Me, in a word

Others opinions of me are inescapably linked with who I am, so it is essential to understand how others view me (and to understand how I assume others view me) in order to attempt to understand myself. Every once in a while, someone imposes a concise summary of me, and I’m always intrigued by these.

In high school English class, we had to learn the spellings and definitions of twenty-five words every week. The teacher would have us partner up to quiz each other on these words. One week, my senior year circa 1993, one of the words was “dogmatic.” My study partner, who happened to be my girlfriend at the time, quickly joked that that word would be easy to remember because it perfectly described me. I was not surprised by her statement; but interested, I asked her what she meant by it. She retorted that not only did I always arrogantly insist that my opinion was right, I was also a “dog,” by which of course she was referring to my dictionary’s fifth definition; “a despicable person.” Actually, she wasn't joking. I took this statement to heart, and over the next several years made a genuine effort to recognize and curb my own dogmatic behavior by attempting to at least consider possibilities other than the opinions I adamantly took as fact.

Almost exactly three years later, while in college, my good friend Brad off-handedly remarked I could be summarized by one word: strong-willed. I don’t remember the context, but I immediately considered “strong-willed” relative to “dogmatic.” Whereas the words have very similar meanings, their connotations are very different. They both describe an obstinate or stubborn person. “Dogmatic” simultaneously implies a refusal to consider another’s point of view and the demand that the other agrees with your point of view. “Strong-willed” has a much more positive connotation. Although it suggests a refusal to cave to the demands of another, it does not eliminate the possibility of listening to and considering the other’s point of view. It also implies a motivated and self-controlled individual. I took Brad’s remark as a hopeful sign that I had learned to express my personality tendencies more productively since my high school days.

Fast forward a couple years to 1998: while working at a gas station in Cedar Falls, Iowa, my co-workers and I passed one afternoon asking the question, “If Hollywood was making a movie about your life, which actor would you want to play you?” Thinking of his roles in Dead Poet’s Society and Reality Bites, my reply was Ethan Hawke. In both movies, he plays a dogmatic, strong-willed, daring, rebellious individual who ultimately makes self-destructive choices. A co-worker, Tom, immediately rejected my suggestion, and stated that I should unquestionably be played by Steve Buscemi. My other co-workers immediately and excitedly agreed with Tom’s apparently spot-on observation. This was extremely flattering, because Steve Buscemi was (and is) one of my favorite actors. But what was to be discerned from Tom’s assessment? First, I was chagrined that nobody else seemed to see the Ethan Hawke in me. In retrospect it should not have been surprising that instead of a cocky sex icon I would be compared to a nervous, quirky, awkward little man. As opposed to the clichéd angsty artist tragic/heroic archetypes played by Ethan Hawke, Steve Buscemi portrays tragic, unique characters with subtly complex, endearing yet aggravating personalities. Perhaps this was a sign that I was no longer stubbornly holding onto my opinions and attempting to “be” someone so much as just naturally being whoever came out.

A couple years later, after I had moved to the San Francisco Bay Area, my sister got me a framed postcard for either Christmas or my birthday. It shows a picture of a pencil sharpened all the way to the eraser with the caption underneath, “PERSISTENCE: Now that we’ve exhausted all possibilities…let’s get started.” I propped it in the basement next to my drumset, and spent many hours considering not only its implications, but why my sister had sent it to me, while practicing my drums. Granted, it’s simply an inspirational message, but obviously my sister was reminded of me in reading it. Persistent: another word synonymous with stubborn, but with a constructive connotation. The word cannot help but remind me of Edison’s axiom the genius was 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration. And then the tag underneath “persistence” on the postcard: a reflection of how I tend to critique, analyze and dissect all that is around me combined with poignant advice. As I arduously played my drums in that basement over the next several years striving to become a professional drummer, I was glad to have this constant motivation to continuously learn and hone my craft; avoiding the rut of painstakingly practicing only for the sake of acquiring skill, but instead working (or should I say playing?) toward the ultimate goal of making music.

Last year, my current girlfriend met up with an old friend she had not seen in many years. When prompted to describe me, the first words out of her mouth were, “He’s kind of an asshole- but in a good way.” Gee, thanks. Perhaps not much has changed about me over the years, after all.

A few years back I exhausted the possibility of being a professional drummer, and started seeking how I could be most happy in my existence. I put a picture of my older niece (my sister’s daughter) in the frame over the “PERSISTENCE” postcard my sister had given me. Today I took the picture out (I need an updated one with both nieces in it anyway) to uncover the postcard again. Sometimes it’s good to have a reminder of who you are, which cannot be separated not only from how others perceive you and how you perceive them perceiving you, but how you perceive yourself and who you aspire to be.