My sister-in-law has a very gentle quality about her and a very sweet demeanor. She's also very physically affectionate, at least with her family. Whenever she's around my stepdaughter (and even when she's around my two nieces), it's like no one else exists. When my sister-in-law enters the room, the kids fight over who gets to sit next to her. I watch them together - especially her and my stepdaughter - and I can't help but feel a little envious. My sister-in-law heaps on hugs, kisses, and tickles and the kids eat it up. "Why can't I be more like her?" I often wonder.
During a family vacation this summer, I noticed that my sister and her husband are always holding hands, putting their arms around one another, or sharing a quick kiss. More often than not, the two of them occupied only one chair, even if that meant one of them sitting on the other's lap. I mentioned to my husband that I was a bit jealous of how affectionate the they are with each other. "Why aren't we more like that?" I asked him.
I knew what he was going to say before he said it. It's me. I know it's me. I don't have a problem with nor am I averse to physical affection - or even public displays of affection - it's just that it doesn't come "natural" to me. In fact, it's not even physical affection per se that doesn't come naturally. Almost without fail I give hugs and kisses to family and friends at every hello, goodbye, and goodnight. And any kid that hops in my lap is always perfectly welcome there. I'm just not the type of person who instinctively reaches for an embrace or a hand to hold whenever I find myself in the presence of others. That kind of affection is something that requires a conscious effort on my part. It's something I have to actually think about and remind myself to do.
I don't know why I'm not naturally drawn towards physical contact. I certainly wish I were different in this regard. I suspect that we all have our strengths and weaknesses. Some things come naturally to certain people and some things don't. I've never met a person to whom everything comes naturally. We all struggle with something.
What I do know is that just becomes something is difficult doesn't mean I can't learn to do it. I have some experience with this. I do really well with verbal and written academic work; I have always struggled with math. I have vivid memories of sobbing over Algebra homework in the eighth grade. As an adult, I needed to complete two math classes for my college degree. I took the first class one summer and the second one the next. This allowed me to focus exclusively on math without worrying about other subjects. After each class, I went to the math lab, did my homework, and had the tutor check my answers. He then went over the problems I got wrong. I sometimes spent hours on homework before I fully understood it. Whenever we had a test, I was always the last person finished; I also earned the highest final grade in both classes. I still struggle with math, but now I know I can do it; I just have to put more effort into it than other people.
I've had similar experiences with art -- I have absolutely NO natural depth perception nor any sense of proportions or spatial positioning. Yet I have, on occasion, come out with a decent drawing or painting (always after a few false starts, of course).
The point is, this whole physical affection thing is something I can learn, even if it doesn't come naturally. What I need more than anything is patience - both from myself and from others.
Is there anything you've learned to do that didn't come naturally? Was it frustrating? Do you still struggle with it? I'd love to hear your story!
Showing posts with label talent. Show all posts
Showing posts with label talent. Show all posts
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Special-ness
Everyone has something they're really good at, right? Isn't that what we tell our children when they begin to cultivate interests and hobbies? We encourage them to try their hand at a variety of extracurricular activities. Some children immediately find something they do well. Others try a little bit of everything but just can't seem to find their niche. "Keep trying," we tell them. "Everyone's good at something. You just haven't found your talent yet."
A patient sat in my office not too long ago. She was struggling with feelings of inadequacy and depression. "I'm not good at anything," she lamented. Like most of us, she'd been told since childhood that everyone has some sort of talent. "Keep looking," people told her. "Don't give up." My patient, now in her late 20's, never "found" her talent. As a result, she concluded that something must be wrong with her, that she was somehow lacking.
I could empathize with this patient. There was a point in my life -- shortly after I graduated college and started my first "real" job -- when I came to the same realization about myself: I'm not really good at anything. I am, of course, better at some things than others; like everyone, I have strengths and weaknesses. There are even a few areas in which my performance is probably above average. I cannot, however, think of any one thing I can do so well that I stand out from the crowd.
And I think that's true for about 95% of us. Theoretically, most human abilities follow a normal distrubution. This means that for any given skill, most of us will possess an (approximately) average aptitude. About 68% of us will fall solidly within the "average" range (i.e., within one standard deviation from the mean). Approximately 13.6% of us will fall within the "above average" range (i.e., within two standard deviations above the mean); another 13.6% will fall into the "below average" range (i.e., within two standard deviations below the mean). Altogether, this accounts for 95% of all people. Therefore, for any given talent, skill, or ability, only about 0.1% of people perform at the "exceptional" level (three or more standard deviations above the mean).
The point is, there is only a very small minority of people who we can say truly excel at a given skill. The rest of us tend to be average, slightly above average, or slightly below average.
I wonder, then, if we aren't setting our children up for disappointment when we tell them that everyone has something at which they excel. It might not be so bad for the 13.6% of kids who end up being "above average" at one thing or another, but what about the other 83+% who are just "average" or even "below average?" Are we instilling in our children the belief that it's not okay to be "average?" If we assure our children that they will find their place to shine but then they never do, are they going to end up feeling like they're somehow inadequate?
As a child, I remember thinking that I was meant to do great things. I believed I was somehow "special" and that I was going to have a significant impact on the world. Children are naturally egocentric so it's not unusual for them to feel special. Ideally, they grow up to learn that while their wants and needs are important, they are no more important than the wants and needs of others. Unfortunately, this doesn't always happen, especially in today's world.
People today tend to have far fewer children than did people who lived 100 years ago. The parental energy and attention that at one time was divided among many children is now devoted to one or two. Many parents put their children at the center of their world, often sacrificing more than a healthy share of their own wants and needs. We tell our children that not only are they special to us, but that they are special in general. We heap excessive amoutns of praise upon our children in an effort to build their self confidence. We tell our children that they can do anything and that they should never allow anyone to stand in the way of their dreams.
We mean well. We want our children to grow into confident, successful adults. We want them to reach for the stars and to lead happy and fulfilling lives. But I wonder if we might have gone overboard.
It wasn't until I became an adult that it hit me: I'm no more special than anyone else. I began to realize that I will probably never create or achieve anything that will radically change the world. I can, however, make a significant and meaningful contribution to society, even if it's nothing extraordinary. I had to adjust my expectations, but I eventually reached the conclusion that it's okay to be ordinary. I don't have to do anything great to live a meaningful life; I just have to be myself.
A patient sat in my office not too long ago. She was struggling with feelings of inadequacy and depression. "I'm not good at anything," she lamented. Like most of us, she'd been told since childhood that everyone has some sort of talent. "Keep looking," people told her. "Don't give up." My patient, now in her late 20's, never "found" her talent. As a result, she concluded that something must be wrong with her, that she was somehow lacking.
I could empathize with this patient. There was a point in my life -- shortly after I graduated college and started my first "real" job -- when I came to the same realization about myself: I'm not really good at anything. I am, of course, better at some things than others; like everyone, I have strengths and weaknesses. There are even a few areas in which my performance is probably above average. I cannot, however, think of any one thing I can do so well that I stand out from the crowd.
And I think that's true for about 95% of us. Theoretically, most human abilities follow a normal distrubution. This means that for any given skill, most of us will possess an (approximately) average aptitude. About 68% of us will fall solidly within the "average" range (i.e., within one standard deviation from the mean). Approximately 13.6% of us will fall within the "above average" range (i.e., within two standard deviations above the mean); another 13.6% will fall into the "below average" range (i.e., within two standard deviations below the mean). Altogether, this accounts for 95% of all people. Therefore, for any given talent, skill, or ability, only about 0.1% of people perform at the "exceptional" level (three or more standard deviations above the mean).
The point is, there is only a very small minority of people who we can say truly excel at a given skill. The rest of us tend to be average, slightly above average, or slightly below average.
I wonder, then, if we aren't setting our children up for disappointment when we tell them that everyone has something at which they excel. It might not be so bad for the 13.6% of kids who end up being "above average" at one thing or another, but what about the other 83+% who are just "average" or even "below average?" Are we instilling in our children the belief that it's not okay to be "average?" If we assure our children that they will find their place to shine but then they never do, are they going to end up feeling like they're somehow inadequate?
As a child, I remember thinking that I was meant to do great things. I believed I was somehow "special" and that I was going to have a significant impact on the world. Children are naturally egocentric so it's not unusual for them to feel special. Ideally, they grow up to learn that while their wants and needs are important, they are no more important than the wants and needs of others. Unfortunately, this doesn't always happen, especially in today's world.
People today tend to have far fewer children than did people who lived 100 years ago. The parental energy and attention that at one time was divided among many children is now devoted to one or two. Many parents put their children at the center of their world, often sacrificing more than a healthy share of their own wants and needs. We tell our children that not only are they special to us, but that they are special in general. We heap excessive amoutns of praise upon our children in an effort to build their self confidence. We tell our children that they can do anything and that they should never allow anyone to stand in the way of their dreams.
We mean well. We want our children to grow into confident, successful adults. We want them to reach for the stars and to lead happy and fulfilling lives. But I wonder if we might have gone overboard.
It wasn't until I became an adult that it hit me: I'm no more special than anyone else. I began to realize that I will probably never create or achieve anything that will radically change the world. I can, however, make a significant and meaningful contribution to society, even if it's nothing extraordinary. I had to adjust my expectations, but I eventually reached the conclusion that it's okay to be ordinary. I don't have to do anything great to live a meaningful life; I just have to be myself.
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