Accomplishment Panic

We were heading to one of our weekend adventures recently, when we realized that it was Ethan and Melissa's anniversary. In the four years that they have been married, they have given the world two very beautiful girls that are the light of all our lives. Micki then recited all she had managed to accomplish in the same period. Almost everyone knows that Micki is an incredibly accomplished person. We were driving at the time, or my head might have spun to listen as she listed everything she’s managed to do—with great aplomb—in just four short years.

She published the lion's share of her 5 book series, won several domestic and international awards for those books, got her masters degree, taught for three years (middle school!) She also took on her current role as director of marketing for our community college and just signed a contract to redo her children's chapter book series called Thurston T. Turtle Moves to Hubbleville.

During the same four years—and here's the point of this essay—I really haven't done much at all. I haven't been coasting, or anything, but my list of goals met is pretty sparse. It’s positively dismal compared to Micki’s stellar list. It made me a little self-conscious. Then, I started listing the accomplishments of our kids in that same four years and I rapidly found myself completely outpaced in the accomplishment tournament.

All three lads are well-educated, brilliant, talented, and hilariously funny. They are successful at their respective jobs, and have slowly but doggedly climbed their corporate ladders. Their significant others (one wife, one fiancé and one serious girlfriend) are equally self-possessed, brilliant and hardworking. They're still young, but I shall look on their future endeavors with great interest and pride. Then I thought of our nieces, their families and my brother's kids. All of them are so accomplished. All of them were way further ahead in their lives, than I was at their ages.

I mentioned this and Micki made several concessions for me. She said that I had done a few things over the years, too. Like what, I asked. I restarted this blog, I wrote a dozen or so short stories, I went from walking at the YMCA to consistently running three times a week. These were just the personal ones. She mentioned going from a regular board member of a local non-profit to the chair in that time, also several successes at work.

I thought for a moment as the countryside passed outside our car windows. She wasn't entirely wrong. These were fairly prosaic accomplishments to me. Nothing on par with winning book awards or crossing the stage with a masters degree. My life is pretty quotidian. I'm surrounded by brilliant, talented, hard-working and successful people, a fact which, in itself, makes me extremely proud. I'm not saying that I am jealous. However, my little accomplishments aren't quite on the same level. 

The more I thought and meditated on this over the next few days, the more I wondered what was at the root of my sense of disconnection from accomplishment. Micki had given me a list of things that I had done that showed that I wasn't just a human lump. Why did they feel silly by comparison? At length I came back to that word—comparison—and saw the crack in my thinking. 

It is one thing to compare prices or deck stain colors or the duration of different routes. It is entirely another to compare one's life with others. This has the tendency to make one feel somewhat unhappy. The word kept floating in my head, when I remembered the adage, “Comparison is the thief of joy”. I started to see light in my mind.

The adage is right, to a point. Comparison may also be what inspires or impells a person to work harder, do better, take chances. I realized that I was focusing on the wrong word. It was joy that I needed to think about. In my head, I swung the ship of thought hard from ‘comparison’ to ‘joy’. Here was a destination I knew well. This was a place I had become comfortable in. Joy, for me, meant shifting from thinking my own accomplishments have no gravity or heft, to immersing myself deliciously into a very fulfilling life. 

If I were to list all the things that bring me joy, I would soon dozy the heads of my readers and wear my thumbs down to nubs. That's a good place to be. My wife, my kids, my work (generally), our family, our traditions, they bring me great joy. That joy forms the tectonic plates upon which my life is built. And for that, I am incredibly grateful.

In my mind as I performed this mental exercise, I came down hard on gratitude. I have a lot to be grateful for. The life I have is made up of all of the celebrations, joys, moments of great happiness and the stratum of pride I feel at all times for my loved ones. That is a kind of wealth that exceeds riches. One of my best accomplishments is that I have been here, sober and recovering daily, to experience it, share in it, feel pride and love for the accomplishments of my family. I am a very fortunate man. Understanding that fundamental fact—acknowledging that, accepting it, thrilling in it--has been a treasure I cannot even begin to fathom; a king's ransom of joy for this man.

Subjecting myself to comparative thinking is good. Given the chance, I have excellent examples to emulate in my own journey. And maybe I will write that novel or long-form nonfiction book. That's not a priority now, but it could be in the future and I'm sure not going to draw a line under it yet. Aunt MJ would have—in fact did—insist that I at least try my hand at it. Success is not the point, of course, because just attempting something audacious is really an accomplishment. 

In retrospect, leaving PA and coming to NC and starting a family and taking on all the challenges and joys of being a husband and a father is the best and remains the most rewarding accomplishment of my entire life so far. So, in future, when I am feeling a little short on my own accomplishments by comparison to my talented, brilliant, incredible wife, kid and family, I will remember just how lucky I am to be here and share their glory, but also the decisions that got me here. 

A Man for All Eras

If you asked me who my favorite fictional character is, I would—at first—be hard-pressed to single one out. There are so many. I might cite Samwise Gamgee, Aragorn or Gandalf from Tolkien’s Middle-Earth. I might also mention Lovecraft’s Randolph Carter, or Poe’s C. Auguste Dupin. There’s also Winston Smith (1984) and Guy Montag (Fahrenheit 451). For historical or non-magical characters, I’d have to mention the Finches from To Kill a Mockingbird and Raskolnikov from Crime and Punishment. I also love Myshkin from Dostoevsky’s The Idiot and Alyosha from The Brothers Karamazov. It’s not hard for me to find that this list, upon careful consideration, goes on and on and on. 

However, of all of the fictional characters who have spoken to me, and who seem relevant for our time, there is only one who manages to rise to the occasion in every possible way over and over again. Sherlock Holmes. My readers will know and no doubt will have seen this answer coming, but I think it will surprise you to understand why I think that he is the man we need in our current crisis. The Victorian Era was not so different from our own and though there are obvious dissimilarities, it is also clear that the fictional Holmes was a man of incredible moral and ethical sensibility, as well as being a brilliant thinker and observer. He’s coldly rational in an upturned world; he’s methodical when most rush to judgement; he takes care and is dedicated to the truth not just because it feels good. More than all of it, Holmes represents a potent and unavoidable fact about humanity: our minds (and ourselves) are only at their best when we lean toward rationality and reason, rather than emotion and reaction.

It may sound a bit silly to put a fictional character up as an exemplar for our very real and very difficult modern problems. After all, real dilemmas call for real people to solve, right? Actually, though, there’s a neat loophole here. Most of the people we look up to, the heroes from history, the mythological entities some of us worship, the legends that inspire us, and even the stories that fill us with hope are, essentially stories, just like the fictional tales we read. This isn’t to say that Thomas Jefferson or Ben Franklin weren’t real, but our understanding of them comes from stories, just like with Holmes. Interestingly, many people thought that Sherlock Holmes was real back then, and flooded Doyle letters begging for the detective’s help. It’s even a well-known fact that he used some of Holme’s “art of detection” to solve crimes in his own time. Even if he isn’t real, though, Sherlock Holmes can still teach us some very important and useful ways of dealing with modernity’s stickiest troubles.

"It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts." — A Scandal in Bohemia

What could be more modern? In a world connected by a giant, convoluted series of tubes all of which floods each one of us with information, it can be hard to filter out all the noise. The world has become a nightmare version of the worst of Holme’s above quote. Everyone—yes, even you and I, dear reader—have been consistently twisting facts to suit theories. This is why so many people believe in nonsense, like flat-earth or anti-vaxx conspiracies. They backed up their beliefs with dubious sources online that support what they want to be true, rather than what is. A confirmed rationalist, Holmes never made a decision based on information that he wanted to be true, but only on what was available, regardless of what would help solve the mystery.

"Data! Data! Data! I can't make bricks without clay." — The Adventure of the Copper Beeches 

Holmes is often portrayed as solving crimes which makes the client (or Dr. Watson) reel with the power of his skill. Even the reader wonders how he can so easily point out so much, with no more than a brief glance. In fact Holmes isn’t just looking, he’s observing. In almost every story, after he demonstrates his skills, Holmes goes back and explains the trick. Time and time again, he shows Watson and others that the most important thing needed to solve a crime or mystery is data. Most of us cannot do the tricks that Holmes did. However his techniques—like close observation and deduction—are quite useful in real life, if we take his advice to Watson and apply them.

"You see, but you do not observe. The distinction is clear." — A Scandal in Bohemia 

Most of us look at our phones a lot. Some of us look at our phones a dangerous amount. These tiny and very useful tools have become extremely addictive. They do this by a careful manipulation of our reward centers, which makes us need the stimulus, but without any real or measurable benefit. It also makes us see things, but not really observe them. Hours of scrolling dulls the mind. If you asked me what the last reel I looked at on Instagram was, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. I know I looked at it, but I have no idea what it was. 

And here is the point: we see, but we no longer observe. This became apparent to me, when I had an issue with a person and I had to call the police. I had just looked at them, but when the dispatch agent asked me to describe them, I couldn’t remember what they looked like. Thank you Social Media. So I have limited myself to no more than nine minutes a day of scrolling, using the inbuilt safety timer. It seems like a very short time, but I’m also balancing that limit with intentional observation exercises, to re-train the cerebellum to not just see, but actually observe and remember.

"There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact." — The Boscombe Valley Mystery 

It was right there. I saw it with my own eyes. The news was obvious. The famous writer had died and I was crushed. News spread like wildfire. No more stories, no more excellent books, no more genuinely spine-chilling tales of the macabre. And then, the writer spoke up. The whole thing was a hoax. He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t even ailing. He was fine and we were all victims of a false death claim. I went back, then, feeling foolish and looked at what it was I found so credible. It looked like it had been put together by a three-year old. Given a minute and a little more observation (see above), I would have recognized that it was fake. These days, thanks to the nefarious skills of AI, it is even more difficult to tell when something has been faked. Just ask the thousands of people who had their likenesses used and put online nude and in compromising positions by Musk’s AI platform. It might not be real, but it is dangerous and harmful.

These images and claims appear obvious to us and yet, they are not real. Holmes was right, there is nothing more deceptive. We have to train ourselves, not only to observe, but to be mistrustful of what we’re being shown until we have all the facts. Sometimes just a bit of common sense and patience can help us step free of the swamplands of Internet fakery and into the light of reality and hard facts.

"It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important." — A Case of Identity 

This is one of my favorite quotes. Details matter. I’m not a detail-oriented person. Like most visual people, I tend to take in the bigger picture rather than the minutiae. It’s hard for me to focus on the little things. In my work, especially, though, I have had to learn this lesson and make it my own axiom. When we miss the details, we cause ourselves much trouble. It might not seem like a big thing, but when solving a technical issue for library patrons, or getting the data-entry of stats right, or even making sure that we have all items on a meeting agenda, the little things are what makes the difference. It’s how I handle those small things, too, that influences the bosses when they look at my performance. They know I care about my work, and they know I’m here to help, but if I’m sloppy or shoddy or take the work with broad strokes when a fine brush is needed, it will show up in my evaluation. The details matter.

"I consider that a man's brain originally is like a little empty attic, and you have to stock it with such furniture as you choose... It is a mistake to think that that little room has elastic walls." — A Study in Scarlet 

I have long subscribed to Holme’s concept here. What we put in our heads stays in our heads, regardless if it is useful to us or not. Uncle Dan used to say, referring to learning and packing for camping, “It is better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it.” I have applied this to most of my life, which is why my brain is full of useless trivia, movie quotes and partial song lyrics. In fact, Holmes was right; the mind is a finite resource and if it is chock full of stupid information, like a hoarder’s garage, then there is no room for useful things.

The idea of a “mind mansion” is one that I’m fascinated with. For years, I had trouble remembering my brother’s address. Then, having read a treatise on this concept, I decided to try to apply the principle. I closed my eyes and in a state of semi-meditation, I imagined the address as if it was floating before my eyes. I then took it in my hands (in the mental picture) and set it on a shelf and placed a dancing tomato on top of it, (the tomato was a trick suggested by the writer of the treatise) and to this day, when I scramble to remember Rich’s house number or street name, I just close my eyes and think of the dancing tomato and it jumps to mind. 

I’ve successfully done this with countless other things that it is important that I remember, though my head isn’t full of dancing tomatoes. I think of something silly for each item that needs remembering, which helps as a mnemonic device. Holmes (and apparently Doyle) were far better at this trick. Apparently Doyle used a similar trick when he was studying to be a surgeon, which requires a limber mind. HIlariously, to prove the effectiveness and seriousness of the concept, Watson tells us that Holmes had no idea (and didn’t care) whether the earth rotated around the sun or vice versa. It didn’t matter to him, because it had no effect on his ability to remember the essentials to solve crimes. It wasn’t ignorance, though, it was conservation of space in the finite brain.

"Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself; but talent instantly recognizes genius." — The Valley of Fear 

I see it all the time. Someone with lots of knowledge, like Neil DeGrasse Tyson or Bill Nye says something in a video or podcast and the comments section becomes a sewer of hatred and vitriol. When Nye agreed to debate Ken Ham more than a decade ago, the famous Biblical Creationist who built a “life-sized” Noah’s arc in Kentucky, it was obvious to anyone who hadn’t drunk Ham’s Kool-Aid who had the upper hand. But Ham and his supporters weren’t likely to believe actual science. Meanwhile, in a slightly less well-known interaction, Nye was called out by another scientist about something he had said, and immediately posted a video correcting his mistake. The mediocre fans of Ham (and Ham himself) couldn’t acknowledge that their dear spokesperson was wrong, but the man he “debated” readily adjusted himself when corrected by an expert in the field. This was Holmes’ (and Doyle’s) way of pointing out what we now call the Dunning-Kruger Effect, but I like how it is put in this quote far better. And it is an important lesson for all of us to learn.

"Education never ends, Watson. It is a series of lessons, with the greatest for the last." — The Red Circle 

The most dangerous mentality is the one that thinks it has learned all it needs to know. Certainty is deadly and in the modern era, this is so common that it is epidemic. Everyone knows all they need to know. Unless it outrages them or keeps them emotionally engaged, few average people want to learn anything new. This is a constant gripe between me and Pop Bare, especially when we talk politics. Everyone he doesn’t like is a communist. I’ve explained it to him a thousand times. I’m sure I’m like this, too. My coworkers or family might wish I updated my thinking sometimes. I sure need to—we all do.

But as Holmes suggests, here, we ought to be constantly learning and building our knowledge base. It is a joy to come home each day and feel like I learned something I never knew before. I try every day to do just that and each mistake I make provides an important lesson. I hope I never stop learning or feel like there’s nothing else to learn. That’s the mentality of a closed system, or a tyranny.

"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." — The Sign of the Four 

One of my favorites, and probably the most well-known quote—certainly the most quoted—I have this one hanging on the wall in my office. It is a principle of economy, rather like Occam’s Razor, that might fit in the same context as other intellectual razors. It is a check against intuition and a means to calibrate the likelihood of an event by bringing the intellect to bear, rather than the feelings. 

The modern era is one of emotion; how something feels to us, especially a gut feeling, seems to have more weight than a coldly mental observation. This might be a natural or knee-jerk reaction at the moment, but it is just that: a reaction. Here Holmes is saying that we can do a bit better. By applying a cold and rational thought process, we may not like the answers, but we can be assured that the emotion is removed and therefore the treacherous landscape that emotion sometimes causes.

It’s not that I expect everyone to feel the way I do about Sherlock Holmes or the Doyle stories. They’re not for everyone. But aside from the stories, few fictional characters have such practically applicable ideas that really can make a positive difference not just as a subject of Queen Victoria, but also in the modern world. Holmes really is a man for all eras. 

Straight Shootin'

I’m not a naturally confrontational person. Aside from (now far rarer) arguments with friends or family, I’m unlike the Bares in this way. Pop Bare and the rest have no fear of saying what they think in public or in private, consequences be damned. I’ve always been a bit more peaceful, but then, as the youngest, I learned that I would get belted if I spoke too openly to anyone. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve gotten a little less patient, especially with the public, with people who ignore the rest of us, behave badly or in any way forget that—to quote George Costanza, “we are living in a society”. It’s been a long journey from skittery to unflinching, but I have had the benefit of many years of on-the-job training. As our society has suffered the ravages of this modern era, people in front-facing jobs have had to learn to adopt an assertive tack or be squashed under a tide of rude entitlement. My own grit has come from rough personal experience, some from direct contact with the masses. Certainly, there are some people who may be more naturally suited to saying what they think. For me, though, it has come at length and with work from a desire to be better at dealing with the sea of nonsense in the public square.

I always admire people who, like the rest of the Bares, despite social norms, taboos, fear of embarrassment or impending loss of friends or work, can just say what they're thinking. It doesn't take them to the top of any social standing. That’s not really the point. The point is to say what’s on one’s mind. It’s about communication, even when it is a bit rough. 

Most generations after mine (Gen X) tend to react very badly to people speaking directly. I get it. It's one thing to be frank and honest. It is entirely another to be hateful or unkind. I think there is an art to saying what needs to be said and being courteous at the same time. However, there comes a time when courtesy fails and all that remains is the need for straight shootin’. Most situations in the home or as a civilian never rise to the level where one needs to be verbally tough. But when one ventures out into the wilds of society, being unafraid to say what needs saying is a powerful tool.

At work, professionalism dictates that we watch our tongues when treating with some individuals in a candid and up front manner. Customer service methods taught to us and reinforced for decades make front-facing workers a little more subservient to the clientele than we normally would be in regular life. There are a few things one just cannot say while clocked in. That is perhaps for the better. No one wants to deal with Linda in HR. When interacting with the public, though, things can become rather unpleasant. Ask any of my coworkers, who can forward you documentation of their countless interactions with difficult people.

I regularly witness or partake in conversations with members of the public where I come away feeling worried for the state of humanity. People seem to have become less able to hear and process information. They certainly have become averse to responsibility, accountability and trustworthiness. Some evidently believe that the way they speak online works just as well in real life. I won't dig into the myriad reasons why this is in this essay. Generally speaking, there are some folks out there who could use a little more straight shootin’. I've had one or more moments in the last year when I’ve had to act in loco magistratus, (standing in for the police), until they arrive. I’m routinely called to deal with people who have forgotten how to act like civilized humans in public. My tolerance for such behavior is waning and it’s bleeding over into my non-work life, too.

I was wandering around at a store recently, and I heard a ruckus in the next aisle. There was a time when I would have moved away or left with celerity in such a situation, but these days, I'm not so skittish. I moved to the aisle where the fuss was, and was quickly aware of a developing situation. A young female worker was being viciously upbraided by an older woman who apparently had nothing better to do than unload a lifetime of bile at the poor girl. When my presence in the aisle didn't change the situation, I cleared my throat and interrupted pointedly and asked the girl if she could help me find something a few aisles away. We left the older woman—call her Mrs. Vinegar—standing there stammering. Then, when we were moving and clear of Mrs. Vinegar, I asked if the girl was okay and told her I would be a witness for her supervisor if she wanted. She told me that Mrs. Vinegar was prone to such outbursts and that this was nothing new. The whole staff was on edge the moment the woman came in.

I had gone back to browsing when I saw a man who looked managerial approaching with the female worker in his wake. He asked me a few questions, and I verified what I had witnessed. He thanked me. Later, as I purchased my items, I saw the manager laying into Mrs. Vinegar. He made it clear over her loud protests that she had one more chance before he involved the constabulary. She scoffed and threatened to take her business elsewhere. He then became my hero when he told her calmly that he very much hoped she would do just that. I felt akin to the manager and his employee. Here were people whose work was inventory and evaluations and schedules, and they were having to deal with a tiny focal point of nastiness in the shape of a senior citizen. 

I’m usually able to muster a little patience when helping some people. There are a handful for whom my patience has run completely out and with whom I have an internal bet with myself about how long it will be until I reach the end of my tether and haul up my slacks and weigh in with verbal cannonfire. Their names are not important. There was a time when I would never say boo to them. It would have been unthinkable for me, like the good manager of the store, to let them know for all to hear how happy we will all be to see the back of them. The idea of confronting anyone made me jumpy, as if to do such a thing would be to put my head on the chopping block, but the times call for a more direct reaction.

We have better years and worse. Since the pandemic, the number of active loonies seems to have eased up a bit, but rather like a hornets nest, it doesn’t take much to stir some people up. I was 34 when I started in this role. I’m now nearly fifty. The intervening years have been one long generally good series of interactions with essentially nice folks. However, as the time passes, the difficult people we have to deal with seem to get more difficult. Just this week, as I write and revise this essay, we’ve had a few interactions that would curl your hair.

Only once thus far, I'm happy to say, have I had to face down someone dangerous but I had backup and the police were already en route. It could have gone very badly indeed. However, this individual had burned out my patience and I was no longer able to fake tolerance or professionalism. I felt no rage in the moment, just an icy chill and an intense calm. I only wanted to get the man out. He was behaving extremely dangerously. I put myself between him and my coworkers and members of the public and quietly told the man to leave again and again until he finally left. I ignored his bravado and didn’t respond to his threats. I didn't put my hands on him. My coworkers came to my aid and together we got him into the hands of the police. It was nothing like on TV. On several occasions, I was later informed by friends in our police department, that he had attacked several of them, and was charged some time later with “going armed to the terror of the public” for threatening a pregnant woman with a pipe. In every way imaginable, I and my coworkers were fortunate. Things might have gone very badly indeed. And remember, we work at a library. Imagine what it is like for all front-facing public service people out there.

I’m not looking for a fight. I haven’t set myself up as some kind of hero, like Marshal Matt Dillon or my police officer friends. I’m just a regular person. Daily, we have to help all kinds of people and we’re well trained and used to the work. I’ve been very lucky that things aren’t as bad at our library as they have gotten in other places, but we’re aware that the likelihood of something happening is no longer less than zero. The realization has caused a natural dampener on my nonsense-o-meter. I am not mean; most people really are fine and I am happy to help them. In any context. Some people, sadly, just really aren't okay, and yet I'm not even averse to helping or working with them to learn the rules. However, some people really are intolerable and I have no ability to reset the meter. Most of the time, I still opt (when I'm there) to work with them, so my coworkers don't have to, but that's the only reason. Out in the world, if I happen to see them, they will be surprised to realize that my professionalism clocks out when I do.

I still haven't mastered the ability to always say what needs (or what I feel ought) to be said. I'm curt, even terse, but I still have to bring home a paycheck. Confrontation is still not my milieu but I'm getting less and less worried about it. Some of my coworkers are less concerned with taking the guff, too. Some have no tolerance at all for the actions and words of rude or hateful people. They are upset and hurt by other people's actions, which burns me up too. Why be rude? Why be hateful? But, maybe like Mrs. Vinegar, they have no other way to manage their unhappiness. It may be sad, but that doesn’t justify it.

For every wonderful, thoughtful, genuine, kind, delightful, friendly, respectful, caring, decent and lovely person (and these remain the majority) there are those who just cannot manage even a modicum of politeness. It is part of the job to treat everyone equally. I accept their nonsense only because I have to to keep my job, but that acceptance comes with a very limited tolerance. I will only take so much. 

More than just the workplace drama, though, I worry for society. Regular jobs like ours have evolved to require dealing with mental illness, drug addiction and use and just very angry people with no positive outlet for their misery. Assertiveness, confidence and courage in confrontation ought not be necessary for the job description, but sadly, more and more, they are. The only thing that will put such nonsense to a final, total end is straight-shootin’. I'm working to get better at it. I'm hoping that I'm modeling the right way to do it for my coworkers. It isn't easy. 

It sometimes feels like the Wild West out there. Things aren't quite that bad, but some days, we go home feeling like we spent the day dealing with bad guys. Our job, like the heroes of the many westerns from TV and cinema, is to not lose sight of how to not take nonsense from people and remain the good guys and not be contaminated by the negativity, anger and rudeness of some of our fellows. And when the time requires it, I’m working hard to be the kind of guy who is willing to do some straight shootin’.