Civilization, Are We Really Civilized, Yes Or No? Who Are We To Judge?
--"Mr. Wendal", Arrested Development
As pointed out by my supervisor at work, I'm possibly the least attentive person in our department. I have a process to working that's worked for me for as long I've known. I can--or should I say, need to--juggle two or three things in my head at any time, but no more. Any time I'm called upon to notice anything outside of those three things, I utterly fail. Usually one of those details that I'm focused on has nothing to do with work and it's usually my safe harbor when I need a break from work-related stresses. That leaves two areas I can concentrate which have a slight connection to the responsibilities of my job. This handicap to my personality manifests in many ways. Sometimes it's called a faulty short-term memory. Sometimes it's called apathy or indifference. And sometimes people label it just plain weirdness. The actuality is that I tend to focus the whole of my attention on a few things at a time in much the same manner Goldilocks has to have her bed just so. I can't focus on just one activity nor can I really be called a multi-tasker. As aforementioned, I'm fairly decent at completing two or three jobs at once.
It's manifested in other facets of my life as well. There's a lot going on in this world that I simply haven't taken the time to care about or truly devoted any effort to noticing. When people picture the image of an ostrich burying its head in the sand they're usually picturing me. Chief among the complaints of the realities of our world that I've never contemplated before is the reality of racism. I've never spent many hours thinking long and hard about how it's affected me. I've never bothered to delve into the way it's touched me or people I've known. I've never even bothered to admit that it's really had any bearing in my life. For the most part I continue to believe that it doesn't brush up against my life at all.
I say this because my co-worker Antonio came back from Indiana and all he could talk about was how many "hillbillies" he was surrounded with over there. Antonio, if you haven't guessed by the name, is of Mexican descent so for him it was a noticeable difference being one of a very small sampling of minorities in the town he was visiting. While I was hearing the story it really struck me how often he called attention to the fact he pointed out he was surrounded by white people or how he noticed the difference between how he was often singled out there and not over here. It wasn't that he was being treated poorly--it was just surprising to hear how it really affected his whole weeklong trip. Me? I've been to all different parts of the country, from huge cities to the most backwater of backwater towns and I've never once come back with stories of how I felt like I was an outcast or different from everybody else. Hell, I just came back from Kentucky--not just Louisville, not just Lexington--but parts of southern Kentucky and parts of western Kentucky where the big cities aren't. All I could remember of the trip and the people there was how nice everyone else, and not just that facetious graciousness that you sometimes get in big cities in Los Angeles or New York, but genuine warmth and affection.
In fact, most trips I came back from all I really remember was how everyone treated me swell and how great a time I've had meeting new people. While I wouldn't go so far as to say I made huge gaggles of new friends, I don't remember a time where I said I hated the people in a particular city or that I made new enemies. For the most part, I've met only good people when I've been outside the safety of my Southern California perch. I just don't see people treating me differently because of my racial background, ethnicity, or whatever you want to call it. It doesn't mean it doesn't happen; it just means I've never seen it firsthand.
Like I said, I'm oblivious. Breanne tells me that. Toby tells me that. Even my own brother tells me that.
The closest I've ever come to noticing that there are places that treat you differently according to the color of your skin was when I was visiting Jina over in Wheeling, West Virginia. It was my first day there and her family treated me to breakfast at this local restaurant. When I walked in not only did I notice I was the only Asian/Pacific Islander in the room, I also noticed that I was the only non-white person in the room. So, yeah, people stared for the first couple of minutes, but no one at the other tables really said anything to cause me to become uncomfortable. After awhile I just forgot that I was anything out of the ordinary in that town. More to the point, when we were all walking out, no one stared at me as we got up and I didn't even bother to look around to see if anyone was even glancing at me from the side of their face. I honestly believe that any notion of people thinking I was the circus oddity disappeared as soon as I didn't make a huge deal out of it.
I guess that's what people refer to when they say I have a short-term memory. I don't dwell on things that don't really make a difference to me. Like Antonio can spend the bulk of his trip noticing how things are different where he is and how the people act differently where he is. I've always been able to keep my tunnel vision on how, except for some minor details, some minor surface changes, people really act the same way anywhere you go. I never call attention to the fact I'm different than anyone else. I don't shy away when people make eye contact with me. I don't get all paranoid that people are noticing every little move I make. I just never feel that much under scrutiny. That helps me a lot when I'm meeting new people. I have it within me to keep to the background and not call attention to myself. Yet when the opportunity to strike up a conversation with someone, that natural tendency hasn't stopped me from just butting my way into the conversation.
I've built a million anecdotes in my time and I'll unleash them on anyway, given the right atmosphere. Doing that has pretty much saved me from being a recluse wherever I go. Whether it's bonding with my fellow Red Sox fans on my first trip to Boston to the point where we were buying each other drinks by th 7th Inning, to talking the ears off the other passengers on the L while Lucy and I were there, I have a funny story for a lot of different references in a conversation. When it comes to me getting comfortable with people I don't know, I'm the Forrest Gump of storytelling. I'll just start spewing a tale of personal history as if I've known you for five years. For instance, i can't tell you how many random people I've told about my Holy Grail of Milkshake story or how many folks out there have had the misfortune of hearing my cousins tried to kill me in Lake Tahoe story. It's just how I relate to people. I don't think of them as being black or white, or whatever. To me they're just people who might be entertained by my stupid perspective of the world. And I don't look up at people as if they're judging me. Lord knows I'm far harsher on myself than anyone else could be.
I guess that's why I'm oblivious to thoughts of racism or sexism or any other word signifying how people wish to be grouped. I just see people as potential audiences. Either that or I see them as potential fodder for future stories. It's truly difficult to tell a story or capture a story if you're worried the entire time about if your audience is looking down on you for being Asian or if you look down on your characters because they're black or hispanic, or whatever. When people are just characters it almost doesn't matter to me what they look like; that's like background for the character, that's just their backstory. What interests me, what's important to me, is how they contribute to the story I'm in the process of writing for myself. What I take with me when I venture into uncharted territory--when I'm visiting Macon dressed so out-of-place and hanging off the arm of someone who so belongs there when it's obvious I don't, when I'm asking directions to a bourbon distillery in the back woods of eastern Kentucky while everyone is wondering what spaceship me and Toby just touched down together in, or when I'm even going shopping with the girls in conservative Orange County--is the idea everyone likes to hear a good story about people's foibles. More than that, they like being heard for their inconsistencies and their shortcomings.
Maybe that's why I haven't been smacked across the forehead with the palm of racism. I think everyone's got a story to tell and that makes them more valuable to get to know than not know. And that supersedes any thoughts of how we're different. It's our love of hearing about how the other person lives that unites us and makes us bond.
So yeah, I'm focused when it comes to seeing how people relate to each other. I could try and ponder why people are so hateful to one another. I could try and just see how people are strange. That could be me if I really wanted to dig up how we as humans fail one another time and time again. I could just say people are too weird to comprehend and be done with it.
I'd rather not just stop at thinking how peculiar other people are.
I'd rather go one step further and hear how they got to be so peculiar and fascinating. That beats dwelling to no avail on how their skin color just looks vastly different than my own. I'd rather hear their story and have them hear mine than live in a world where no one hears anybody's tale because they're too skeptical of being heard by one another.
Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers
As pointed out by my supervisor at work, I'm possibly the least attentive person in our department. I have a process to working that's worked for me for as long I've known. I can--or should I say, need to--juggle two or three things in my head at any time, but no more. Any time I'm called upon to notice anything outside of those three things, I utterly fail. Usually one of those details that I'm focused on has nothing to do with work and it's usually my safe harbor when I need a break from work-related stresses. That leaves two areas I can concentrate which have a slight connection to the responsibilities of my job. This handicap to my personality manifests in many ways. Sometimes it's called a faulty short-term memory. Sometimes it's called apathy or indifference. And sometimes people label it just plain weirdness. The actuality is that I tend to focus the whole of my attention on a few things at a time in much the same manner Goldilocks has to have her bed just so. I can't focus on just one activity nor can I really be called a multi-tasker. As aforementioned, I'm fairly decent at completing two or three jobs at once.It's manifested in other facets of my life as well. There's a lot going on in this world that I simply haven't taken the time to care about or truly devoted any effort to noticing. When people picture the image of an ostrich burying its head in the sand they're usually picturing me. Chief among the complaints of the realities of our world that I've never contemplated before is the reality of racism. I've never spent many hours thinking long and hard about how it's affected me. I've never bothered to delve into the way it's touched me or people I've known. I've never even bothered to admit that it's really had any bearing in my life. For the most part I continue to believe that it doesn't brush up against my life at all.
I say this because my co-worker Antonio came back from Indiana and all he could talk about was how many "hillbillies" he was surrounded with over there. Antonio, if you haven't guessed by the name, is of Mexican descent so for him it was a noticeable difference being one of a very small sampling of minorities in the town he was visiting. While I was hearing the story it really struck me how often he called attention to the fact he pointed out he was surrounded by white people or how he noticed the difference between how he was often singled out there and not over here. It wasn't that he was being treated poorly--it was just surprising to hear how it really affected his whole weeklong trip. Me? I've been to all different parts of the country, from huge cities to the most backwater of backwater towns and I've never once come back with stories of how I felt like I was an outcast or different from everybody else. Hell, I just came back from Kentucky--not just Louisville, not just Lexington--but parts of southern Kentucky and parts of western Kentucky where the big cities aren't. All I could remember of the trip and the people there was how nice everyone else, and not just that facetious graciousness that you sometimes get in big cities in Los Angeles or New York, but genuine warmth and affection.
In fact, most trips I came back from all I really remember was how everyone treated me swell and how great a time I've had meeting new people. While I wouldn't go so far as to say I made huge gaggles of new friends, I don't remember a time where I said I hated the people in a particular city or that I made new enemies. For the most part, I've met only good people when I've been outside the safety of my Southern California perch. I just don't see people treating me differently because of my racial background, ethnicity, or whatever you want to call it. It doesn't mean it doesn't happen; it just means I've never seen it firsthand.
Like I said, I'm oblivious. Breanne tells me that. Toby tells me that. Even my own brother tells me that.
The closest I've ever come to noticing that there are places that treat you differently according to the color of your skin was when I was visiting Jina over in Wheeling, West Virginia. It was my first day there and her family treated me to breakfast at this local restaurant. When I walked in not only did I notice I was the only Asian/Pacific Islander in the room, I also noticed that I was the only non-white person in the room. So, yeah, people stared for the first couple of minutes, but no one at the other tables really said anything to cause me to become uncomfortable. After awhile I just forgot that I was anything out of the ordinary in that town. More to the point, when we were all walking out, no one stared at me as we got up and I didn't even bother to look around to see if anyone was even glancing at me from the side of their face. I honestly believe that any notion of people thinking I was the circus oddity disappeared as soon as I didn't make a huge deal out of it.
I guess that's what people refer to when they say I have a short-term memory. I don't dwell on things that don't really make a difference to me. Like Antonio can spend the bulk of his trip noticing how things are different where he is and how the people act differently where he is. I've always been able to keep my tunnel vision on how, except for some minor details, some minor surface changes, people really act the same way anywhere you go. I never call attention to the fact I'm different than anyone else. I don't shy away when people make eye contact with me. I don't get all paranoid that people are noticing every little move I make. I just never feel that much under scrutiny. That helps me a lot when I'm meeting new people. I have it within me to keep to the background and not call attention to myself. Yet when the opportunity to strike up a conversation with someone, that natural tendency hasn't stopped me from just butting my way into the conversation.
I've built a million anecdotes in my time and I'll unleash them on anyway, given the right atmosphere. Doing that has pretty much saved me from being a recluse wherever I go. Whether it's bonding with my fellow Red Sox fans on my first trip to Boston to the point where we were buying each other drinks by th 7th Inning, to talking the ears off the other passengers on the L while Lucy and I were there, I have a funny story for a lot of different references in a conversation. When it comes to me getting comfortable with people I don't know, I'm the Forrest Gump of storytelling. I'll just start spewing a tale of personal history as if I've known you for five years. For instance, i can't tell you how many random people I've told about my Holy Grail of Milkshake story or how many folks out there have had the misfortune of hearing my cousins tried to kill me in Lake Tahoe story. It's just how I relate to people. I don't think of them as being black or white, or whatever. To me they're just people who might be entertained by my stupid perspective of the world. And I don't look up at people as if they're judging me. Lord knows I'm far harsher on myself than anyone else could be.
I guess that's why I'm oblivious to thoughts of racism or sexism or any other word signifying how people wish to be grouped. I just see people as potential audiences. Either that or I see them as potential fodder for future stories. It's truly difficult to tell a story or capture a story if you're worried the entire time about if your audience is looking down on you for being Asian or if you look down on your characters because they're black or hispanic, or whatever. When people are just characters it almost doesn't matter to me what they look like; that's like background for the character, that's just their backstory. What interests me, what's important to me, is how they contribute to the story I'm in the process of writing for myself. What I take with me when I venture into uncharted territory--when I'm visiting Macon dressed so out-of-place and hanging off the arm of someone who so belongs there when it's obvious I don't, when I'm asking directions to a bourbon distillery in the back woods of eastern Kentucky while everyone is wondering what spaceship me and Toby just touched down together in, or when I'm even going shopping with the girls in conservative Orange County--is the idea everyone likes to hear a good story about people's foibles. More than that, they like being heard for their inconsistencies and their shortcomings.
Maybe that's why I haven't been smacked across the forehead with the palm of racism. I think everyone's got a story to tell and that makes them more valuable to get to know than not know. And that supersedes any thoughts of how we're different. It's our love of hearing about how the other person lives that unites us and makes us bond.
So yeah, I'm focused when it comes to seeing how people relate to each other. I could try and ponder why people are so hateful to one another. I could try and just see how people are strange. That could be me if I really wanted to dig up how we as humans fail one another time and time again. I could just say people are too weird to comprehend and be done with it.
I'd rather not just stop at thinking how peculiar other people are.
I'd rather go one step further and hear how they got to be so peculiar and fascinating. That beats dwelling to no avail on how their skin color just looks vastly different than my own. I'd rather hear their story and have them hear mine than live in a world where no one hears anybody's tale because they're too skeptical of being heard by one another.
Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers
Labels: Arrested Development, attention, diligence, perception, racism
posted by mojo shivers @ 1:21 AM
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