Our elders advised us not to talk of ourselves. It was supposed to be impolite. At least, impolitic. It was better to let the other person speak. Of course the consequence was that we encouraged the other person to speak of himself or herself. Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing.
My father had a gift for friendship and a lot of diverse people streamed through our living room. I noticed that he had endless curiosity about his guests’ work. If an ophthalmologist came for tea, he might ask what kinds of eye problems were most troublesome. If a lawyer visited us, he would ask him how the constitution affected his daily work. When I asked him one day why he did so, he was quite candid. “Many people spend most of their waking hours at work. That occupies the central part of their life. So, if you ask them, they can tell you the things most important to them and most interesting to me. I learn from them. I get to know them.”
My father had a gift for friendship and a lot of diverse people streamed through our living room. I noticed that he had endless curiosity about his guests’ work. If an ophthalmologist came for tea, he might ask what kinds of eye problems were most troublesome. If a lawyer visited us, he would ask him how the constitution affected his daily work. When I asked him one day why he did so, he was quite candid. “Many people spend most of their waking hours at work. That occupies the central part of their life. So, if you ask them, they can tell you the things most important to them and most interesting to me. I learn from them. I get to know them.”
I too have learned from him. I have found that if I let people talk about themselves, their work and their interests, I am amazed at the kind of enthralling tales they come up with. A criminal attorney once told me of his first murder case and how it turned into a nightmarish experience that changed his life. Improbable as it may seem, no less fascinating for me was an after-dinner chat I had with a mining geologist who explained how he went about making a million-dollar decision about where to excavate for precious ore reserves. If the specialty of a person I meet is some arcane, unknown profession, my curiosity is even greater and I urge her to tell me all about her work.
Since I have traveled a lot, I have been thrown into the company of strangers on planes and trains, in clubs and restaurants, around sandy beaches and exotic resorts. It has been fun listening to professors and pilots, nurses and neurologists, finance specialists and flimflam artists. Their stories, of their work and of their life, have often kept me spellbound.
Since I have traveled a lot, I have been thrown into the company of strangers on planes and trains, in clubs and restaurants, around sandy beaches and exotic resorts. It has been fun listening to professors and pilots, nurses and neurologists, finance specialists and flimflam artists. Their stories, of their work and of their life, have often kept me spellbound.
One day it occurred to me to turn the table, so to speak, and try and tell some of my stories. I was emboldened by my favorite Austrian writer Stefan Zweig’s insight that there is at least one story embedded in the life of every person. Often much more than just one. I felt I needed to tell my stories. I needed to bear witness to my hopes and fears, my hurts and happiness. Perhaps those might resonate with someone who would feel those were also his hopes and fears, hurts and happiness.
Also, my story is not just mine. Others have moved through my life, often leaving a lasting impression and sometimes an indelible one. I learned very little in school, but one teacher encouraged me to write and another prompted me learn multiple languages. Neither did I find the university conducive to any real learning, but I encountered one professor who provoked me to think for myself, boldly and independently.
My father, more than anyone else, modeled a receptivity to other people, especially people different from us, and showed how a friendship can open the door to other beliefs and values. A very different kind of person, my mother, placed a lot of value on kindness, and made me see how important it was to suspend judgment if one wanted to be humane. My brothers, cast from an entirely different mold, constantly challenged me to question every iota of belief before succumbing to it.
Also, my story is not just mine. Others have moved through my life, often leaving a lasting impression and sometimes an indelible one. I learned very little in school, but one teacher encouraged me to write and another prompted me learn multiple languages. Neither did I find the university conducive to any real learning, but I encountered one professor who provoked me to think for myself, boldly and independently.
My father, more than anyone else, modeled a receptivity to other people, especially people different from us, and showed how a friendship can open the door to other beliefs and values. A very different kind of person, my mother, placed a lot of value on kindness, and made me see how important it was to suspend judgment if one wanted to be humane. My brothers, cast from an entirely different mold, constantly challenged me to question every iota of belief before succumbing to it.
My friends, drawn from a strange melange of countries, parties, faiths, classes and professions, have pulled me in different directions and stretched my ideas often beyond the range of comfort. If one has helped me see the misery of Palestinians – I saw a little with my own eyes -- another has urged me to see the motivation of their alleged oppressors.
Women in particular have given me great joy and exhilaration and have also periodically hurt and humiliated me, but either way it has been a scintillating experience. I would have known so little about myself without those encounters.
So, defying the counsel of wise elders, I want to speak of myself. I want to capture a little of my story, ineptly, unevenly and admittedly with abundant bias, and say what I remember without apology and explanation. It just happens it is not only my story.
Women in particular have given me great joy and exhilaration and have also periodically hurt and humiliated me, but either way it has been a scintillating experience. I would have known so little about myself without those encounters.
So, defying the counsel of wise elders, I want to speak of myself. I want to capture a little of my story, ineptly, unevenly and admittedly with abundant bias, and say what I remember without apology and explanation. It just happens it is not only my story.
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