There are two types of people 🎭

a bold claim

“There may be said to be two classes of people in the world; those who constantly divide the people of the world into two classes, and those who do not. Both classes are extremely unpleasant to meet socially, leaving practically no one in the world whom one cares very much to know.”—humorist and actor Robert Benchley, 1920 (and since popularized by many, including Neil deGrasse Tyson)

Two Types of People (we really love to sort ourselves)

Perhaps it might be plausibly argued that there are two types of people: “those who can recall quotes and jokes on command” and “those who can’t.” I am definitively a member of the latter group. I have easy recall of only three jokes at any given moment, and have held on to the current offering for at least a decade.

My longtime go-to:

“Why do Norwegian naval ships have bar codes on their sides?”

“So when they come into port, they can ‘scan da Navy in.’” 🤷‍♀️😂🤦‍♀️

But ever since I heard the quote above, it has stuck with me—and the conclusion, which I have only just discovered, enriches the wit exponentially. I love it. It tickles that part of me that longs for truth and clarity while also recognizing the ongoing absurdity of the human project, and I’m here for it.

I am now 51 years old, and I am starting to think that I’ve gathered a sufficient amount of experience and insight to declare, with all the caveats, admissions, and acknowledgments in the world, that I can safely say that I’m starting to really know—with at least some degree of confidence—what kind of person I am.

Most of the time, that comes down to a general tendency of seeing some value on either side of any “two types of people” equation: for example, I was just this morning listening to an interview with a conservative Harvard professor about the situation between Trump and the university. At one point, the professor made the (obviously sweeping) generalization that Democrats are largely focused on empathy (wanting everyone to be “equal and included” and Republicans are largely preoccupied with admiration (wanting people to do what they are good at and succeed or fail “on the merits”).

Of course, that framing overlooks the systemic underpinnings of success (and its absence) implied by the idea of “equality of opportunity” that solutions like affirmative action or universal pre-k seek to ameliorate, but I thought it was a provocative lens. Do Democrats, in our pursuit of justice, inclusion, and equality, have a blind spot when it comes to acknowledging our admiration for success—even as popular culture (see: everything) clearly shows that we crave success, admiration, and the feeling of “being special”—maybe even superior—at least as much as the next guy?

Much has been written lately about the distinctions between “honor culture” and “dignity culture.”

For the sake of simplicity, it can be argued that Republicans (and the right more broadly) are primarily aligned with “honor culture” while Democrats (and the left more broadly) are steeped in the values of “dignity culture.” As philosopher Marie Bjedere put it in the article linked above:

If a country is alone, outgunned, and in a situation where global lawlessness prevails, that country will need a strong Alpha leader who will intimidate, dominate, and destroy any enemy that presents a danger. If a country enjoys the luxury of relative global political stability, that country will need a mature leader who is as deft with diplomacy and soft power as with armies and posturing. The current global landscape can be interpreted either way depending on whether we are looking through an Honor or Dignity Culture frame. Leadership that can flex between both frames will have a tremendous strategic advantage.

On Tyrants and Parenting

Tucked away at the end of a long cul-de-sac in a sprawling Evergreen neighborhood, far from the mind-blowingly consequential events unfolding all across the globe, I can still see how much tricky intricacy is contained within these two frames and in their interplay.

As a woman and a mom, I can see that I mostly subscribe to the “dignity” model. It is evident in how I parent, how I collaborate, how I show up. And yet there is undoubtedly—and I can see my husband Mark’s knowing smile as he reads this—a small but mighty tyrant lurking in there, too. This tyrant, as the quote suggests, comes out mainly in times of stress or anxiety (though not necessarily, it should be said, in moments of full-blown crisis—as when we thought that our house had been burglarized by what turned out to be an intrepid squirrel who cut his little paw trying to get in, leaving a mess of papers and wrappers and bloody prints across the piano. I wouldn’t say I was the picture of authoritative leadership at that particular moment.) If you ever want to meet this little tyrant that lives within me, however, you can predictably meet her in any car in which I am not the driver: in general, there’s my way and there’s the wrong way.

One of many, many squirrel gifs (not to mention Christmas ornaments and other artifacts!) my mother-in-law has affectionately sent me over the years, ever since the “squirrel incident.” Believe it or not, this wasn’t the only such incident—nor the worst. 😂

The distinction has arisen a number of times throughout our married and parenting lives, which are largely a mixed bag of traditional and reversed gender roles. Mark taught me how to cook (I could basically make oatmeal and pour Cheerios when we met), and has fully taken over the laundry from my sorry-ass laundry-doing self (once, when we were first married, I spent the ENTIRE DAY—literally, we watched a whole season of The Biggest Loser from start to finish—ironing, as I come from a long line of, shall we say, expert and persnickety ironers. At the end of the marathon, as the winners celebrated their remarkable and hard-won achievements, Mark looked over at my output and said, with genuine compassion, “I’m so sorry to say it, but they look exactly the same as when you started.” Thus ended my ironing career.).

On the other hand, I have also just recently completed a two-year project (more on this in a future newsletter!) in a field very heavily skewed towards men. I also have to admit that I have spent the last ten minutes trying to think of other ways I personally upend traditional gender stereotypes around the house, but I am (rather notably) coming up short. Do I fix things? Nope. Do I mow the lawn or use the snow blower? No. Do I assemble furniture or change light bulbs and smoke detector batteries? Nope.

I guess we’re more traditional than I thought!

(A funny aside: I had to pause this writing because a realtor just came to the house—we’re putting it on the market (another long story)—and wanted to make sure it was ready for exterior shots. It was, thanks to a shit ton of work we did yesterday (wait—I did the mulching. So there’s two things!). She was about to leave but thought we should make sure all of the light bulbs were working. I flipped the switch, and both lights high above the sliding glass doors came on, and then one proceeded to burn out before our eyes. She was like, “You can change that by Wednesday, right?” And I was like, “Um.”

With the kids, this “honor and dignity” paradigm has definitely come up a number of times over the years. I tend to orient towards “enlisting” them in the project at hand, while Mark leans towards “instructing” them to do a task and expecting a straightforwardly affirmative response that is not always forthcoming. This usually results in a little side discussion around “asking nicely,” which eventually becomes a bit of a triangulated dynamic from which we have to emerge through skillful and passionate debate while the kids roll their eyes. Eventually equilibrium is restored, and we note, with some resignation, how many tasks could have been accomplished in the amount of time it took to get there.

The thing is, I know Mark is (sometimes) right. Sometimes you just have to tell a kid what to do. Every situation should not be approached like our dog Pepper, who requires a special trip to the calligrapher, a personalized wax seal, and a full marching band in order to properly finish her business in the dog area. We are not all equals. Leadership is required. He’s not instructing with malice, he’s just being direct. And he’s not always like that—he is, I think it’s safe to say, a leader who can “flex between both frames.” Wow—Mark is going to be delighted by this particular newsletter!

But I really do think it’s true, and I think it’s utterly imperative that we become more skillful at navigating within this polarity rather than rigidly ascribing to one or the other. Maturity requires case-specific assessments of complex and multidimensional scenarios. Sometimes, as with Gov. Josh Shapiro’s speedy repair of the I-95 bridge, the example often cited by Ezra Klein as he promotes his new book, a leader just has to make things happen. And yet, if we ever again find ourselves in a moment of non-crisis (God-willing), we need to find a way to still make things happen without getting mired in the brambles of process, policy, and over-collaboration. As Klein put it, “ On the one hand, you don’t want everything done under an emergency declaration. Your normal rules should be good rules. And on the other hand, I’ve had sort of the same question that you’re raising, and I’d be curious what you’ve concluded about it, which is: How do you snap the system into more of a different mode?”

Illuminators and the Power of Listening

Over the weekend, I heard a “two types of people” distinction that I think really does skillfully thread the needle between the seemingly incompatible orientations of honor and dignity culture. At a bat mitzvah, the rabbi suggested that, indeed, we could be one of two things: we could be a diminisher, or we could be an illuminator. He went onto say that an illuminator isn’t trying to outshine another person, but rather seeks to light up the world for all of us, including themselves.

I think that this is a profoundly beautiful framing that, if understood with nuance and applied with dexterity, could unlock vast reservoirs of stuck, self-righteous energy. Maybe we could use it to peer into the cobwebs of our own minds and see if the other person has to be wrong in order for us to be right. Maybe we could cling to our certainties a little less tightly, just for a moment, and see what comes in. Maybe we could see—as I have seen time and time and time again—how much a person comes to life when treated with respect and curiosity.

Which leads me to the bold claim teased in the subheading of this little meandering piece, which fully and completely contradicts the humorous conclusion to the opening quote: in my 51 years of experience,

ONE HUNDRED PERCENT OF PEOPLE HAVE A POWERFUL STORY.

I am absolutely convinced that even if I were to conduct interviews in a maximum security prison, I would emerge no less convinced that hearing each and every story would be a profoundly humbling experience.

As human rights activist Professor Loretta J. Ross puts it in the opening to her new book Calling In, “I am a reformed callout queen. I’ve furiously called out enemies, I’ve righteously called out friends. I’ve gleefully called out strangers. I even once called out President Barack Obama, though that’s a story for another time. My ego sure gets the appeal of putting people on blast. But I also realized a long time ago that running my mouth never did seem to accomplish what I wanted it to.”

Professor Ross’ message, delivered in a way that makes me want to take a bubble bath in her words, as weird as that sounds—is one of illumination. It’s far too rare, and very precious.

There are two types of people: those who take 18 minutes to watch this incredible interview with Professor Ross, and those who will wish they had. :)