Growing up, I thought I was smart. A’s came easily, I took advanced classes in high school and of course my parents loved to say I was #gifted. So goes the story for millions and millions of other average, middle class, white people growing up in the US. Yet somehow, despite the odds and our ability to do math, we all actually believed we were really special. That we really had been gifted some intelligence that very few others received. Well, it turns out we all miscalculated and a lot of other people have the same gift. Like the Christmas we all got furbies and couldn’t even brag about having one because everyone else had one too, even though our parents went to great lengths on Black Friday to secure the creepy dolls.
Now, it’s not a bad thing to aspire for intelligence, for wisdom. I’m glad that my parents encouraged me, that I studied because I thought I could do well. It’s a good thing to want to learn, to believe you can. But the problem lies in the fact that we are told we are more intelligent, that we have all the answers, that being the smartest in the room is a praiseworthy goal. The way we were raised makes learning into a competition where you can be better or worse at it, rather than it being something we do in order to understand our world more. I, like many of said #gifted kids, found out after college graduation (some found out during college) that we are not, in fact, that special. That there are, in fact, many many many people who know much more than we do. That, in fact, we have not been given more intelligence than other people. That we are, completely, utterly, average. I’ve now determined there are three ways to deal with this realization.
The first is to realize that you are not the smart person you thought you were, and give up. You simply stop trying to be smart, stop having clever conversations, quit your job and return to your parents because, in their house, you’re still the best. This is the worst of the three options.
The second, and most common, option is to ignore reality, and pretend that you are still the smartest. This option requires that you refuse to lose an argument, even when you might be wrong. It requires that you continue to ignorantly believe you’re smarter, that you talk enough and use so many buzz words, that what you’re actually saying doesn’t matter all that much. This option requires that you hide AT ALL COSTS any part of you indicating you don’t know what someone is talking about.
This is the option that I followed for a while. I secretly hated myself when a colleague mentioned a concept I didn’t understand. I’d either say nothing and nod along, or I’d pretend I did understand, and throw around repeated phrases to appease them and make them believe I knew what was going on. The key to following this option is to never get discovered. Even if you discover you aren’t the smartest, that you are just average, you must convince everyone else that you are not. Acting is the main schtick, and you must not let anyone know that you could be average, that you might be a dummy. You must perform well.
This option is the second worst. Because you are so busy pretending that you know things, you never end up learning anything. It is a tiring, anxiety-inducing charade, one that will eventually crack when you meet someone who is actually the smartest in the room. They are always the ones who can detect the farce, the ones who de-mask you. Fortunately for most people, because there are so many other average-smart actors out in the world, they rarely get de-masked. This option carries fear (of being exposed), anger (at one’s own inadequacy) and shame (at having believed your parents’ lie for so long).
The third option is Happy Dummy Energy. HDE is the state in which you accept your averageness, you are fine with not knowing everything and you aren’t afraid of others knowing that you are not smart. Now, let me be clear, HDE does not mean you accept your ignorance and plan to stay there. Rather, people with HDE accept that they are dummies in a certain area and work to learn more. HDE requires curiosity, openness and honesty about your shortcomings.
HDE means that if you don’t know something, you ask the dumbest question you need to in order to understand, or you look it up. HDE means that you don’t argue for something that you are not sure about, but that you do argue for things that you have knowledge in. HDE means that you are open to being clueless, that you have no obligation to be smart. You are free from all responsibility of being in a competition for intelligence. You accept what you know, and you accept what you don’t. And you are HAPPY that you don’t know everything.
The beauty of HDE is that you end up being smarter. HDE removes all of the fear, anger and shame of option number 2. Rather than shutting out all the things you don’t know because they intimidate you, because they might reveal you, you learn about them. You are perfectly happy in your dummy-hood. HDE carries contentment, curiosity and acceptance.
HDE means you don’t tweet about things you don’t know or don’t actually care about. HDE means you are vocal when you need help. HDE means that you work really hard to teach the purple furby you got for Christmas how to talk, without worrying that the other kids in the class have the polka-dot one that can already do all the tricks.
It's not you, co. 