Needle, Meet Haystack

There are many dirt roads in the desert.  Although caution would dictate that a driver should adjust their speed accordingly to accommodate for the shifts in terrain, possible wildlife appearances and the dust that gets kicked up, many will ignore common sense and speed off, as if they were on paved road.  As the car bobs, weaves and bumps along, dozens upon hundreds of tiny pebbles are kicked up, hitting the sides of the car and the undercarriage with a light tink tink tink, almost like a light shower of rain.  But if a driver isn’t careful, one of the pebbles can hit just the right spot on the windshield to make it crack.

Once it’s started, there’s no way to undo the damage.  It slowly spreads, growing larger and larger across the front window until there are two choices: let the window break, or replace it.

When I discovered that I had to make a complete change in the fundamental practices of communication that I’d been using for my entire life to get what I wanted, it was like one of those perfectly-angled pebbles hit the windshield.  I began examining the other things that dissatisfied me, wondering what else would need a 180-degree turn for personal growth and happiness.

Turns out, it’s my brain.  Or, more specifically, my intelligence.

Not to toot my own horn too much, but I’m a pretty smart guy.  I’ve taken several IQ tests at different points in my life, and my numbers have gone up, which, if an IQ test is truly accurate, is the opposite of what should happen.  Then again, my EI level has been more stable, and supposedly that’s a clearer indicator of smarts.  On top of that, I’ve got a moderately eidetic memory, and passed a MENSA admittance exam just for laughs.

The problem is, I like for people to know that I’ve got a good deal of wrinkly grey matter with amazing processing speed.  This seems like a logical conclusion: if the utility of an individual is defined by their contribution to any random scenario, acknowledgement of their mental prowess boosts perceptions of said usefulness.  It’s how we choose tutors and teachers, and how folks used determine who their “Phone a Friend” lifeline would be on Who Wants to be a Millionaire? But when it comes to general social situations, it’s a lot less helpful to be smart.

Perhaps the best way to explain this is from a post called, “The Gervais Principle III,” (a fascinating read on organizations and people, even if I don’t agree with all of it) from Venkatesh Rao’s blog, Ribbonfarm:

“If the situational developmental gap between two people is sufficiently small, the more evolved person will systematically lose more often than he/she wins.

“If you have ever been manipulated by a baby, you’ve been on the receiving end. If you’ve ever poked fun at a French-quoting pedant by striking a mock-professorial pose and spouting some pseudo French, (le bleu blah), you’ve dished it out….Manipulation by pets is perhaps the most powerful illustration, since your most powerful weapon, human language, is useless. “

If you’re the smartest person in the room, you will always be at a disadvantage, because you’ll have to communicate at a lower level.  Adjusting one’s language and explanations to explain their thoughts in a more simplistic fashion ensures that something will always be lost in translation.  The dumbest person in the room, meanwhile, speaks at a level that is comfortable for them; since everyone else in the room is smarter, this person is understood very well.  If I was political on this blog, I would make some comment here connecting this practice to political elections and debates.

I’ve always had a problem expressing myself to others.  I might start out telling a story or attempting to explain a particular theory, but somewhere along the line, it gets jumbled and incoherent.  Many of my friends have a phrase they use when this happens: “Smile and nod.”

Additionally, there’s the unexpected social downgrade that comes with additional intelligence.  Just think of how many people have commented that the eloquence and intellect of our president is a detriment to his success; rather than being seen as smart or well-educated, the term of the day is “elitist,” with all of the distaste that such a word entails.  So if the leader of my country isn’t safe from intellectual persecution, what hope do I have?  Apparently, knowledge can come across as stuffiness and condescension instead of brainpower.

To overcome the personal, social and professional hurdles of how I used and displayed intelligence, the course was clear: I would need to dumb down and simplify not only how I spoke and interacted with others, but how I thought.  But there’s a fine line between adjusting to the level of someone else and going overboard, to “You got new legs, Lieutenant Dan” territory.  It’s not a switch that can be made right away.  So instead, I developed a few strategies:

• Count out syllables – The more complicated a word, the less likely that someone will understand it, and in this game, grandiloquence is a sure-fire way to lose.  Add to that the shrinking vocabulary of the average American, and using five-dollar words will lead to blank stares faster than an interpretive dance of the plot to Inception.  Breaking things down to simple components and words means that there’s a better chance of being understood.
• Explain from the beginning – My middle-school English teacher once told me that the best kind of writing was the type that pretends that the audience is completely ignorant on the entire topic.  By throwing out any assumptions that might exist between the giver and receiver of a message and building off of some commonly agreed-upon basics, it’s easier to get where someone is coming from, as they both started from the same point.
• Talk up when you don’t know what you’re talking about, talk down the rest of the time – The best time to speak intelligently is really when you have no idea what you’re doing.  By exhausting your knowledge stores to someone else who has a greater understanding of the topic of conversation, they can understand where you’re coming from and what you know, and can find the best level from which to speak with you.
• Narrate - I have a horrible tendency of thinking about something someone said, making several mental logic leaps, then delivering the end result to everyone else, only to find my enthusiasm met with blank stares and uncomfortable silence.  by restricting the message I’m putting out, I limit how well people can understand me.  My friends call these instances “Andy Jokes.”  No one likes Andy Jokes.
• Talk less, speak more – One of the curses of having a hyperactive brain is that it’s hard to shift gears between what’s interesting and important at the moment and what’s interesting and important overall.  Cutting back on non-sequiturs and random comments to instead focus on constructive insight not only helps to focus thoughts, but also cultivates an aura of expertise.

The gains of rewiring my brain are only beginning to show.  In addition to having more constructive and insightful conversations with a greater number of people, it’s easier for me to feel comfortable communicating with them.  Switching my focus from what I’m saying to how I’m saying it actually made me more social.  And instead of feeling the need to reinforce my intelligence verbally, others have come to the same conclusion through our conversations and activities; when the title of “smart” comes from an outside source, it’s a lot more believable, after all.

It’s difficult to make a complete turnaround in personal philosophies and habits, especially over a short amount of time.  When the crack in the windshield grows too large to ignore, it has to be replaced.  But windshields aren’t meant to work differently; they exist to give a clearer perspective, offer protection, and keep the inside of the car comfortable.  So making the change is something that’s pretty essential, and pretty smart, too.