. . . In your conversation avoid
frequent and disproportionate mention of your own doings or adventures; for
other people do not take the same pleasure in hearing what has happened to you
as you take in recounting your adventures. . . .
—Epictetus,
The Handbook, Chapter 33 (tr
Matheson)
I’m
grateful that I have rarely felt the need to be at the center of attention, and
for most of my life I have managed to blend unobtrusively into the woodwork. I
am conscious, however, that my way of explaining something is oftentimes quite
anecdotal, probably because I haven’t mastered more refined teaching tools, and
I will quite regularly ask myself: how much of this am I offering to help
someone else understand, and how much of this is just about basking in my own
experiences?
I think
of all the great storytellers I have known through the years, and I remind
myself what it was that made them great. It was the motive that always made the
difference, and that, in turn, shaped the context. What were they trying to
point out to their listener or reader? Was it about inspiring or about
glorifying?
I had a
wonderful history professor who had served in WWII, and he would often
describe, in colorful detail, the exploits of the members of a B-24 bomber
crew. Some were humorous, and they always helped me to picture the camaraderie
of these men. Others were terrifying, and they always helped me to admire their
courage. Over the years, I felt like I had gotten to know these fellows
personally. I realized one day that he had never mentioned very much about the
bombardier. When I asked him about that, he just brushed it aside. “That fool
couldn’t hit the side of a barn door!”
It then
occurred to me that he, of course, had been the bombardier, and it was only
years later, after he had passed away, that I was ever told about his own
remarkable service record, including how he had been decorated for saving the
life of the crew’s navigator. He had shared all those stories about his
friends, had placed himself there as a sort of observer, but he never drew
deliberate attention to himself.
Having
eccentric tastes, I am very much aware that the things that interest me will
not always be of interest to others. If I do wish to share something about my
own thoughts or experiences, I try not to just think about what centers around
my own benefit, but what might be of use for someone else’s benefit. I have a
whole storehouse of tales and exploits I will most likely never share with
anyone, and that is because I can’t really think of a way that they could truly
inform, assist, or amuse.
That one about the Lebanese café owner, my suede safari hat, and a large jar of curry powder is going to have to stay locked away until I can think of a good moral to go with it.
That one about the Lebanese café owner, my suede safari hat, and a large jar of curry powder is going to have to stay locked away until I can think of a good moral to go with it.
I don’t
think of humility as deliberately putting oneself down, because that can just
be another way of puffing oneself up. I think of it as being able to use
whatever gifts I may have to serve, instead of being served.
Written in 2/2012
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