselves.
Yeah, it might be a mask. Maybe you’re actually super-shy, grumpy, or just an asshole. But you can stuff those unpleasant bits deep down into your body. Or get therapy.
Try it. It’s not too late. I mean, here I am, trying to be funny.
This article is the first part of a script that the author ultimately intends to perform at open mic venues.