It has been suggested to me
recently, by one who knows me well, how easy it might be for people who do not
know me well to form a judgment, based on my uninhibited behavior, in both the
cyber and physical realms, and on my willingness to share my interests and
activities, that I am some sort of megalomaniacal egomaniac.
It is true that I seldom stop to consider this possibility, worry about it, or let it temper my natural propensities. It’s also true that I encounter and open myself up to many people, both online and in person, who do not know me well. Who, in fact, know me very little. They did not know the little boy growing up in Brooklyn, who endured the cruel taunts of childhood peers, who was ostracized, beaten up, and almost persuaded by the forces of darkness that he possessed little talent worth cultivating, barely enough intelligence to make it through high school, and so obvious a shortage of personal attractiveness and charisma that he could scarcely expect to have a life containing romance and love.
There are some who did know that little boy back in Brooklyn but know nothing or very little about where that little boy went, what he did and who he became in the thirty years since. They were not there to watch him obtain a higher education, become a husband and father, and develop a career. They did not watch him squirm with a sense of his own inferiority while interacting with professors and intelligent students in a University setting in Utah, nor did they see him come into his own and distinguish himself in that setting. They did not see him stress and sweat in the workplace, while attempting to manage projects and lead teams of seasoned technology experts and business people, feeling every bit the undeserving and incapable little boy from Brooklyn, and yet somehow persevere and develop a career that has lasted nearly twenty years now. And they did not see him raise two children, weather the perpetual financial struggles to make ends meet, hold his wife’s hand and sit by her side through seven miscarriages, and yet continue to fulfill leadership roles and responsibilities in church, at home, at work, and in his community.
The challenges of life continue. I am not what I was yesterday, but everything I have been still lives somewhere inside me. It’s true that with an empty nest, my wife and I have been enjoying the freedom to pursue our interests and spend time doing things that bring us joy. But the challenges of life continue, and however much else I may share, these challenges are not necessarily shared with others. Today I appreciate life in ways I never have before. I pursue the things I love with abandon, passionately, because I know that life is fleeting and joy is worth chasing, obtaining and sharing. The little boy in Brooklyn, the wayward adolescent in Brooklyn—he never had an inflated sense of his virtues, his talents, his charisma, and he still doesn’t. He knows what it feels like to be undervalued, threatened, doubted—he has had knives placed against his throat and guns pressed to his head, he has spent enough nights in a jail cell to know what it’s like to feel foolish and worthless and abandoned, and he has ingested and inhaled enough intoxicating agents to kill a lifetime’s worth of pain.
Does he think these things make him special in some way? On the contrary, he thinks they merely testify to his own stupidity and solidify his own humility. If that little boy grew up to be someone who believed he had enough talent to draw pictures, to write stories or poems, to play and sing songs, it is only because two women—his mom, and later, his wife—believed he could and somehow—through their constant love, support and encouragement—made him believe it too. I have always believed this of my own children—that they are capable of anything—and hope I have succeeded in making them believe it.
When I create and share something with others, it is not out of pride that I do so. In a very real way, it may simply be my way of saying: Hey Mom, hey babe, look what I did—in spite of all my shortcomings—this stupid little kid from Brooklyn! It is also my way of saying: Hey gang, look what I did, I loved doing it, it was fun and gave me joy! And you know what—you can do it too!
And finally, my sharing reflects the desire to identify those who love the same things I love, to share with them things I have found or created—usually consisting of words, music or images—and in so doing to bring a smile or an insight to others, to invite and foster meaningful friendships or collaborations. I am someone who values love and friendship and beauty, art and literature and music, laughter and diversity and travel. If you value these things too, I hope you won’t hesitate to let me know and to consider me a friend.
If someone thinks that all of this makes me a megalomaniacal egomaniac—or that this unsolicited self-disclosure itself makes me one, then all I can say, quoting one of my mom’s frequent expressions, is: so be it!
It is true that I seldom stop to consider this possibility, worry about it, or let it temper my natural propensities. It’s also true that I encounter and open myself up to many people, both online and in person, who do not know me well. Who, in fact, know me very little. They did not know the little boy growing up in Brooklyn, who endured the cruel taunts of childhood peers, who was ostracized, beaten up, and almost persuaded by the forces of darkness that he possessed little talent worth cultivating, barely enough intelligence to make it through high school, and so obvious a shortage of personal attractiveness and charisma that he could scarcely expect to have a life containing romance and love.
There are some who did know that little boy back in Brooklyn but know nothing or very little about where that little boy went, what he did and who he became in the thirty years since. They were not there to watch him obtain a higher education, become a husband and father, and develop a career. They did not watch him squirm with a sense of his own inferiority while interacting with professors and intelligent students in a University setting in Utah, nor did they see him come into his own and distinguish himself in that setting. They did not see him stress and sweat in the workplace, while attempting to manage projects and lead teams of seasoned technology experts and business people, feeling every bit the undeserving and incapable little boy from Brooklyn, and yet somehow persevere and develop a career that has lasted nearly twenty years now. And they did not see him raise two children, weather the perpetual financial struggles to make ends meet, hold his wife’s hand and sit by her side through seven miscarriages, and yet continue to fulfill leadership roles and responsibilities in church, at home, at work, and in his community.
The challenges of life continue. I am not what I was yesterday, but everything I have been still lives somewhere inside me. It’s true that with an empty nest, my wife and I have been enjoying the freedom to pursue our interests and spend time doing things that bring us joy. But the challenges of life continue, and however much else I may share, these challenges are not necessarily shared with others. Today I appreciate life in ways I never have before. I pursue the things I love with abandon, passionately, because I know that life is fleeting and joy is worth chasing, obtaining and sharing. The little boy in Brooklyn, the wayward adolescent in Brooklyn—he never had an inflated sense of his virtues, his talents, his charisma, and he still doesn’t. He knows what it feels like to be undervalued, threatened, doubted—he has had knives placed against his throat and guns pressed to his head, he has spent enough nights in a jail cell to know what it’s like to feel foolish and worthless and abandoned, and he has ingested and inhaled enough intoxicating agents to kill a lifetime’s worth of pain.
Does he think these things make him special in some way? On the contrary, he thinks they merely testify to his own stupidity and solidify his own humility. If that little boy grew up to be someone who believed he had enough talent to draw pictures, to write stories or poems, to play and sing songs, it is only because two women—his mom, and later, his wife—believed he could and somehow—through their constant love, support and encouragement—made him believe it too. I have always believed this of my own children—that they are capable of anything—and hope I have succeeded in making them believe it.
When I create and share something with others, it is not out of pride that I do so. In a very real way, it may simply be my way of saying: Hey Mom, hey babe, look what I did—in spite of all my shortcomings—this stupid little kid from Brooklyn! It is also my way of saying: Hey gang, look what I did, I loved doing it, it was fun and gave me joy! And you know what—you can do it too!
And finally, my sharing reflects the desire to identify those who love the same things I love, to share with them things I have found or created—usually consisting of words, music or images—and in so doing to bring a smile or an insight to others, to invite and foster meaningful friendships or collaborations. I am someone who values love and friendship and beauty, art and literature and music, laughter and diversity and travel. If you value these things too, I hope you won’t hesitate to let me know and to consider me a friend.
If someone thinks that all of this makes me a megalomaniacal egomaniac—or that this unsolicited self-disclosure itself makes me one, then all I can say, quoting one of my mom’s frequent expressions, is: so be it!
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