How do YOU know?

When I was 15 and 16, I used to go to the Plainfield Public Library and sit there reading books by Louis Auchincloss. I don’t know why I never wanted to take them home. I think I felt, or intuited, that I could not stay in the worlds he created were I to be reading them at home. In the library, undisturbed, I could immerse myself, take off, and be there for as long as I kept reading.

During that same time period in that same library, I also read William Saroyan. He used a phrase in one of his books, it might have been “The Daring Young Man on the Flying Trapeze”. The phrase was “But I digress…” He’d be going on and on about something, one thought leading to the next, and when he realized that he was “off topic” he would write, “But I digress…” and move on to the next paragraph or chapter. I can verify which book it is – read through some of his books and see if I can find the one in which he used that phrase, but that promises to be more of a project than I want to mount at this moment. When I research, I tend to let one thing lead me to another and another as I am learning this and that, and soon, like Saroyan, I have no idea where I had intended to go in the beginning of my search. Hey – maybe his literary wandering was a metaphor related to the metaphor of the trapeze – swinging from one bar to the next, one topic to the next. At this point, I am certain that it is safe to say that I digress…

I hid Ayn Rand’s books at home. I didn’t want my parents to know that – at age 11 – I wanted to be Howard Roark. They knew very well about my interest in architecture since the age of eight, and that was fine with them. But I think I felt, or intuited, that were they to learn that it wasn’t female Dominque whom I admired, but male Roark, they may have been gender-issue-disturbed. Without knowing that this was an issue, or if I did, what it was called, maybe I was also confused about that preference, although on second thought, I am certain that it never occurred to me that architecture was gender specific, and therefore that my desire to be Roark could ever even approach being an issue.

It was during this same period that I adopted a mantra on which I meditated and by which I’ve lived: “Don’t complain. Don’t explain.” I even needlepointed that onto a pillow as a new bride, age 22 when I was feeling, or I intuited that I was feeling, very sure of what I knew. And not the least bit interested in what I didn’t know. And I wasn’t about to explain any of that to anyone. I always attributed the “Don’t…” quote to Ayn Rand. But a recent Google search tells me it’s Raymond Carver. Huh?

My parents had supported my reading “The Diary of a Young Girl” when I was ten. The fact that her family was discovered and arrested the day before I was born made me feel close to Anne Frank, and because of her writing, I actually did begin to believe that people really are good at heart. “Don’t complain. Don’t explain.” became a part of my modus operendi. I didn’t consciously decide that it would. It just sank in. It fit. It became a habit. I could only hope that the same is true with Anne Frank’s stated belief/ feeling/intuition: that her words would also become a lifelong habit for me.

At the agency at which I worked in Portland we would have an annual retreat. One year we retreated to houses at the Coast and played an opening day “ice breaker” game. I think it was called Donatello. Or Leonardo. Or maybe those are Ninja Turtles. In any event, we each wrote the name of a book or movie on a piece of paper and put them into a hat. One by one, we went around the room, drew a paper from the hat, and had to turn to the person next to us and give them clues in order to get them to figure out the name the book or movie.

I was sitting next to my friend and fellow designer, Lance. He selected a paper from the hat, read the words on his paper to himself, crumbled up the paper. He turned to me, looked me in the eye and said: “Who is…?”
I immediately replied: “John Galt.“ The room went wild! All Lance had said was “Who is…?” and I immediately knew that it was the opening line of "Atlas Shrugged”. We had never discussed that book or Rand, nor Objectivism nor any of it. We were simply on the same wave length, feeling, or “intuiting” as if separated at birth. We both got a lot of “smarts” points that weekend. Better yet, it made us even closer friends. It also necessitated that when I returned to the office, I put a sign on my door: “No mind reading.” We really did need a lot of information in order to successfully design our clients’ materials, and I didn’t want any co-workers shirking their responsibility to provide it because they figured - after witnessing our turn at the retreat - that we would just KNOW the answers.

Based on this and many similar experiences before and after the “Who is…?” experience, is it any wonder that I have always held that the intuitive, emotional, gut response is the highest possible response a person can have? This topic has been argued many times by many groups of my friends and acquaintances. People think I am talking about animal instincts. In a way, I am. But what I am talking about goes way beyond “fight or flight”. It is an educated sort of response, without being sussed out rationally. Without going through the process of “thinking though” an issue or moment, or toting up pros and cons, or Shepardizing precedence. It’s a direct line. A short cut. Like an injection into a vein that will bring the same immediate results as days of pill taking. There it is – right there. Bam!

I think this “gut” thing actually comes from experience in trusting oneself. In relying on personal experience or gleaned and incorporated knowledge. On not needing to look around to figure out what’s going on. Of simply being open to KNOWING or, more demurely, to feeling or intuiting the answer.

We’re not talking about statistics, here. Not data. Not math or science. We are not talking about Jeopardy answers. We’re talking about looking at someone and knowing. About trusting.. About knowing what’s what and doing the right thing. About knowing yourself. Actually, I’m not sure how to categorize the type of answers provided by intuition, or - as it is now called - emotional IQ.. But I always know them when they’re there. I believe in them once they show up, and I go with them.

Body language experts say that when people are responding to questions emotionally, they tend to look down. When they are mentally searching for an “intellectual” answer, they look up. They also look up when they’re lying, or can look you right in the eye and lie. But when they’re telling the truth, people look down.

I suppose that people who have heard these same reports can learn to outsmart the experts and train their eyes to look in directions that are contrary to the findings. Those same people can probably figure out how to fool a lie detector test. But I’m not interested in those people. I probably wouldn’t like them anyway because my feelings, or intuition, would tell me that this charmer who was searching the air for answers was a sneaky bastard, and to avoid him/her at all costs, despite the fact that they may have come highly recommended and are wearing well tailored clothing.

Maybe next I will write about another ice breaker game we played: “Two truths and a lie.” And before I take off on the whole “dress for success issue”, I admit that I am pretty sure that it’s safe to say that once again
I digress…