fanfare for the common mind

At work today, we were introduced to some new employees, and they were asked to tell us a "fun fact" about themselves.  One woman's fun fact was this:  "I am born on Christmas."

I was amazed by her choice of the present tense.  Myself, I would always refer to the date of my birth in the past tense ("I was born in January.")  But this woman's birthday is an ongoing, perhaps still-anticipated event.  She is born on Christmas.  This year, and again next year, and every year thereafter, she will be born on Christmas.  I was only born once.  I feel a pauper in comparison.

Icebreakers are a problematic institution at best.  The people with less to share feel worse, and the people who already feel great about themselves feel better.  I despair of these sorts of feedback loops where the rich get richer.  I have looked in their hearts and I know that pretty much everyone is excellent, but some of us are far, far better at showcasing our excellence than others.

I take great pains to talk to everyone around me as much as possible, because I love talking to people, and so many have such interesting things to say.  But I have a combination of intellectual energy, natural curiosity, and free time that is hard to match, so I have more to say on more diverse subjects than nearly anybody I talk to.  That's not a slight against them -- it's a matter of circumstance, and nothing more -- but it does mean that I wind up spending a great deal of time telling others what I'm up to, and it's nobody's fault that I both talk a lot and have a lot to share.

So, I have developed something of a reputation as a polymath, which of course I do not mind, except that it's starting to feel a little...gratuitous?  I'll be talking to a coworker, and I'll mention whatever my latest set of interests is, and they will respond normally and enthusiastically, but then (and this is a recent development) there will be a sort of...of course you do that tossed in as punctuation.  "It's great you've taken up ukulele!  I'd expect nothing less from a genius like you."

As someone who seems compulsively driven to seek recognition of his genius from others, this ought to make me very happy.  But it's become such a recurrent refrain that it's almost starting to feel pat and unearned.  Something said so frequently becomes so much less special.  I love you.

What a thing to be concerned about -- my coworkers have too high an opinion of me!  But of course they do, and you believe that the people you respect think too highly of you, too.  We're all frauds, here.  But I know the secret, that there's no such thing as intelligence.  And once you've figured that one out, you can't help but feel ashamed when you're adored for it.