the pretentiousness of success

Embroiled in a discourse about the changing role of intellectualism in society and how language is changing to meet cultural expectations and how religion contributes (or has no effect on) the growing anti-intellectualism of American culture, the "dumbing down" of society to fit the lowest common denominator, I had a thought that was not new to me. If I had had time to express it (sadly, we were on a clock) I doubt it would have been a new point to any of my discussion partners either. Nonetheless, I think it a thought well worth having, a question worth repeating, something worth wondering: Have we, in American culture, become apologetic for our own successes? We live in a culture of almost forced homogeneity, wishing not to stand out lest we draw the scrutiny of our peers. We wish to be just like everyone else, no one less than any other person but also no one higher. We seek to hold everyone up to the same standard but fear to surpass that standard, knowing that others cannot and that our actions hold us up above the rest.

If we merely wish to succeed and, indeed, bring others up to our higher level, then where does this presumption of pretentiousness come into play? So often we say that those who succeed cannot be elitist and smug about their successes, and so efface ourselves when it comes to our own triumphs for fear of being seen as pretentious. But would others truly see us in such a way? I know I rarely look at someone who has achieved greatness and write off their successes as presumptuousness, feeling like they are looking down on me for not having achieved as much as they. Rather I admire them and wish to be more like them, feeling like they would encourage such ambitions--raising the bar rather than lowering it, bringing others up to their level rather than needing to bring themselves down to relate to the poor laity below.

Are we so afraid of others' opinions of us that we defend ourselves against this imagined danger of seeming pretentiousness? Are we really that self-conscious, that we apologize for our achievements because others cannot achieve the same, that we attempt to make our successes seem to matter less just because some others have failed and we don't want to make them feel bad? How is that helpful, how does that help others achieve success when we say, oh, my achievements aren't that great, don't worry, I don't want to seem like I'm better than you because we really are just the same even though you still have some ways to go before you can achieve on my level.

There is nothing wrong with being good at things. Nothing. At. All.

And yet we almost refuse to acknowledge that there are different kinds of people in the world and that they are all good at different things, that no one will ever be good at everything and just because you fail sometimes doesn't mean you won't achieve in other ways. This idea that those who are good at something must work not to appear elitist and pretentious isn't necessarily the fault of those viewing them; this perception travels some from the performers of this act as well.

What will it take for people to stand up and simply, purely, be proud of their good work? One can be humble without being self-effacing; while vanity is certainly not an attractive trait, one can be proud of one's accomplishments without boasting about them. Sometimes all it takes it the thought of "I did good" to truly brighten someone's outlook on life. Maybe next time we accuse someone of being pretentious, or try to head off accusations of our own elitism with a preemptive apology, we should consider the question of whether our audience in fact believes this of us--or whether we believe it of ourselves. Are we raising the bar and encouraging others to jump over it? Or are we lowering the bar by laying on it and allowing others to step on us as they cross over?

And is there something to the fact that, while reading over these last few sentences, I laughed to myself and internally wondered, Well, I wonder if I'm being pretentious enough?

the spoken and the written word

I have this burning urge to talk sometimes, to write, to get my words out of my head and give them a life of their own in this world, however fleeting that life may be. Whether I speak or write is immaterial; it is the act of expression that relieves the pressure within me, that quells the burning patterns of my thoughts into something resembling coherency. There is something to the act of expressing oneself that clarifies thoughts into words and salient ideas, that allows things to settle together into, if not a coherent whole, something that is certainly better than the churning mass of conflicting ideas and opinions and experiences that constantly swirls around in our heads. 

Oddly enough, the form of expression seems not to matter. I have calmed myself down with impassioned, discursive, near-incoherent rants to myself as I pace the privacy of my room as much and as often as I have written or typed, frantically trying to make my fingers match the frantic pace of my internal discourse. I'm doing it now, in fact. The urge to express, regardless of audience or reception or even meaningful subject matter or content, simply consumes me and I don't care if anyone is listening to me because I am listening to me, it doesn't matter if anyone else is hearing my words because I am hearing my words and in listening to myself I get a better idea of what I am thinking and sometimes even why I am thinking it. 

However. If I want to produce something meant for others' consumption, it often takes the form of speech more easily than writing. It is a simple fact that I (and most other people) can speak more quickly and more easily than writing or typing, and that words flow more easily when spoken than when written down. It is also true that it is easier to stay on track and make clear transitions to another subject when writing; when speaking, it can be difficult to organize your thoughts in the frenzy of expressing them so quickly. What my ideal form of communication would be, then, is a combination of speech and writing--a form that allows communication to be fast, facile, and flowing while at the same time ordering it and organizing it to be accessible to an audience. 

Let me explain. There exists this software from Nuance called Dragon NaturallySpeaking that allows a computer to record your voice speaking and translate those words into text--say, a document on a word processor. After having recorded the organic expression of your original fountain of words, that document can then be edited for clarity and flow of ideas that make it more accessible and more organized. Speech recognition software (not just Dragon, for I am sure there are many other such programs out there) used in this manner provides a fascinating combination of the pure creativity of speaking and the self-aware discourse of writing in a way that, to me, makes it almost the ideal form of language expression. 

...which is why I'm getting it for Christmas. 

In the meantime, however, I am limited to the traditional forms of pen and paper or a computer keyboard to express my ideas to myself and others; speaking, whether it is a monologue to a darkened room or a comment made to a crowd of thousands (the latter hasn't happened to me yet), is too much of a transient medium to truly hold an idea down. There stands a kind of paradox between speaking and recording; in order for something to be expressed, it often first spoken, but in order for it to be truly remembered, it must be written down. The limitations of each of these mediums complement each other in a way that allows them to be combined, sometimes successfully, sometimes not. There still exist gaps between expression and understanding that language, which is limited in and of itself, will never fully transcend. But if we can express something to ourselves, then we can understand our own thoughts and in turn extend that expression and comprehension to others, let them see for just a moment through our eyes. 

At the moment, though, all I can think of is how much sooner I would have arrived at a stopping point had I been speaking this. Maybe I need a voice recorder until my Dragon arrives... Though transcription is such a hassle. And that creates an entirely different discourse that I might expand upon another day.