You’re Very Bright… But…

Age brings experience, a few aches and pains, more than enough very weirdly placed hairs and, on a good day, a touch of wisdom, a fuller sense of gratitude – and even more importantly – responsibility.

That last word is just plain loaded, ain’t it..?

Growing up, I didn’t have much to do with the R-word.  On a good day I was a mediocre student, doing barely enough to get by, unable and unwilling to take the leap of faith that would have had me actually apply myself to the work being dished my way.

I just couldn’t connect the dots leading to how, in some distant future, the stuff I was being taught would be useful to me in day-to-day life.

There were too many model ships and airplanes to be built, daydreams to be dreamt, pictures to be drawn, flights of fancy to be flown, stream-beds to explore…

That was the stuff that called to my younger Self with urgency and purpose.

In high school, there was a smart, beautiful girl who, unbeknownst to either of us at the time, would help me learn more than I could possibly imagine about women, relationships – and the magic to be found at the crossroads of innocence, love, creativity and open-hearted, wildly romantic wonder.  (To this day, she remains a beloved friend – and I’ve shared with her what I’ve just told you.  The entire story of those two young explorers, though – that’s no longer mine to tell.  It belongs to them and lives as they do – in the past.  But I digress…)

As a result of where I chose to spend his time, effort and creative capital, I was on the receiving end of many an earful of well-intentioned edumacational (yes, that’s a word) lectures that usually went something like this:  “You’re a bright young man… but you’re irresponsible” or “You could do so much better if only you were more responsible.”

I didn’t possess much discernment at the time, so even though I was told I was bright, the “but” kicked that out of the picture, and I just figured “irresponsible” was grown-up authority code-speak for slow and stupid.

Of course, it didn’t help that I didn’t give a rat’s butt about most of what I was being taught…

Aside from a strong preference for those ship and airplane models, art class and, in high school, a smattering of biology classes and my girlfriend, I wasn’t exactly in a position to choose the things I really wanted to focus on.  In fact, most of what I was asked to study struck me as either mind-numbingly boring, moderately uninteresting, burdensome, or a cocktail of one-part each.

Responsible didn’t seem like anything I would ever want to be because, right along with seeing myself as slow and stupid, the version of responsibility I was being sold seemed like a mash-up of endless pain, suffering, duty and obligation.

Who in their right mind would want that..?

I wasn’t a particularly rebellious kid.  I wasn’t intentionally raging against the educational machine – though in retrospect that might not have been such a bad thing to do – I just had other interests and preferences.

The fascinating thing I just was not capable of seeing at the time was that I was falling in love – deeply, passionately and devotedly – with learning…

And as learning goes, I was slowly, determinedly laying an important foundation for a structure that would pay huge dividends down the road – a structure that led me, ironically and rather magically, to embracing a fuller and, to my mind, much more real, useful and remarkably thrilling version of – who could have guessed…

…Responsibility.

My younger Self was growing in a whole bunch of useful ways.  Though his system was far from perfect and he was often swimming against the tide, he was actively chasing activities and outcomes that mattered to him…

I learned to envision desired futures by excitedly daydreaming about getting out of school and covering a balsa biplane frame with tissue paper.  The next day I’d imagine it painted and would hurry home as quickly as possible to get to it.

I was finding ways to make time in my day to pursue things that mattered and made sense to me.

I was learning to make choices.  I was discovering what, to me at least, were acceptable trade-offs.

For instance, time in my basement model workroom was time away from homework.  I built some downright beautiful models, so didn’t really have much of a problem with a “C” average.

My closest friends were among the “smart” kids.  I didn’t seem to have any trouble communicating with them, so I wasn’t bothered about whether or not I could correctly name all the grammatical elements of a well-formed sentence…

I should also point out that I ran into a rather significant existential crisis when I was 9 years old.  I was sick at the time, staying home with a baby-sitter while the rest of my family went out to a show.  There was a report on TV about the first heart-transplant and, seeing it in full color on the screen in our den, I found myself nose-to-nose with my own mortality.

I think that sort of thing would make an impression on just about any 9-year old.  For me, it was a huge – albeit unsophisticated – wake-up call:  I was fragile, life was short, nothing was permanent – and what if my heart needed to be replaced..?

In that terrified state, who could fault me for wanting to focus on the things that really mattered and interested me– or fired my creative spirit, curiosity and imagination?

Not that I was a great student before Dr. Christiaan Barnard made headlines, mind you.  He just wrote me a more purposeful prescription to go off-road and color outside of the lines…

I wanted to explore my world my way, to learn by doing rather than studying, to build, create, discover, play – and have fun doing it all.

The interesting thing is that just about every time I got back on the metaphorical road or colored inside the lines – following the culture’s “success” formula – I was miserable…

Because for me, staying on that path meant handing my own preferences and choices – the very best of MY responsibility – over to an authority other than myself.

What I’ve learned about true responsibility from some great mentors and teachers is that, as a conscious adult, responsibility isn’t “I have to,” it’s a wildly fun, “I get to” privilege, packed full of choice – and so much more.

The wildest thing about all of this..?

It’s a huge piece of the puzzle that many, many of the people I work with come to me for…

In the middle of his existential crisis, that frightened 9-year old red-headed kid was on to something…

Thanks so much, Kenny!  I’m grateful for your foresight.