Unfortunately, the day came. The day that my mourning period for the loss of Steve Jobs was forcibly brought to an end. After performing a 600+ page ritual of appreciation and awe, or in less embellished terms, after finishing Walter Isaacson's biography of Jobs, it is finally time for me to say goodbye to one of my heroes. But before I do that, I have to make it known that I've finally figured out why I've been so fascinated by Jobs in recent years.
As I expressed in my initial post about Steve's passing, I've always preferred Apple products over any other. I've owned them, loved them and allowed them to become completely embedded in my daily life. In part, it's probably because I've always liked to do things a little bit differently and stand out in subtle, yet noticeable ways. But it's also because I'm kind of the ideal Mac person. I love music, I love efficiency, I love creativity. I love quirkiness and beauty in the things I use every day and I like the things I buy to be both accessible and seemingly divine. In my opinion, Apple products are all of these things.
But why Steve? Sure, he's the figurehead for a brand that I love. But why do I care about him as anyone other than the man who delivered the news? Or the man who allowed me to have these things that so perfectly complement my life's wants and needs? If I had to guess, I would say that most were drawn to Steve Jobs as a person because he was a renegade, a rebel, a denizen of the counter-culture who was able to infiltrate the decade-old white washed walls of corporate conference rooms and build an empire of uniqueness, creativity, excitement and, of course, great products. Until I read the biography of Steve, I thought that was why I was drawn to him too.
But as I flew through the pages of Steve's life and read the many narratives of his journey, both from his perspective and from the eyes of everyone else he crossed paths with, I was hit with a big fat reality brick. I am not just intrigued by Steve because of what he's done and how he became this beacon of technological advancement and brand personality in what easily could have been a bleak, stark Big Brother computer world. I am so interested in him because I, in a way, am him. The swings between cold and warm. The unwavering focus on certain things and complete avoidance of others. The mood swings. The preferences in other types of individuals. The ways of relating to and communicating with others. As I read accounts of Steve's decisions, interactions, relationships, quirks, perks and faults, I was astounded to see so many similarities between him and myself.
In a way, coming to this realization is a bit depressing. I want to be like Steve because I'm a genius, a bringer of brilliance, an innovator, a life-changer. Not because I use words and irrational moods as a facade for my sensitivities. Not because I am able to build that facade because I know what hurts and how horrible certain things can make people feel. Not because I'm obsessive over seemingly inconsequential things and incessantly self-controlling and self-aware.
Yet, in a way, this gave me hope. Hope in two directions. The first: it gave me hope that I'll be able to make up for these flaws that I carry deeply ingrained in my personality by doing other things. By trying to be great and hopefully, eventually, achieving greatness. This hope makes me feel as though I'll be able to succeed despite these things that can (and have, in some ways) set me back.
Then, the second, it gave me hope that eventually people will come to fully and completely accept me for who I am as they did Steve. I now see that it is possible for others to come to terms with the type of person that I am, even if it hurts and confuses along the way. Whether my friends, loved ones and colleagues will have it in them to endure my less admirable qualities to make it to that point is an entirely different story. But to see that Steve always stayed true to himself and never once backed down on his intuitive reactions and actions, even though they could have used sugar-coating for the sake of social appropriateness... it made me feel alive. It made me feel like the world will go on if I stop sanding down my natural prickliness just for the sake of making it through a conversation. It made me feel, as periods of self-exploration and -awareness often do, that I'm going to be okay.
Part of why I've started sharing more personal things on this blog is because I think a big part of the common person is the common feeling. There is no question in my mind that we all spend a good amount of our time, at least subconsciously, looking for that person on the other side of the mirror. We want to find someone that we look like, sound like, dress like and, of course, act like, so we can see what's really going on inside ourselves. I've finally found at least one of these in Steve Jobs through reading this book. It would make me feel even more confident in the purpose of this blog if you all shared your similar, or completely different, experiences with me too.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
The Term Limit
Oh how I love when I'm inspired to write about something relevant to the original theme of this blog. Especially when it's about an undercover issue, as opposed to ones that I feel forced to address (The Penn State scandal, the Kardashian non-issue, Occupy --insert city here--). But as usual, I was doing a casual read-over of one of my favorite sites, Gawker, and saw this little ditty about Bill Clinton engaging in conversation about third, non-consecutive presidential terms: http://gawker.com/5857506/bill-clinton-let-presidents-serve-three-terms .
This got me thinking. I've always thought it was pretty cool that George Washington stepped down all those years ago, setting a precedent for presidents to not overstay their welcome. I've also long supported the widely endorsed notion that a lack of executive turn-over has led most of the world's corrupted nations into their corruption. And then of course, there's Joan Didion's quip that you really can stay too long at the fair. So, in theory, you could say I'm a believer in limited terms.
But after reading this cutesy Bill Clinton mention on Gawker, I couldn't help but let my mind wander to the question: which comes first, the chicken or the egg? Except... which comes first, the tyranny or the tyrannical leader? Or better yet: nature vs. nurture? Which creates tyranny: the nature of the government or the individual(s) that leads it? The political scientist in me wants to say there's an answer, but what many years of pondering what makes political entities what they are has taught me is that no matter how many numbers, correlations and historical accounts we take into consideration, there's really no knowing. We can only predict how a nation will turn out. We can't foresee it. So really, maybe there's something else there. Something between the chicken and the egg. Some matrix of nature vs. nurture.
So I ask you: which do you think comes first? The tyranny or the tyrannist? The nature of the government or the nature of the leader? Can it be defined? Or is this another thing that political scientists should throw into the "let's wait and see and define in retrospect" category?
This got me thinking. I've always thought it was pretty cool that George Washington stepped down all those years ago, setting a precedent for presidents to not overstay their welcome. I've also long supported the widely endorsed notion that a lack of executive turn-over has led most of the world's corrupted nations into their corruption. And then of course, there's Joan Didion's quip that you really can stay too long at the fair. So, in theory, you could say I'm a believer in limited terms.
But after reading this cutesy Bill Clinton mention on Gawker, I couldn't help but let my mind wander to the question: which comes first, the chicken or the egg? Except... which comes first, the tyranny or the tyrannical leader? Or better yet: nature vs. nurture? Which creates tyranny: the nature of the government or the individual(s) that leads it? The political scientist in me wants to say there's an answer, but what many years of pondering what makes political entities what they are has taught me is that no matter how many numbers, correlations and historical accounts we take into consideration, there's really no knowing. We can only predict how a nation will turn out. We can't foresee it. So really, maybe there's something else there. Something between the chicken and the egg. Some matrix of nature vs. nurture.
So I ask you: which do you think comes first? The tyranny or the tyrannist? The nature of the government or the nature of the leader? Can it be defined? Or is this another thing that political scientists should throw into the "let's wait and see and define in retrospect" category?
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Our Little Glass Houses
Ever since the miniature travesty that led to my previous blog post, I've tried to be hyper-self-aware. Not self-conscious. Self-aware, as in I've been trying really hard to take note of my foibles and quirks, all of which have led to situations like what happened last Monday. And unfortunately, I have some diagnoses even after just over a week of self-observation. I was going to title this post "things I'm not very good at," but I didn't want my readers (however few and far between) to think I have a negative outlook on everything because that is very much not the case. This isn't supposed to be a bad thing. It's just observations. And maybe by reading what I've realized about myself, you'll feel inspired to look inward and see what's going on with you.
Diagnosis #1: I am subconsciously resistant to all things indicative of the fact that I'm supposed to be an adult. I have had a pile of papers about "investments" and "mutual funds" from Merrill Lynch sitting underneath my iPod speakers since two weeks after I started my job... which I started on August 15. Whenever my parents mention the word "budget," my entire brain system shuts down and I start singing show tunes in my head to drown them out. And when I meet my colleagues' spouses, I kind of shut down too, almost like I'm not willing to admit that these people have real adult lives, obligations and families to call their own. Talk about a serious case of the Peter Pan's.
Diagnosis #2: I'm really, really bad at opening envelopes. I mean seriously, how does anyone smoothly open an envelope, making it look like it is unused and yet to be sealed? I can't even do it with one of those snazzy knives my dad keeps in his office drawer. I remember when I got my first real corporate pay stub when I interned for the Knicks at Madison Square Garden. I nearly ripped that thing to shreds trying to catch a glimpse of that itty bitty number they call a travel stipend. That was three years ago. Somebody teach me?
Diagnosis #3: I am my father's daughter. And not just because I think everyone's hilarious, especially me. But also because I have a serious selective hearing problem. It's not on purpose though. It's involuntary selective hearing. It's like when someone starts rambling or saying something that my ears think is less important than whatever else I could be paying attention to, I mute the rambling person out and hear nothing but the low buzz of my focus moving elsewhere. Which brings me to my next point...
Diagnosis #4: Adult A.D.D. is real. Or at least it is now that Twitter, Facebook, Gawker, CNN.com, The Drudge Report, Pitchfork, Pinterest, Gchat and every other modern marvel has taken over my arsenal of preferred computer activities. I literally cannot work through a project without taking a second to see what's going on on Twitter or flipping to NYTimes.com to see if there's any breaking news. This is becoming a problem. Except of course when number 5 happens.
Diagnosis #5: Adult A.D.D. does not apply to me simply because of my polar opposite capabilities. If I'm put to an urgent task that I know requires my full attention, I have the ability to flip on my Spotify, flip off the rest of the world and focus. I've actually missed actual natural disasters and people telling me full stories because of this. In fact, I don't know which annoys my colleagues more. Diagnosis #3, #4 or #5 because all of them have turned me into some sort of self-absorbed monster that can only act on what internal, uncontrollable impulses compel me to do. It's sad really. I'm like my own Frankenstein.
Diagnosis #6: I'm actually incapable of NOT having conversations about things. I don't consider myself to be a defensive person, so much as someone who thrives off of, lives on, requires dialogue to move forward from one happening to the next. Whether they're good happenings, bad happenings, stressful or easy ones... I can't just not talk about things. I can't just be told a piece of information and not comment on it. I can't just receive constructive criticism without responding with why I did something and explaining how I'll do it better the next time. And I fear that this annoys people because it probably does come off as really defensive. But that's just who I am. It's my coping mechanism and it's how I learn. By talking things out and coming to conclusions that consider both my side of the story and everyone else's. I'll go ahead and label this one of my "tragic flaws."
Diagnosis #7: The final diagnosis. The one that inspires the title that I decided to go with for this post. Over the years, I've built a nice little glass house around myself with walls and roof so thin that I can barely even see it's there. I could explain the glass house by saying it's because I've had experiences where other people have gotten in the way of my achieving certain goals. So, I learned to shut them out in unhealthy, yet pretty effective ways. I could explain it by saying I'm a news or information junky, that I'm addicted to the know and that I'm driven minute-to-minute, hour-to-hour, by this intense drive to glean absurd amounts of knowledge. Or I could say that I'm just another classic Darwin case. Someone who has adapted to my environments and personal needs in a way that I did not consciously initiate nor can I really control. But I benefit from it.
Regardless, I think we all build ourselves little glass houses over time based on our experiences, or most specifically our great successes, gains, losses and failures. And I'm not saying there's anything wrong with this at all. In fact, I think we'd all be little puddles of melted personality if we didn't protect ourselves a little bit. But it all goes back to this idea that everything should be done in moderation and that self-awareness is the key to personal fulfillment. I'm so glad I've noticed these things about myself because I'm finally able to snap out of each of my ailments whenever necessary. And even though it isn't easy, I know that reaching my potential, achieving my goals and doing what is asked of me is on the other end of it. Now more than ever, when things I do actually matter and impact things way beyond my GPA or dignity, these are all things I need to be a little bit more focused on.
Diagnosis #1: I am subconsciously resistant to all things indicative of the fact that I'm supposed to be an adult. I have had a pile of papers about "investments" and "mutual funds" from Merrill Lynch sitting underneath my iPod speakers since two weeks after I started my job... which I started on August 15. Whenever my parents mention the word "budget," my entire brain system shuts down and I start singing show tunes in my head to drown them out. And when I meet my colleagues' spouses, I kind of shut down too, almost like I'm not willing to admit that these people have real adult lives, obligations and families to call their own. Talk about a serious case of the Peter Pan's.
Diagnosis #2: I'm really, really bad at opening envelopes. I mean seriously, how does anyone smoothly open an envelope, making it look like it is unused and yet to be sealed? I can't even do it with one of those snazzy knives my dad keeps in his office drawer. I remember when I got my first real corporate pay stub when I interned for the Knicks at Madison Square Garden. I nearly ripped that thing to shreds trying to catch a glimpse of that itty bitty number they call a travel stipend. That was three years ago. Somebody teach me?
Diagnosis #3: I am my father's daughter. And not just because I think everyone's hilarious, especially me. But also because I have a serious selective hearing problem. It's not on purpose though. It's involuntary selective hearing. It's like when someone starts rambling or saying something that my ears think is less important than whatever else I could be paying attention to, I mute the rambling person out and hear nothing but the low buzz of my focus moving elsewhere. Which brings me to my next point...
Diagnosis #4: Adult A.D.D. is real. Or at least it is now that Twitter, Facebook, Gawker, CNN.com, The Drudge Report, Pitchfork, Pinterest, Gchat and every other modern marvel has taken over my arsenal of preferred computer activities. I literally cannot work through a project without taking a second to see what's going on on Twitter or flipping to NYTimes.com to see if there's any breaking news. This is becoming a problem. Except of course when number 5 happens.
Diagnosis #5: Adult A.D.D. does not apply to me simply because of my polar opposite capabilities. If I'm put to an urgent task that I know requires my full attention, I have the ability to flip on my Spotify, flip off the rest of the world and focus. I've actually missed actual natural disasters and people telling me full stories because of this. In fact, I don't know which annoys my colleagues more. Diagnosis #3, #4 or #5 because all of them have turned me into some sort of self-absorbed monster that can only act on what internal, uncontrollable impulses compel me to do. It's sad really. I'm like my own Frankenstein.
Diagnosis #6: I'm actually incapable of NOT having conversations about things. I don't consider myself to be a defensive person, so much as someone who thrives off of, lives on, requires dialogue to move forward from one happening to the next. Whether they're good happenings, bad happenings, stressful or easy ones... I can't just not talk about things. I can't just be told a piece of information and not comment on it. I can't just receive constructive criticism without responding with why I did something and explaining how I'll do it better the next time. And I fear that this annoys people because it probably does come off as really defensive. But that's just who I am. It's my coping mechanism and it's how I learn. By talking things out and coming to conclusions that consider both my side of the story and everyone else's. I'll go ahead and label this one of my "tragic flaws."
Diagnosis #7: The final diagnosis. The one that inspires the title that I decided to go with for this post. Over the years, I've built a nice little glass house around myself with walls and roof so thin that I can barely even see it's there. I could explain the glass house by saying it's because I've had experiences where other people have gotten in the way of my achieving certain goals. So, I learned to shut them out in unhealthy, yet pretty effective ways. I could explain it by saying I'm a news or information junky, that I'm addicted to the know and that I'm driven minute-to-minute, hour-to-hour, by this intense drive to glean absurd amounts of knowledge. Or I could say that I'm just another classic Darwin case. Someone who has adapted to my environments and personal needs in a way that I did not consciously initiate nor can I really control. But I benefit from it.
Regardless, I think we all build ourselves little glass houses over time based on our experiences, or most specifically our great successes, gains, losses and failures. And I'm not saying there's anything wrong with this at all. In fact, I think we'd all be little puddles of melted personality if we didn't protect ourselves a little bit. But it all goes back to this idea that everything should be done in moderation and that self-awareness is the key to personal fulfillment. I'm so glad I've noticed these things about myself because I'm finally able to snap out of each of my ailments whenever necessary. And even though it isn't easy, I know that reaching my potential, achieving my goals and doing what is asked of me is on the other end of it. Now more than ever, when things I do actually matter and impact things way beyond my GPA or dignity, these are all things I need to be a little bit more focused on.
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