What I Am

Some arguments have no winners and shouldn't be arguments at all. Like vehemently asserting that Leonard Cohen is a better singer than Tom Waits, when we all know it's Bob Dylan who takes that cake.

I find it's good to lead off a blentry with a joke that 7 people worldwide understand and only I will think is funny. It's like I'm wrapping the reader in a warm hug and whispering, "I'm smarter and more cultured than you are and therefore clearly superior..." Who wouldn't think the world of that?

Well, I had one of those the other day. Not an argument, but a phone call from a professional subordinate, (I hate that word, but it's apt in this case, hence the descriptor and caveat "professional"), regarding why I made the decision I made.

"I understand", she said, time and time again. "I just don't understand why."

I admired the chutzpa and told her so. Eventually, I repeated myself in enough different ways that she understood. Or she relented and decided to cut and run. I never am sure which, since when it comes to arguing, I can go for miles.

I have been taking a number of personality inventories lately as part of my goal to find out how best to master each situation I am in by asserting myself without rolling over people. How can I tell you I'm not altogether happy with your results without making you feel like you are a failure as a person? These are good things to know.

One of them is a DISC assessment where each letter represents one broad personality style. No style is right or wrong and no one is completely in one section naturally, and everyone has some ability to adapt to a different style as needed, even if only temporarily.

My classification, of course, is the best one. Again, there are no "bad" classifications, but three of them are clearly subordinate (no caveats there, one might notice) to the one.

I am a mighty "D."

Here is what the assessment has to say about "Ds":
Direct, demanding, firm, ambitious, independent, communicative, outspoken, competitive, strong-willed and motivating.

All good things. The best things. I can't see why anyone would want to be anything else. What a blessing for me to be  a "D".

It goes on to say:

"[He] is demanding and pushy and can be unyielding... He is not a very patient listener."

Well,  this is just a dumb old test, after all. No one is perfect. Or even close. But "Ds" are sure close.

But, wait... I notice that up there where there are words that describe me in all my glorious near-perfection there is nothing about compassion. Or loving. Or, gasp, kind! I don't think I  lack any of those things in my natural state! This test is all a load of hooey!

Which leads to my point, 14 paragraphs in - Take that English professors! There is such a thing as too much self-awareness. It can make your head spin and interject doubt into areas where before you had nothing but confidence.

Everything is shades of gray. There really are no rights and wrongs here, all hubris aside. The important thing from what I can tell in my 38 years of life is simple to state if not simple to do. Make every interaction you have with every person make them feel like a better person and happy to have spent the time with you, every time.

Wow. That is hard. It's especially harder for me the less I know someone. I had a long day yesterday. I have replaced multiple people over my time within my organization; I have those persons' phone numbers forwarded to me so as not to miss calls from valued customers, etc. More often than not, however I am receiving calls from friends, charities, bill collectors, elderly parents who possess neither the knowledge to remove an old number from their files nor the mental fortitude to remember which number is the current one, bill collectors,  drug dealers and/or consumers, people leaving four minute voicemails in fluent, unceasing Italian and bill collectors.

I got nine rapid fire calls from a Kentucky number, the last finally culminating in a voicemail. "Hi, Bill, I'm looking for ___________. If you know how I can get a hold of him, will you please call me back at ___________."

Each time she called, she got my "Hi, this is Bill," voicemail. Did she think she misdialed exactly the same way each time eight times, finally on the ninth time coming to grips with the fact that repeating her behavior wasn't going to connect her to _____________ ?

I did not return the call. I'm a busy man, being a "D" and all. Flash forward to dinner time. That's right, after 13 hours, I gave up work for 45 minutes to have dinner and watch the Tigers game, which was a fustercluck of the highest order that bears not the dignity of further discussion. Wouldn't you know it, just as the pizza rolls and chicken strips were ready to come out of the oven, the phone rings.

It's Kentucky. I picked it up, mad. Acting mad. Sounding mad. Being mad. A sweet southern voice on the other end, a woman sounding about the age of my own dear, sainted mother, and not the same voice as the woman who left a message earlier, said, "Hi, with whom am I speaking?"

To which I responded in a loud voice which betrayed my anger, "Who is this, you called me?"

I was expecting a bill collector. Even though I am not in love with the memory of some of the people whose phones I now have, I am not a dirty person... no way am I going to be nice to a bill collector.

The nice, motherly, southern lady on the other end stammered something about calling to get a reference for someone who had applied for a job and was looking for _______________ and she said, (now through what I think may have been the quavering of tears), "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

I couldn't switch gears so fast. So I said I was sorry to be short, that I'd had a rough day, and I was annoyed by all the phone calls for someone else and... and... and. But I said it in the same nasty, staccato voice I answered with, which must have been humorous to watch, had it not been so heartbreakingly rude and sad.

And this in the midst of my goal to, how was it that I put it earlier? Oh yes, "Make every interaction you have with every person make them feel like a better person and happy to have spent the time with you, every time."

Maybe the old slogan for Virginia Slims cigarettes should have said "You've got a long way to go, baby." I know I do. I'm just sorry I had to remind myself of that at the expense of some matronly southern woman who innocently walked onto a green field only to step on a mine.