Mr. Fjelly-belly

During our last week of high school, the principal gathered a group of seniors together for a meeting. We scrunched around a table in Burdett Christiansen’s classroom. (As there were three teachers with that same last name at our school, we informally called this one Burdett.) The principal, who we all called Mr. Fjelly-belly behind his back, stated that the purpose for this meeting was to get feedback from us as to how we thought our scholastic experience might be better improved. Having for the most part deplored the experience, I had a few ideas. Probably because we were in his room, I started out by suggesting, “Two of our required courses and one popular elective are all taught by Burdett Christiansen, and all he does in all three is repeat the exact same anecdotes.”

Perturbed, Mr. Fjelly-belly responded, “Okay, let’s just stop right there. Mentioning specific teacher’s names puts me in an awkward position. Let’s try to limit this to things that can be done in general.” I thought I had done something wrong, and felt both guilty and stupid. I remained silent for the remainder of the discussion, even while he explained the decision to build a second gymnasium instead of an auditorium.

In the ensuing years, I have often been puzzled by strong reactions to elicited answers. My stance is, don’t ask the question if you don’t want the answer. My working hypothesis for an explanation is that what people are doing in these situations is seeking agreement, validation and praise. I don’t really see the use of such things; they don’t provide means to improve and you can’t eat them. I rarely trust anything positive anyone has to say about anything. Frankly, compliments piss me off, because they imply the deliverer assumes I need one.

People are obsessed with affirmation. Most can’t make two consecutive statements that go unacknowledged, even when no response is necessary, without worrying whether they are being ignored. We can be saying the most trivial remark known to man and still become disoriented without an “amen.” Odds are high that anything you have to say isn’t worth the effort, but kudos to you for making the attempt. (Does that make you feel better, you fucking pansy?)

Humans are wired with an innate fear of inferiority. This is what compels us to improve. I see no reason to hide from it behind a veil of unwarranted applause. As there is no difference between the two, even warranted praise is meaningless. It is up to each to decide for himself whether he tried his best, because in the end that’s the best we can do. I guess that’s the point I’m trying to make- in the end we must judge our actions for ourselves, without forgetting that we exist in a world with others.

Probably praise-seekers realize their incompetence to a degree, and are testing to determine whether others have picked up on it. Who cares? Unless we’re talking quantum mechanics, existence does not depend upon perception.

I honestly prefer criticism. Little is more useful than discovering and accepting ways to progress. While most will gladly be complimentary but dishonest, only manipulative egoists or twisted humorists will be deceitfully critical. These former assholes are best avoided, although even their insults can contain an element of truth.

Realizing something I can improve on is a good thing- I enjoy working at perfecting a task. In fact, that is what I most like to do for fun. I don’t like making mistakes, but I don’t mind apologizing when I do. I don’t understand the resistance to do so many seem to have, as if admitting mistakes is some kind of weakness. I also don’t care about being perfect; I don’t know what that term means anyway.