America is known as a nation of extroverts. Surrounded by older countries with cultures based on reserve and tradition, we celebrate our exuberant, gregarious, national character and do our best to perpetuate the image. But, amidst the ballyhoo and high-fiving, we have to ask ourselves: are we really all extroverts? If we’re not, why are we pretending to be? The answers, according to Susan Cain, the author of Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can’t Stop Talking, may surprise you. The fact is, approximately half of this country’s population have introvert personalities. These are the people who prefer the company of a few friends to a crowd of people, who aren’t anxious to dominate every conversation, who thrive on solitude and silence. Unfortunately, those needs are often ignored by a culture who values the socially adept, team-player and distrusts the standoffish loner. Ms. Cain makes the argument that not only does this half of society deserve more respect, but that these quiet people may be the stronger, more creative individuals in our population and, on balance, the best leaders. What makes one person the life of the party with the next is a little withdrawn? Science isn’t…
Christopher doesn’t mind touching dead things. Christopher doesn’t like being touched. Christopher thinks metaphors are stupid but he understands and adores prime numbers. Often the world is too loud and bright for this fifteen year old boy’s comfort and people he meets are in it extremely confusing. As far as Christopher is concerned, all of life would be better if it were predictable, like a mystery story. As such, Christopher John Francis Boone takes center stage as narrator and autistic hero of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time. Recognition of this development disorder has been growing for the last two decades and the Centers for Disease Control believes that roughly one percent of the world’s population is a member of this group (U. S. statistics suggest that number is low). That means at least 74 million people are participating in life right now without the verbal and non-verbal communication skills the rest of us use without effort. Minus the ability to recognize or understand the nuanced feelings of others, these people go through life often aware they don’t quite fit in with “regular people” but unable to bridge the gap between themselves and the rest of the…
Thanks for the Memories A friend from college visited me earlier this summer. She’s a great gal and it’s always terrific to see her but before she arrived, I wondered where I should take her during our visit. We have the usual amenities within easy driving distance but why bring her to some spot like another near her home? In the end, we went to the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute, a museum and memorial to the Civil Rights Struggle in Birmingham, Alabama. It was the right thing to do. Birmingham’s history with the Movement may not be what the city wants to be known for but it’s our calling card in the pages of history. Hiding from the past never helps. Because of Birmingham’s infamous role in that struggle, explaining positive aspects of this place to the casual outsider can be difficult. (Well, some of my Caucasian friends have admitted this is hard; I haven’t got the nerve or bad manners to find out if my African-American friends here face the same issues.) In the face of bombed churches and fire-hoses, how can anyone describe warm-hearted people and neighborhoods without sounding like a fool or a racist? How can the domestic…
At one point of my life I thought DNA made me fat. I was very young then and it seemed to me my extra pounds were the result of a random inheritance, like green eyes or height. My father was big, both my grandmothers were heavy and one of my uncles could be described as “comfortably cuddly”. Of course that meant my sister, my mother, and my other relations had been gifted with the “skinny” gene, so I figured I had no choice in the matter. Mama got rid of those illusions. Fat happened when more calories went in than energy went out, she said, and pointed out that my svelte little sister was one of those children that never stood still. Once I started eating less and moving more, my days as a fatty would be over. Well, they weren’t. I started a multitude of diets, upped my exercise and periodically lost hundreds of pounds through the years, all of which returned with interest each time my newest reduction plan stopped. It got so I was miserable while I was losing weight, obsessed by every calorie and scale-revealing ounce and I was even more miserable fat. My eating habits…
Well, another Belmont race has been run and America’s flirtation with horse-racing has been put away for another year. Sure, there are thousands of people who spend their lives breathing and living for horse racing but lots more limit their equine attention-span to the Kentucky Derby and focus on the Belmont only if the winner stands to win the Triple Crown (rare) or beat Secretariat’s Belmont time (Impossible, as far as I’m concerned). Of course when that rare instance occurs, civilians like myself love to debate who the truly great horses were/are and who would win if we could time-transport them all to a single race. My late mom adored Man O’ War just as fervently as my husband still roots for Secretariat and, thanks to Laura Hillenbrand, Seabiscuit again has an army of followers. People I respect in Europe talk about Frankel. All of these were incredible racers but for horses with a story, I have to give my thanks to Geoff Armstrong and Peter Thompson for introducing me to Phar Lap. He’s the great racing heart of Australia. Like most heroes, Australia’s “Wonder Horse” had unlikely beginnings. The yearling came from a sire and dam with great blood…