Needle, Meet Haystack

Have you heard that story about the person who got fed up with their life and the direction that it was heading and decided to completely start over someplace new, without knowing anyone or having a game plan on what they would do once they left?  Maybe you thought that they were brave, adventurous, crazy, foolish, risky, or some combination of the above.  After all, the idea that you can hit a reset button on your life, disappear into a new existence in a new place with new people and live without your past is pretty appealing.

Maybe that’s why I’ve done it at an almost-bi-annual rate for the past twelve years.

It wasn’t deliberate at first; there was a special program only offered at a high school much further from my house than the one that I would be going to with most of the people I’d known since kindergarten.  The long-term benefits seemed to outweigh the short-term losses, so off I went.  The second time was a trip through my school to a conference with a bunch of kids from all over the country who I’d never met.  The third was college.  The fourth was studying abroad in Europe.  The fifth was a year of failure in DC.  The sixth was two more months of failure in New York.  And the seventh was coming back to Phoenix, most of my old friends having moved out and moved on to other places themselves.

Moving around at a somewhat rapid clip does strange things to a person.  The desire to explore and become social becomes exponentially higher; everything is new, exciting and different.  The urge to try new things is  unshakable, and a great hunger for any and every new experience begins to rise up.  It’s impossible to be pessimistic during the early weeks.  But once the honeymoon phase is over, it’s back to business as usual.

Even if you’ve made the effort to go outside of your comfort zone and try new things and hang out with new people, eventually, a routine will set in.  It’s natural that after a certain amount of time, one will become more comfortable with some people and social options than with others.  It’s great to be able to start fresh and gauge how you are as a person and what kind of people you attract in a new environment, but ultimately, the change will not be permanent unless you want it to be.  After all, it’s just a place.

Cities and towns have identities that can reflect back on their residents, but just because a certain geographic location breeds personality types (or disorders) that doesn’t mean that it’s a mandatory (or even necessary) shift.  Whether you’re in a hotel in Paris, a hostel in Tokyo, or grabbing something at the drug store up the street, the people who are there are still people.  There will be ones you like and others you don’t like.

There are certain universal constants: we need air to breathe, water to drink, food to eat, and people to talk to.  The only thing that is different is where you do these things.

Some might extol the virtues of travel as “life-changing” and “revolutionary and amazing,” and while it might seem that way to those who move frequently or are new to a place, it’s actually the psychological effects of a math problem.  A phase shift occurs when a wave on a chart moves horizontally (left to right), extending the initial start point so it appears to have gone further, when in fact, a single attribute was changed.  This is what happens in our minds when we go new places; it becomes a separate entity that makes the journey from where we started seem greater than it was.  It works on a small scale, too: run a bunch of errands to different places in one day and you’ll feel more productive and accomplished than if you had gone to one place to take care of all of them (this is also called the “Wal-Mart Avoidance Maneuver”).  A geographic change of anywhere from a few blocks to thousands of miles is all it takes.

Moving oneself to new locales to rediscover priorities, social standing and philosophies is a fine practice in the short run.  Over time, the effect weakens, and a choice appears.  One path is to become a permanent tourist, ambling from city to city, group to group, hitting the reset button an unknown amount of times in the hopes of finally feeling satisfied with life.  The other is to settle down.

The second option is starting to look more appealing to me these days.  There’s only so much that a change of scenery can do.

Now that I have Internet access again, I was planning on doing a post about being forcefully cut off from the world online (except for at work) and how that shifts one’s perceptions about media, communications and people in general.  There was also the possibility of discussing the trials and tribulations of moving and uprooting oneself successfully, but feeling uncomfortable about the situation all the same.  I might have written something about living on my own and being the only animate thing in my abode, the stiffening silences and the discomfort of hearing noises in the night.  But towards the end of last week, I received news that couldn’t be ignored.

Mr. Black, one of my favorite teachers from high school (or any school), the educator most responsible for my world-view, writing style and current interests, the man who taught so many so much, died.

I’ve only heard second-hand and third-hand details, so I’m not going to jump to any conclusions about the hows or the whys.  All I know is that he’s no longer here, and like so many of my former classmates, I feel a sense of loss.

Mr. Black taught “Theory of Knowledge,” the capstone course for the IB senior class at my high school.  It was an odd mish-mash of art, psychology, history, anthropology, English, and most of the other social sciences.  And it was quite subjective.

In one assignment, we were told to take pictures that represented a phrase from two words picked out of a hat.  Unfortunately, all of the words were figurative, so there was no easy way to take a picture.  Somehow, my interpretation of “Cool Revenge” wound up winning Best in Class:

When I asked Mr. Black later about judging and how it was determined if a photo matched its theme, he told me it didn’t; it was all up to the observers.  Art cannot be objective, he said, because it’s created by subjective people.  Every art-related assignment we had, from painting self-portraits in the style of famous painters to creating abstract sculptures, was like this.  There were no clearly-defined parameters or rules, and the scale of grading was abstract.

For a class of kids who were beginning to realize the power of the Internet and whose very academic life followed the motto, “I.B., therefore, I B.S.,” it was almost maddening.  We couldn’t fake our way through these assignments, so we actually had to apply ourselves and put in effort.  Studying was useless; it was all about creating tangible results from every piece of education we’d absorbed up until that point.  It was hard work, and sometimes, it seemed terribly unfair.

If one student had hired another to write a ToK paper for him and if Mr. Black could tell, he would give a higher grade to the paid paper.  Soon, the practice stopped entirely.  We did our own work with our own methods, and for the first time for many of us, we spoke in our own voices.  We wanted to succeed on our own terms, and every one of us respected him for making us do that.  For the first time since my freshman year English teacher shot down my authorial dreams because I used too many comma splices, I wanted to write again.  We were inspired.

Not as much could be said for the History teacher who would surf the web for topless biker babes during class presentations on the socioeconomic fallout from the Bay of Pigs.

Mr. Black was also one of the faculty advisers for the Speech and Debate team.  While I originally joined to have a way of seeing a lady-friend who was on the S&D team for another school, I soon found myself drawn to the practice itself.  On the team, we were encouraged to experiment and interpret things differently than we might have during normal class: dramatic interpretations of Fight Club and SLC Punk! while other students were reenacting stories of AIDS and Leukemia suffering; presentations on the distinction between nerds and geeks or the evolution of reality TV up to the early years of American Idol where competing schools offered dissections of the mining potential of the Oort Cloud and the scientific potential of testing on Capuchin Monkeys.  We were going against the grain, and while we didn’t win many contests, it was great fun.  Also, it helped me get over my public speaking anxiety.  Had I been coerced into reciting scenes from The Jungle or presenting data on the impact of the Ozone Layer’s depletion on the flora and fauna of Australia, my life would be very different right now.

A number of my old classmates have taken to Facebook, writing stories of Mr. Black’s impact on their careers (academic and professional), writing great quotes that inspire them to this day.  Truth be told, I remember little of what he said to me.  I can recall the assignments and lessons that he doled out in his trademark deadpan tone, always slightly muffled through a bushy salt-and-pepper beard that hid any evidence of a smirk or a scowl.  I remember that he always seemed to be one of the last teachers to leave, willing to stay past the last bell to discuss the day’s lesson with interested students, debate a current event, or just chat about life.  I remember that during the faculty talent show, he performed spoken word renditions of pop songs with such perfect poise, eloquence and charm that it was impossible not to laugh.  But I have no memories of anything profound or life-changing that he said to me.

Then again, his teaching influenced my work ethic, my interest in culture, and my perspective on much of the social world.  His lessons challenged me in a way that few assignments from anyone, educator or manger, ever have.  Maybe his quotes have become so ingrained in my mind that I can no longer attribute them to him, though Mr. Black would probably argue that I’ve got a serious case of an attributional bias going on right now.

In the years since graduation, I’ve met many people who were IB students in other schools.  When we compare notes, it seems like their ToK classes were more like glorified writing sessions.  Many times, the IB alums would comment with a tinge of jealousy that they wished they’d had a teacher like Mr. Black, as their lessons were devoid of any real content or inspiration.  It was a source of comfort to know that he was still teaching, helping disaffected smart kids combat Senioritis while pushing them to new heights of creativity.

Now, though, my teacher is gone, and I’m not sure how to respond.  There are no clearly-defined parameters or rules for this sort of thing.  It all seems to terribly unfair and arbitrary.  But thanks to Mr. Black, I have some experience on dealing with the unknown, and not just in theory.

There’s a level in the old Sega Genesis game based on Disney’s Aladdin where, as the titular character, you have to navigate the world inside of the genie’s bottle.  And in that level, there’s a section in which the player must hop from one balloon to the next across a chasm leading to an endless drop to get to the other side.  In the early parts, there are a few places to land, but once things get going, the only option is to finish up or be cast into the abyss.  Thanks to the magic of Youtube, you can see what I’m talking about here.

I must have played that level a few hundred times, and I’m sure that Aladdin fell into the abyss of the lamp with alarming regularity.  Sometimes, I would get so fed up that I would enter the level skip code (ABBAABBA) and move on to the Sultan’s Palace, which had these awesome flamingos that would go “Bleeeech” when you jumped on them.

There’s probably some extended metaphor I could make about taking risks and being willing to fail and needing to move on with one’s life so one doesn’t fall into an abyss of their own making, but that’s ground that’s been covered both here and elsewhere.  Instead, let’s talk about cheat codes.

I don’t mean the “Extra hundred Master Balls in Pokemon Red and/or Blue”-type cheat code, I mean the “Link starts the game with the Master Sword”-type cheat code.  The “Driving a super-fast tank with a cannon in Age of Empires“-type cheat code.  The “9/10ths of all results for the Konami Code”-type cheat code.  I mean the kinds of unfair advantages that elevate someone past the point of any conceivable equality with their competitors.  This is the professional sports shut-out, the overqualified Ivy League grad whose dad knows the CEO, or the person who won the lottery last week.  These individuals exist on a higher plane, sometimes through circumstances of birth or luck, and sometimes through careful planning and sacrifice.

Whatever it is, it seems like it’s not fair.  And when viewed from most perspectives, it’s not.  It seems like these people have unlocked some sort of Game Genie all-access pass to higher levels and achievements that you can’t even find in the official strategy guide.  You’re left in the dust, wondering how you could have been surpassed so quickly.  The phrase “life isn’t fair” is a cold comfort as Rod Stewart’s “Some Guys Have All the Luck” fortuitously comes on the radio.

There’s no way to get back at them, and it’s not like you can just copy their strategies outright.  Much like Warren Buffett’s dozens of books on personal finance success, there are a few tidbits that will always be left out to keep you from really understanding the hows and whys of the real-world cheat codes.  You can’t pause the game to figure out what button combos might unlock the God Mode attributes you’ve been searching for.

It’s easier to just code in new cheats yourself, or dig up old ones that have been forgotten.

This may sound counter-intuitive; after all, deviating from the normal rules and regulations when it comes to anything from professional success to personal victories might come across as underhanded and cruel, but if there’s no harm in it and nothing preventing you from doing so, go ahead!  Four-Hour Workweek author Tim Ferriss frequently cites how he dropped and quickly regained a large amount of weight to win a martial arts tournament.  Media organizations use subtle brainwashing tricks to turn you over to their point of view.  You can even find posts on this very blog that teach you how to influence others through body language.

There are no rules of conduct when it comes to getting ahead in life; people will always lie, cheat, steal, exploit, trash-talk, bribe, scheme and misinform others to get their way.  And at the same time, others come into the game with more advantages and opportunities than we might see in ten lifetimes.  However, complaining and worrying about these people will only prevent you from gaining sturdier footing and finding your own strategies to succeed.

Instead of making it to the Sultan’s Palace, you’ll be trapped in the imaginary world of the lamp.

I received an email the other day.  There’s nothing particularly significant about that; I receive quite a few emails every day, even if a good deal of them are spam.  The thing about this email though, is that it was about three weeks late.

The person who sent it is usually late with their emails; I never send them anything that needs a fast reply, since it usually takes them a few days to get back to me.  But I do expect a response.

The email I’d sent leading up to the late reply was regarding a trip that I’d had to New York; I had heard that they would be there, and since I was going to be in the city, I wanted to see if they would like to meet up.  By the time they emailed be back, my trip was finished and I was home.

It’s almost impossible to not check your email these days.  While people used to have to sit down at their computers at home to check it, access these days can be performed on even the most basic cell phones.  You get a count of new messages, so you know what you haven’t seen before.  Even if you let it build up, you can still find the point where you haven’t read messages, and can respond at a decent clip.  Unless you’ve cut yourself off from the Internet (which was not the case in the above story), there’s no good reason for an email response that comes more than a week after the other message.

Then again, there’s no real Code of Conduct about this thing, is there?  People are still arguing about the proper time to call someone up after a good first date; there are dozens of questions about social networking responses, and even instant messengers can be confusing.  So here’s a few suggestions on how long you have to respond to a visual or auditory message on (almost) any service before you go from “late” to “jerk being used as an example of jerkish behavior in a blog post”:

Email: One week. There’s a good number of reasons to not answer an email right away: busy day, broken computer/phone, no Internet, thinking up a thoughtful response, vacation, etc.  But as mentioned above, it’s almost harder to not check your email.  So if it takes you a few days to get back to someone, that’s fine.  Just make sure that the rest of your online dealings follow suit, or you’ll come off as someone not interested in communicating with your conversation partner.

Snail mail: One month. Hardly anyone writes letters anymore (besides junk mail and holiday cards), so it’s understandable that receiving and sending letters should be meaningful.  The built-in excuse of the post office screwing up delivery works fine, as is the “I haven’t had a chance to mail it yet” defense, since it’s getting harder and harder to find a mailbox in the wild.  Going past a month makes it seem like you forgot about the initial letter, but responding too quickly (ie: sending out the next day) if no urgency is required creates a message of indifference, especially if a great deal of care was put into the letter you received.

Phone call: Two days. Much like email, the ubiquity of cell phones has made it harder for people to avoid taking a call than to receive one.  Anything from a movie to a root canal to a midday nap can postpone calling plans, although a response within 48 hours is usually enough even in the most dire of circumstances (and also can help prevent the dreaded ‘I forgot what I called about’ conversation).

Voicemail: One day. Unlike simply missing a call, a voicemail message, although it might translate to ‘call me back’ despite rambling on for several minutes, can increase the seeming urgency of communication.  The extra effort of the caller to stress the importance of a return call should translate to a faster response, but if the message itself is “call me back,” a two day maximum should be fine.

Text: Two hours.  When you get a text message, there are a few things you can count on: it will be short, it will be direct, and it will require you to focus more on typing back than making a call.  What you should remember is that texting occupies a weird cultural space where many people who use it take the messages as part of a conversation.  Dragging on a dialog because T9 isn’t working or because auto-correct is being a jerk creates the impression of a long, uncomfortable silence.  Keep your texts short and your breaks in texting chats shorter.

In-person conversation: Immediately.  Okay, fine, you can pause for effect.  But unless there’s some sort of emergency going on behind your conversational partner, there’s not much of an excuse for delaying a response when the real person is right in front of you.

Instant message: 90 minutes.  It’s called “instant” messaging for a reason.  Since you’re utilizing a larger keyboard, messages can (presumably) be typed faster.  This in turn creates less lag time, simulating a more realistic discussion.  It’s fine to brb for lunch, a meeting, the bathroom, a nap or anything else, but if you want to keep the conversation going, a period longer than an hour and a half will kill any momentum your talks were building.

Private message (social network): Five days.  It’s like email, but let’s be honest – you probably check your Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn and other social network profiles a lot more frequently.  And since your activity might be visible to others, waiting for too long to respond makes you seem careless.

Public message (social network): Two days.  Unlike a private message, this one can be seen by anyone you’re in contact with.  In order to maintain a good online reputation, it’s better to answer these messages sooner rather than later.

Other communications: Use common sense.  As I’ve never sent a telegram, flagged anyone in semaphore, chatted via smoke signal or used several other methods of communication that, presumably, others use today, I can’t speak to proper response timing etiquette.  So if you’re paying by the word, making flailing arm gestures or relying on a fire, make the best of your time.

When it comes to communicating with other people, we have more options than ever before.  However, the social landscape is littered with sinkholes that make using the different methods trickier than ever before.  So if you’re not sure how long you can wait, or if you’re worried that you might come off as a jerk for replying after a certain amount of time, refer to this page: it just might save you from becoming blog fodder.

I’ve always had trouble keeping New Year’s resolutions.  It seems silly that a time of year should dictate one’s preferences for personal growth and development, especially in the winter, when it’s too cold in most places to do much of anything.  Perhaps it would make more sense on the sunny shores of Australia, though I’d imagine that most Aussie resolutions would then have to do with getting a tan, taking surfing lessons, domesticating wombats, or doing other things beyond my mental stereotype of the Australian lifestyle, but I digress.  Any goal-setting should be done when the goal-setter is ready to actually accomplish their self-given mission; rushing it doesn’t help.

At the same time, I never got the idea of a Bucket List.  Sure, it’s a compendium of things to do before you die, but they’re all on the same level, having children holds equal importance to winning the famous 72-ounce steak challenge at the Big Texan in Amarillo.  And what do you win?  Death?  That’s hardly a good prize; you’ll win it either way, so maybe the prize is a smug sense of self-satisfaction.  But at least in the case of a Nicholson-Freeman adventure, there’s no time stamp on when to start.

I say all of this because I went against my better nature recently and set a few long-term goals.  So far, I’ve been keeping them, but finding the motivation to continue making progress is both a constant source of frustration and an exercise in self-denial.

Resolution 1: Get in shape.

Ever since I graduated from college (actually, a few months before that), my motivations to maintain a healthy lifestyle had been in a steady decline.  ”I’m not in shape, I’m just a shape,” I would joke. Even though my physical weight only increased by a few pounds, the ratio of fat to muscle shifted considerably.  In the past, I was a student of Yoga, Pilates and other flexibility-enhancing practices.  Now, it was a problem just to touch my toes.  Where I once could run for miles before a workout, I was getting winded walking a few blocks.  I always told myself that I would work out once I had more time; I would finally use the equipment and DVDs I’d amassed over a six-month fitness spree.

I was just collecting the tools and making excuses.

One lazy Saturday near the end of January, I found myself driving past a gym a couple of blocks from my office.  Having nothing better to do, I went in, and was immediately sucked into a sales pitch.  Twenty minutes later, I bought a two-year membership.  Even if I never used it, I could reconcile paying a $25 per month “fat tax.”  Instead, I wound up going at least five times a week since then.  I’ve lost a few pounds and have put on a bit of muscle.  This is literally the best I’ve felt in years.

Resolution 2: Work out the brain muscles.

I like to think that I’m a pretty smart guy.  Taught myself to read by the time I was three, honors classes from Elementary school on, high marks on the SATs when I was in middle school (took it for farts and giggles), and my IQ scores are in pretty good shape.  But all the brains in the world don’t matter if you’re not using them right.

In an odd moment of self-reflection a week before New Year’s, I realized that I had become too reliant on pop culture.  I was quoting movies, television, Internet and music constantly, bolstering my thoughts with the words and images of others.  Instead of finding original thoughts and content, I was turning into the human version of Family Guy: all filler and no real depth.  During this moment, I also realized that I hadn’t read a full book in over a year.  So I did what any rational person would do: an Amazon shopping spree.

I tore through three books in my first month, then moved on to a few titles I’d bought but never bothered reading – the kind you get to fluff out your bookshelf, promising to look at them “one day.”  Then, I bought more at a used bookstore.  Soon after, I went to Borders during a store closing sale.  And now, I’m back to Amazon for another round.

In the past few months, I’ve read a decent number of books, finishing the following: The Man Who Ate Everything, Sleepwalk With Me, Life After College, 5 Very Good Reasons to Punch a Dolphin in the Mouth, The Guinea Pig Diaries, The Year of Living Biblically, Microtrends, Persuasion, Eating the Dinosaur, Chew on This and The Economic Naturalist. There’s also the random Economist and New York Times articles and a whole mess of blog posts, short stories and assorted web links.  My brain has begun to revert to a pre-entertainment mindset; there are entire days that I can go without making references or callbacks to pop culture stuff.

In both cases, all I knew going in was that I wanted to make a change.  There’s been no real goal or set of accomplishment benchmarks, and I can’t point to a single factor that motivated me to begin either endeavor.  Instead, I reached the point where I accepted on a subconscious level that changes needed to be made and acted accordingly.  There doesn’t need to be a list or an event to determine when you start affecting positive results in your life; it can happen at any instant.

Keep all your bucket lists and New Year’s resolutions; I’ll do personal developments on my own time at my own pace.  Unless, that is, you’re in Australia.  Because if that’s the case, I’d really like to know what your resolutions are.

Over the past decade, I’ve undergone several major personal transformations.  My Meyers-Briggs personality test results have literally reversed themselves, as I’ve grown exponentially more extroverted, confident and knowledgeable.  I’ve developed skills that allow me to observe, retain and recall information at a larger volume and with more effectiveness than most people would think possible.  Most recently, I have worked on my physical self, dropping fat and gaining muscle in the way that you would usually only see suffixed by an asterisk and the phrase, “results not typical.”

I’ve honed my mind, body and soul into the optimal form of myself.  Would you like to know the secret?

Shoot, so would I.

People change.  It’s a natural extension of our culture and personalities to develop and adapt to new surroundings, people and experiences.  Most of the time, development happens with a great deal of subtlety, and years can go by before one notices new traits or competencies that have developed stealthily during that time.  When the desire for change is conscious, however, the process becomes stymied.  There’s a greater sense of urgency and immediacy with any undertaking, and a larger deal of frustration and stress comes with any setbacks or failure.

This is why diets don’t work.

When someone starts a diet, they often do so with a particular goal in mind.  It doesn’t matter what the program is, how long it’s supposed to take, or how much it costs; a diet is always constructed with a goal in mind.  ”Lose 15 pounds in just three weeks!” it might say.  ”Slim down two pants sizes in one month!” it might proudly proclaim.  The one thing they neglect to mention, though, is that you will eventually go off the diet.  One can only subsist on grapefruits, large piles of bacon, meat substitutes or vitamin-enriched milkshakes for so long, after all.

When a diet ends, things return to normal.  The goal has been met, and oftentimes, the view of sustaining that accomplishment is overlooked.  It’s why so many people have boomerang body fat percentages, and why there are tens of thousands of diet options on the market today.  Though it might be simpler to cut down on starches and fats while eating healthier foods overall, the gains (or losses) from that practice are not as immediate.  And when people demand change and results, immediacy is key.

This can apply to most personal changes; everything from gaining confidence to learning to ride the unicycle takes time and effort to do well.  And yet, we cling to the quick cures in the hopes that maybe this one will be different.  Maybe this will be the exception to all of the other failed attempts.  If the only thing that works definitely is time, then maybe a shift in perspective is needed.

Most of the time, personal development happens with a great deal of subtlety, and years can go by before one notices new traits or competencies that have developed stealthily during that time.  When looking back, it doesn’t seem like it took that long at all – it’s almost like it happened right away.

It seems that lately, I’ve been hearing more and more people say things like, “You don’t take a test to become an adult.  You just wake up one day, and it’s happened.  There’s no magical path, no test to take, no rite of passage.  Time passes, and you just are an adult.”  This is an irrefutable statement (at least in most Western cultures).  But what if it didn’t have to be?

What if adulthood could be quantified?  Maybe instead of turning into a grown-up without any warning or preparation, there would be a step that certified us as the Responsible Adults that we purport to be.  To that end, I’ve taken the first step towards regulated adulthood: this quiz.  Write down your answers and use the score key at the bottom to see where you stand!

1. Do you think that you’re an actual adult?
   1. I can get tried like an adult, so yes
   2. For the most part, yes
   3. Sometimes
   4. I MISS COLORING AND NAP TIME
2. Do you usually pay all of your bills on time?
   1. Yes, and I keep a record of my finances
   2. When I can
   3. If there’s cash left over after I buy booze
   4. I’m in debt up to my eyeballs
3. What percentage of your student loans have you paid off?
   1. Didn’t have any/Didn’t go to college
   2. Slowly chipping away at it, but I’m a ways in
   3. If there’s cash left over after I buy booze and pay my bills (so barely any)
   4. My parents take care of that for me
4. What’s your current employment status? ‘Employed’ means you get paid for providing a good or service.
   1. Got a job and loving it!
   2. Got a job and hating it!
   3. Unemployed and hating it!
   4. Unemployed and loving it!
   5. Being this awesome is a full-time job.  It’s priceless.
5. Finish this sentence: “Most of my friends are _______.”
   1. Employed
   2. Unemployed
   3. Living with their parents
   4. In jail
   5. Imaginary
6. Have you eaten a dessert item (cake, ice cream, pie, etc) for breakfast in the past three months?
   1. Yes
   2. No
   3. If my trainer/dietitian asks, no, but otherwise, yes
   4. EVERY MORNING
7. What type of shows do you watch the most often?
   1. News
   2. Sports
   3. Sitcoms/Reality TV
   4. Cartoons
   5. I don’t watch TV
8. Are you still listening to some of the same music that you listened to when you were a teenager?
   1. Yes
   2. No
9. Re: Question 8 – Really?
   1. Yes, dangit!
   2. I told you no!
   3. Okay, I lied
   4. It’s cool, nobody had heard if it anyway back then
10. If you met yourself the minute after you graduated from the last school you attended, what reaction would Past You have to Current You?
    1. Impressed!  You did better than expected
    2. Pleased.  You accomplished most of your goals
    3. Disappointed.  You could have done much better
    4. Confused.  Please explain how time travel works in this scenario.
11. Choose the word or phrase that best describes your plans for the next few years of your life.
    1. Dominate everything.
    2. Sit back, relax, and enjoy.
    3. Survive and maintain.
    4. Spiral downward and flame out in a blaze of glory.
    5. Do a little dance, make a little love, get down tonight.
12. Which one of these things are you most upset about?
    1. War
    2. Poverty
    3. Economic crises
    4. Natural disasters
    5. Rebecca Black’s “Friday”
13. Do you vote?  If you’re ineligible to do so, pick the one that is closest to what you would do.
    1. Presidential elections only. I like to help with the big decisions.
    2. Presidential , mid-term, special elections, whatever. I love democracy!
    3. Only for reality show competitions. At least my vote counts there.
    4. Voting is a tool of The Man and the masses of Sheeple in society should not be trusted.
14. Choose whichever of the following that most closely describes your ideal relationship status.
    1. Happily monogamous
    2. Happily polyamorous
    3. Happily in a constant state of “it’s complicated”
    4. Happily single
    5. ORGIES ALL THE TIME
15. What is the next large-item purchase you’re planning on making?
    1. House/condo
    2. Car
    3. Computer/TV
    4. Couch
    5. Vintage 1982 mint condition, in-box Star Wars action figure set
16. What is your relationship like with your parents?
    1. I should probably call them when I’m done with this quiz
    2. Pretty good. They keep pushing me for grandkids, though
    3. Sunday brunch, every week, like clockwork.  Like…effing…clockwork…
    4. We hang out all the time
    5. I should really tell Mom that we’re low on milk before I finish it
17. Which of the following best describes your cooking aptitude?
    1. Hardcore foodie/Iron Chef contender/professional cook
    2. I can make a few things
    3. As long as the instructions are on the box, I’ll be fine
    4. Thanks to restaurants, take-out and frozen stuff, I never have to cook
    5. I’m a Breatharian.  We don’t believe in food.
18. When you get angry at someone, which of these is the most likely reason why?
    1. A fundamental failure to communicate on the same level
    2. They’re a poopy-headed dummy and they stink
    3. They are not listening to or cooperating with me
    4. I messed up and I’m projecting
    5. I am the Lord’s Vengeance, and my heart burns bright with eternal rage
19. Do you have any interest in continuing your education?
    1. I’m taking a few classes, seminars, going for certifications, or something like that
    2. Maybe a painting class at the rec center at some point
    3. Heading back to school for an advanced degree
    4. Not really.  I’m good, thanks.
20. Do you believe that you are a full-fledged grownup?
    1. Yep!
    2. Sure, why not
    3. Maybe
    4. Absolutely not

ANSWER KEY

0-10: Try again later.  I really hope you were answering the questions jokingly.  Or that you’re under the age of fifteen.  If neither is the case, please don’t tell me, as I shall surely go mad with rage.

11-21: Ehh… You’ve got some growing up to do.  Much like the protagonist of a Judd Apatow film, you might be living a life of comfort and relaxation, but there’s more to being an adult than just age (at least according to this quiz).  Try taking a few steps away from childhood; being an overgrown adolescent isn’t as attractive as you might think it is.

22-33: Certified! You’ve hit the sweet spot of responsibility and playfulness that would (if this quiz was a real thing) give you your Official Adult Registration Card, or other similar identifier.  Well done!  Have a wine and cheese party with friends, go sailing, or reenact some other scene from the LL Bean catalog to celebrate.

34 or 35: Certifiable! Calm it down there!  One of the key elements of being an adult is knowing when to hang back, relax, and enjoy things.  You don’t have to be so serious and strict all the time.  Get that stick out of your butt and enjoy some overly sugary cereal while watching classic cartoons on Hulu.  Your inner child will thank you later.

Life is made up of a series of small moments.  From the first glance across the table with your eventual spouse to ink marking paper to sign a contract for a new home, even the largest events have auspicious beginnings.  The tiny bits of a day add up to form a larger narrative, but sometimes they can be rewarding on their own.

We experience dozens upon hundreds of unique interactions with different people every day, but gloss over many of them.  Do you remember what you said to the cashier the last time you made a purchase?  Can you recall the details of small talk around the office?  It’s impossible to keep track of them, but they all combine to form our daily lives.  What might be insignificant to some might be the most meaningful to others.

During the first few years of high school, my friends and I would go to the movies on our half-days.  At a showing for the latest Harry Potter flick, a few younger kids sitting behind us were discussing every detail of the movie compared with the book, including events that hadn’t happened yet.  ”That spell’s not going to work,” one said, breaking the rising tension.  ”Clearly, it’s one of Voldemort’s guys,” the other remarked just before the big reveal.  It was too much.

I turned around in my seat.  ”SHUT UP AND LET US WATCH THE MOVIE!” I yelled.  The theater burst into a round of applause, and the rest of the movie was spoiler-free.

When we left the theater, the group delved into our usual chat about the movie, from favorite lines and scenes to criticism over the effects and performances.  And the one review that I’ll always remember came from my friend Andrew.  ”My favorite part was when that guy told those kids to shut up.”

I doubt that the kids who were chattering away remember their experience in the theater, and I doubt that my friends all remember it either.  Heck, I can’t remember which of the harry Potter movies it was.  That small moment of speaking out when everyone else was silent, as small and insignificant as it was, still means something to me.

We can also find solace in our daily routines.  There’s comfort in the familiar motions, from a consistent choice of breakfast cereals to brushing one’s teeth starting from the same spot every morning.  Running on autopilot lets us use our minds for heavier thoughts, although the specifics of our routines can get lost when they become too familiar.

One of my former roommates would always start the day out stretching like a cat.  One of my friends has sung the same song in the shower every morning for almost five years, even though he has never learned the right lyrics to the song.  And as for me?  It’s all about the underoos.

Seriously.  I don’t own a single pair of “grown-up” underpants.  They’re all novelties, from bananas and cows to neon yellow skulls and crossbones and images of underpants (meta-underwear, it’s been called).  When I pick out what I’m wearing for the day, I can be secure in the knowledge that no matter how professional I need to be at the office, or how cool I have to pretend to be around friends, my skivvies are always ridiculous.

It’s impossible to be really upset when your undies have smiley faces all over ‘em.

No matter what you think is the most important part of your day, there are thousands of tiny events that occur during your waking hours that shape your life and the world around you.  Every once in a while, it’s nice to sit back and enjoy the little things.

In a clear sign of the times, all of the Borders bookstores in my immediate area (re: 25-mile radius) are closing down.  As a result of this, they’re offering some pretty nice discounts on books and other reading materials.  This past weekend, I decided to stop in to see what I could snag on the cheap from the picked-over remnants of the closest store.

After perusing the business, literature, music and humor sections, I came to self-help.  And once I had passed through what must be either a poor re-stocking policy or a very odd sense of humor on the parts of the employees (Karma Sutra, a Donald Trump business book and a Garfield treasury, among others), I noticed the book that I worked on last year, in paperback and hardcover.  Having never received an advance (or any) copy of the book, I decided to grab the cheaper paperback.  And that’s when I noticed this:

Remembering that paperback editions can include revisions and updates, I flipped through the pages to find that my pictures were still there.  And I was still omitted from receiving any credit for my contribution.  To explain how I could be completely discounted from any official acknowledgement of writing about 1/3 of a book, we’ll need to dive a few years into the past.

Less than a year after graduation, I was living in Washington, DC, struggling to find a job that could help me pay my absurdly high rent.  I had to leave my previous employer after my contract was up at the end of the 2008 election, and I was desperate.  Desperate enough to enter the Forbidden Zone to all but the bravest and most foolhardy of souls: Craigslist.

It was there that I found a somewhat innocuous job posting for a paid intern/assistant position to someone described as a “Body Language Contributor.”  And unlike many job postings on Craigslist, this one was genuine – I went through three rounds of interviews before getting an official job offer via email (sans contract), where I was informed that I would be getting paid a commission to help book corporate gigs for a motivational speaker with a body language emphasis.  The commission rate seemed solid enough (one gig per month would cover my rent), and I negotiated a low hourly wage for any other duties.  Also, I was told I would get an iPhone.

Instead of working on finding bookings (it turned out that there was a small team doing that already), I found myself doing research, making calls, responding to emails, helping to coach dating and body language seminars, and writing.  Oh, the writing.  When tasked with ghostwriting an article for Monster.com, I churned out a puff piece that my boss thought was amazing.  Suddenly, I was writing her e-newsletters, blog updates, and soon, large sections of the first draft of her book.

It was at this time that I started noticing that I wasn’t getting any time to work on bookings, and had I not negotiated for my pittance of an hourly wage, I would have not been getting paid at all.  Similarly, the costs of transportation to get to and from my apartment in Northwest DC to my boss’ office in Virginia were high enough that by going to work, I was losing money.

During the time of my employment, a second assistant was hired.  However, she was actually billed as an intern, and to my knowledge, only received class credit.  The boss often had me redo her work, whether it was rewriting something or doing further research.

The book itself was a large undertaking.  Despite having found a co-writer, the agreement was that my boss would write the first draft, then send it to the co-writer for “punching-up.”  To me, this sounded more like an extra editor, but I digress.  What this meant was that we needed to create enough content to overfill the projected page count of the book, so it could be pared down through the various revisions and edits to a slimmer volume.  Think of it like someone gorging themselves during the holiday season so they have more weight to lose when they hit the gym after a New Year’s resolution.

When the draft was completed, the book clocked in at over than 300 pages.  Of those 300, I wrote, edited or re-wrote more than 100 of them (including re-writes for almost all of the intern’s content).  A good quantity of the other content was re-purposed from the boss’ earlier ebooks, speeches and articles.  It had become quite exhausting, due in no small part to my dwindling finances and my boss’ inability to pay me with any degree of regularity or consistency.  On the day the book was finished, I gave a verbal two weeks’ notice, and was promptly fired.

This ended my relationship with the book.  Which raises an interesting question: should I get credit for writing any of it?

The only draft that I worked on was a rough draft, and one could easily imagine several rounds of revisions going back and forth from the publisher, editor, co-writer and my former boss.  Despite this, I can easily point to several chapters full of content that appears verbatim from what I originally wrote.

Additionally, I never had any sort of deal with the publisher.  I was hired by the woman whose name is on the cover, and she’s entitled to use what I produced in whatever manner she sees fit.  Monetary compensation was involved.  She did mention the intern in her acknowledgements section, and it could even be argued that I count among the “numerous interns” thanked in that same section.  The only hard proof of my involvement in the book that others could see are two pictures of me demonstrating body language on two separate pages, which could practically double as low-quality surveillance footage from the ’60s:

I know what you’re thinking: Dang, your hair looks terrible, Andy! And I’m not arguing with that.  But the worst thing about contributing to this book, even if the only proof of my involvement is in a couple of grainy photos, is that there’s no recorded proof within the text that I had anything to do with it.  I only found out about the book being a bestseller when I tracked down a copy for myself, grabbing it with a 60% discount over a year after it first came out.

So the real takeaway from the whole experience is this: if you’re going to contribute to someone else’s work or help someone else achieve their goals and dreams in a way that others will see, make sure that you discuss proper recognition.  Otherwise, you might be the only person who knows that you did something great.  Like write a New York Times bestseller.

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.