![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
smart: a polemic
My mom has always told me, since I was really little, that I was smart and a gifted child and a luminous intelligence and stuff like that. It always confused me at that age, since I wasn't really sure how anyone else thought or felt and as such how they could figure out that I was smart when all I did was do stuff that seemed fun or satisfying all the time, but I ran with it because I liked it when adults complimented me.
I continued to feel—no, think I was smart throughout middle school, because I got good grades and understood what teachers were saying most of the time. Again, I still didn't feel like I was smart—does anyone? How could I? But people telling me "you're smart, so you get good grades" or "you're smart, so you can do this or that with ease" still seemed a little … off. I was told a lot that I had a good memory, and yeah, I can probably tell you the names, appearances, and temperaments of most of the officially recognized dog breeds in the American Kennel Club, but honestly I have always had a hard time seeing obscure show dog trivia or one of my many other subjects of patently worthless expertise as much indication of gifted intelligence. But I forgot a quarter of the things I needed when packing to go someplace, or getting my backpack ready for school, and over and over my mom told me that I needed to try harder to remember things, and I had no idea how one went about just having a better memory. So those things all made me feel pretty stupid. And schoolwork? Honestly, as much as I appreciated the compliments because I like attention, I felt like I was good at schoolwork because I did all my homework with unhealthily obsessive attention to detail, not because I had some supernatural ability to remember the lead-up to the Defenestration of Prague or whatever.
I applied to high schools and got into some schools which I was told were "smart," and where "everyone is as smart as you." Uh, okay. If I'd taken those statements seriously, then I'd have expected that everyone moving into the boarding school I attended would show up missing a quarter of their stuff which they'd left in some closet in their house. In high school, I somehow lost my work ethic. I don't really know where it went, or what within or without caused it to die, or whatever; but it was at that point that this whole "smart" business really started to seem stupid. I'd been told all my life that making mistakes was okay, and I agreed wholeheartedly; but people somehow decided I was smart (why? because I wasn't afraid of raising my hand in class? because I knew weird trivia?), and I was no longer convinced it did me any good to be smart. Everything at which I was successful took a lot of effort, and my efforts were often poorly organized, which felt stupid. Everything at which I was unsuccessful in spite of how hard I tried to work at, made me feel stupid when surrounded by other students who understood fine when they put the work in. Moreover, other people were better at hard work than I was, and being bad at hard work and focus seemed pretty stupid to me, but on it went, which suggested to me that perhaps everyone who had ever complimented me was misguided and I was in fact stupid.
For my whole life, "smart" had been this weird, arbitrary title that didn't seem to apply to any of my successes or failures, except in the eyes of those who didn't effect them themselves. I succeeded at something? 'Cuz I was smart. I failed at something? But why? I'm so smart! I should be able to do it!
No, not really. Being good at some things really just confused people as to why I was really bad at other things. A lifetime of being told "you're smart and hard-working, therefore success is guaranteed to you" seemed to be a bizarre curse, because I kept going through life and making really bad mistakes and getting hurt on account of it.
By the time I got to college, I had given up on smart as a concept. The people I met were too different in too many different ways for that kind of title to apply to anyone. People were sometimes good at things or bad at other things, and maybe it was just my weird small school but I never met a single person at college whom I thought was smarter than anyone else at college. Anyone who wasn't good at something was usually bad at it not because they were stupid, but because some personal or emotional quirk kept them from being their best at it. Or because they hadn't had enough practice or experience with that particular activity. The only stupidity I could really get a handle on was my own, because I was experiencing it.
I'm twenty-four now, and honestly I could deal with it if no one ever tells me I'm smart again. I mean, I enjoy flattery and compliments as much as the next arrogant bastard, but "you are smart" in most serious contexts has come to be more of a curse than a blessing. Being smart means people expect you to get things right somehow, which is never a fun expectation to live along with. Moreover, if I'm born smart and the next guy is born stupid and there's nothing either of us can do to change that, am I a better person than he because I understand some concepts faster and better? If anything I would think my deeds are less potent because they're expected of me as a "smart person."
I think that at this point most of the good that's come my way by my own hand has come on account of my sense of humor and my willingness to try new things and my love for things which happen to click with my interests. Those aren't smart—okay, maybe sense of humor is? I think of it more as observant, but the other two aren't. But "smart" is not necessarily "powerful" or "knowledgeable" or "skilled" or even "good." You might as well sing someone's praises because he or she doesn't sunburn easily.
So what does that mean? Should I tell my kids they're smart? Should I tell my friends, if I think so?
Intelligence is important. It has to be. But in my experience, smart doesn't seem too much better than stupid—or even too different. I have met individuals whose intelligence really stands out to me on only the rarest occasions; and viewing myself from within, I feel anything but smart. So I'm not too keen on that word right now, in general; and more specifically, I'm tired of being told that I can do something or something will be easy for me or I should have done something better because I'm smart. I'm not. Stop telling me I am. Even if it's true, you're not making it any better.
I continued to feel—no, think I was smart throughout middle school, because I got good grades and understood what teachers were saying most of the time. Again, I still didn't feel like I was smart—does anyone? How could I? But people telling me "you're smart, so you get good grades" or "you're smart, so you can do this or that with ease" still seemed a little … off. I was told a lot that I had a good memory, and yeah, I can probably tell you the names, appearances, and temperaments of most of the officially recognized dog breeds in the American Kennel Club, but honestly I have always had a hard time seeing obscure show dog trivia or one of my many other subjects of patently worthless expertise as much indication of gifted intelligence. But I forgot a quarter of the things I needed when packing to go someplace, or getting my backpack ready for school, and over and over my mom told me that I needed to try harder to remember things, and I had no idea how one went about just having a better memory. So those things all made me feel pretty stupid. And schoolwork? Honestly, as much as I appreciated the compliments because I like attention, I felt like I was good at schoolwork because I did all my homework with unhealthily obsessive attention to detail, not because I had some supernatural ability to remember the lead-up to the Defenestration of Prague or whatever.
I applied to high schools and got into some schools which I was told were "smart," and where "everyone is as smart as you." Uh, okay. If I'd taken those statements seriously, then I'd have expected that everyone moving into the boarding school I attended would show up missing a quarter of their stuff which they'd left in some closet in their house. In high school, I somehow lost my work ethic. I don't really know where it went, or what within or without caused it to die, or whatever; but it was at that point that this whole "smart" business really started to seem stupid. I'd been told all my life that making mistakes was okay, and I agreed wholeheartedly; but people somehow decided I was smart (why? because I wasn't afraid of raising my hand in class? because I knew weird trivia?), and I was no longer convinced it did me any good to be smart. Everything at which I was successful took a lot of effort, and my efforts were often poorly organized, which felt stupid. Everything at which I was unsuccessful in spite of how hard I tried to work at, made me feel stupid when surrounded by other students who understood fine when they put the work in. Moreover, other people were better at hard work than I was, and being bad at hard work and focus seemed pretty stupid to me, but on it went, which suggested to me that perhaps everyone who had ever complimented me was misguided and I was in fact stupid.
For my whole life, "smart" had been this weird, arbitrary title that didn't seem to apply to any of my successes or failures, except in the eyes of those who didn't effect them themselves. I succeeded at something? 'Cuz I was smart. I failed at something? But why? I'm so smart! I should be able to do it!
No, not really. Being good at some things really just confused people as to why I was really bad at other things. A lifetime of being told "you're smart and hard-working, therefore success is guaranteed to you" seemed to be a bizarre curse, because I kept going through life and making really bad mistakes and getting hurt on account of it.
By the time I got to college, I had given up on smart as a concept. The people I met were too different in too many different ways for that kind of title to apply to anyone. People were sometimes good at things or bad at other things, and maybe it was just my weird small school but I never met a single person at college whom I thought was smarter than anyone else at college. Anyone who wasn't good at something was usually bad at it not because they were stupid, but because some personal or emotional quirk kept them from being their best at it. Or because they hadn't had enough practice or experience with that particular activity. The only stupidity I could really get a handle on was my own, because I was experiencing it.
I'm twenty-four now, and honestly I could deal with it if no one ever tells me I'm smart again. I mean, I enjoy flattery and compliments as much as the next arrogant bastard, but "you are smart" in most serious contexts has come to be more of a curse than a blessing. Being smart means people expect you to get things right somehow, which is never a fun expectation to live along with. Moreover, if I'm born smart and the next guy is born stupid and there's nothing either of us can do to change that, am I a better person than he because I understand some concepts faster and better? If anything I would think my deeds are less potent because they're expected of me as a "smart person."
I think that at this point most of the good that's come my way by my own hand has come on account of my sense of humor and my willingness to try new things and my love for things which happen to click with my interests. Those aren't smart—okay, maybe sense of humor is? I think of it more as observant, but the other two aren't. But "smart" is not necessarily "powerful" or "knowledgeable" or "skilled" or even "good." You might as well sing someone's praises because he or she doesn't sunburn easily.
So what does that mean? Should I tell my kids they're smart? Should I tell my friends, if I think so?
Intelligence is important. It has to be. But in my experience, smart doesn't seem too much better than stupid—or even too different. I have met individuals whose intelligence really stands out to me on only the rarest occasions; and viewing myself from within, I feel anything but smart. So I'm not too keen on that word right now, in general; and more specifically, I'm tired of being told that I can do something or something will be easy for me or I should have done something better because I'm smart. I'm not. Stop telling me I am. Even if it's true, you're not making it any better.