I don't get out much. Maybe a bit
reclusive. My "public appearances" are infrequent.
Everyone knows who I am, but few people actually know me. Twice
weekly, I instruct a early morning spin class. I brief my company's
board of directors monthly. I run a handful of road races each year.
Recently I added a Wednesday night outing with a running group. This
is pretty much all. The only times when I'm on display, out in my
community. Well, this and my blog. But that's anonymous. And every
week or two, we'll get together with another family for drinks,
dinner, that sort of thing. Quiet life. Not a ton of social
interaction.
When I do something in public and do it
well, I want someone to notice, to comment, to validify. Great spin
class! You smoked that 5K! Excellent briefing! Wow, you really nailed
that! How do you grill your hot dogs so perfectly? I'm looking for
that pat on the back. The affirming email. An acquaintance to approach
me, tell me that people are talking about how great I was. Seriously.
This has to be some sort of mental illness. If I was on Facebook, I'd
be tallying "Likes".
On Sunday, I posted an essay to my
blog. Beer Running. I loved it. I started writing it as a promotion
piece for a fitness oriented council I serve on, but it morphed into
a heartfelt piece about my inability to connect with others. And
then... Silence. These postings don't come easy. Lots of work. Heart
and soul, innermost thoughts, all that crap. I'm looking for a nod. A
"plus-one". A positive comment. "Your essay changed
my life." This doesn't happen. And why should it? I don't do
much of that either. I don't even know why people read my blog. It's
all over the place. Fitness, mental illness, ranting about society,
technology, teachers. In truth, I don't even know if anyone
reads my blog. Lots of page views. From all around the world. But how
long do they stay? Stumble in, think "what the hell is this?"
Then quickly click out.
And why do I care? I blog for myself.
To work through my issues. Give myself space and a backdrop where I
can ponder. To improve my writing. And it works. On the days I write,
I feel better. More at peace. I've purged my demons. Opened a valve
to let out some steam. But once I post the essay, the peace is gone.
Now I'm just looking for someone to prop me up. Acknowledge that they
read the essay. Argue a point. Anything.
I have the same issue with spinning. I
instruct the class that I want to take. The workout has purpose, the
music too. But the workout and the music are unlike the other classes
at my fitness center. Especially the music. Hard driving classic rock
and punk. A bit of Reggae. Some middle-eastern folk music, weird kids' music. Anything. Except the radio pop and country the other
instructors use. I started my own class because I was sick of other
instructors calling off, sleeping in. This way I knew that if I
showed up before dawn, the class would happen, the instructor would
be there. Initially, I said I didn't care if anyone came. The point
was the workout. Now I'm disappointed if only five people or six
people show up. Disappointed if they don't walk out of the room
mumbling "best.spin.class.ever."
And then I wait for the feedback. The
feedback that never comes. An email. A phone call. "I never
understood a balance sheet until I heard you explained it!" Or a
link to someone's Facebook post. Telling the world how great I am.
"Guys, you have to read this blog!" "... take this
spin class!" It's pathetic, needy, high school.
I confessed this to my wife, Susan the
other day. My need for external validation. BTW – Susan doesn't
like it when I write about her on my blog. She feels that I make her
seem too together, too evolved. But the fact is that she is more
balanced and thoughtful than me. I am more instinctual. Primal.
Impulsive. Childlike. And of course she told me exactly what I needed
to hear, and what I already knew, but needed to be reminded. The only
one who will give me the validation I need, the props I crave, is me.
I am the only person I need to impress. Peace comes from
actualization. Not from pats on the back. When I do my best, nail
something – a run, a class, an essay, grilled meat – I should
just soak it in, feel proud. And strive to improve next time. An
audience of one.
A stupid validation joke from my past.
Me, handing my parking stub to the
bartender: "Can you validate me?"
Bartender: "You're a wonderful
person!"
Everyone is looking for it. I know
this. I see posts on Google begging for plus-ones. To be circled. At
work, I see posturing in meetings, bragging about achievements. This
is the result of a lifetime of conditioning. Feedback from parents,
teachers, employers. We are supposed to impress others. It's the
American way. It might be the Malaysian way as well, I've never been
to Malaysia. But I've learned from my below average educational
achievements and my above average career that how others perceive me
has a direct impact on how I feel about myself. How standards set by
others dictate my self-worth.
Susan reminds me that I can only do my
best. Once I've done that, I can coast. I don't need to worry
anymore, I'm maxed out. Actualized. If it sucks, so be it. If no one
else cares, so be that, too. I don't need to be awesome, better than
everyone. Just as good as I can be. If I think I rocked a spin
class, nailed a briefing, smoked a race, that's where peace lies, not
in praise from others. But still, the phone doesn't ring. My email is
full of spam, and I don't know what people write on Facebook. Wish
they were writing about me.
The messy truth -- I love it. I know what you mean --- when you want to hear applause, you hear ... crickets. If only we could learn to do our work, then step back and forget it. Move on to the next thing....
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