When it came time to register for the last semester of school, I ran into a snag. I had a required course, Physiological Psychology, that conflicted with a course that I really wanted to take, Honors Art History. Now, I don’t quite remember exactly why taking that exact Art History course was so important, especially considering there were several other sections that would not conflict with my schedule. But, knowing myself, it was probably for no other reason than because it had the word “honors” attached to it, and I used to gobble those classes up like they were collectable trading cards!

So, since I was so comfortable and confident in myself, and I was very well known by my advisor, (who was also the dean of the department and the instructor of Physiological Psychology) I decided to work a little magic. What I proposed was that I be allowed to register for both courses, but only attend the Physio class on exam days. My rationale was that I had developed a proven method of studying that I believed worked independent of any lectures, so my physical presence in the classroom was not necessary. To my amazement he agreed.

Things seemed ideal for the first month. If memory recalls correctly I scored a 91 on the first test. As expected, I considered my method to be valid, and I felt in supreme control of everything. That feeling slipped a bit when I received a low “B” on the second exam, and really plummeted when I received a low “C” on the third! What I failed to realize was that the lectures for this specific course were critical because the text we were studying was enormous, and the subject was no joke either. Memorizing neural pathways, neurotransmitters, the organization and function of brain structures… it turned out to be something that took much more effort to study effectively for than I had anticipated. When I sat down for the final exam I was, for the first time, legitimately concerned that I might not pass the class- and this was my final semester of college!

The end result was a C. My GPA dropped from somewhere around 3.88 to 3.79- which is still nothing to scoff at, don’t get me wrong. But I had already announced to the world that I was graduating Summa Cum Laude, and now I had to answer dozens of confused looks when it was announced that I graduated Magna Cum Laude. It would not have been a big deal if I had actually gone to class and given my best effort. But it was the embarrassment of having to admit the nature of the issue that was most painful of all.

I reflect on that story because it represents to me the depth and potential of my own arrogance. I had such overconfidence in my abilities that I became reckless. I wonder even if I chose to work out that deal solely for the challenge of it, or just to prove that I could? I mean, I was a Psychology major. I certainly did not benefit from an HONORS art history course. It was silly of me, and I told myself that I would never again do such a thing.

Well, fast forward to today. Earlier this year I made a decision not to pursue a Ph.D this fall. After some consideration I recently chose to reconsider. When I finished my Masters degree last summer there was lots of talk about me continuing on in that school’s Ph.D. program; lots of mentions of research and teaching positions, fellowships, etc. I told the school I’d think about it, and then filed it away for later. So last week, after several discussions with my family, when I decided to go ahead and reverse my decision I was still fairly confident that I would get a handsome offer. I called the department secretary and asked about the fellowship. To my surprise, the deadline turned out to be a mere four days away! Almost overnight I had gone from not going to school this fall to rushing like mad to get everything together in a package in order to get the maximum funding available. (Grad school ain’t cheap, you know!)

Somehow I was able to get everything together in just a few days, with one exception: my personal statement. Between work, meetings, and juggling two little ones at home, I had a tough time finding the time to put my thoughts into coherent and convincing form. By the time that Thursday morning (the due date) rolled around, I was still only half done. I worked diligently right up until literally a few minutes before the committee was scheduled to convene. I packaged it up and sent it off with barely a second look, feeling confident that my words would surely secure me the funding I needed to attend school and support my family for the next four years.

A few hours later I decided to check my email, just in case they had already made their decision. I stopped into my office, opened my email, and this is what I found:

“Hi, Eric,
Your application is now complete and Dr. ******** (aka The Dean) has reviewed your materials. Unfortunately he does not think you meet the expectations for strong candidates for the Doctoral Fellowship, and he is recommending your file be reviewed at the next committee meeting for admission along with the other applicants. If you are recommended for admission you can still apply for the department assistantship.”

Ouch.

On so many levels, ouch.

*IF* I am recommended for admission? I went from expecting a full fellowship for the duration to being thrown in with a random pool of applicants? And so fast? Did the Dean even read my statement of purpose? Aren’t they impressed with my work?

DON’T THEY KNOW WHO I AM!?!?

Okay, so I did not actually say those things, but they represent sort of the essence of why it hurt so much to see those words in my inbox. I am not sure why I would be surprised by this outcome. After all, what else should I expect? Am I really so arrogant to believe that I could put something together in a few hours that would enable me to beat out dozens of other highly qualified and motivated candidates? Most of those folks have been working on their statement for several months, more than enough time to make several revisions with their advisors, able to craft it into just the kind of thing that the committee would be impressed with. Sure I have good grades and a decent Vita, but so does everyone else!

So why bother to advertise such a silly blunder? Well, I chose to write this down and share it publicly for two reasons:

First, believe it or not, it makes me feel better. In my experience the quickest and easiest way to get over embarassments like these is to admit my own role in the whole thing. I don’t wear the victim cape very well anymore, and with good reason. Sure I was short on time, which was only made worse by the extra distractions. But for my own part, I know more of it had to do with my own arrogance- my overconfidence in my abilities combined with the underestimation I made about the school and its funding committee. Those were my principal errors. The manner in which I wrote my personal statement was much less precise than I would normally consider for such an important package as a multi-year Fellowship. Part of this was because I was rushed, I admit, but more of it was because I thought I already had this gig in the bag.

The other reason I share this is because I guess I figure that maybe some of the perfectionists out there might benefit from this somehow. After all, the ability to admit failure and not fall apart may not be a common concept to many who can identify with this dilemma. Only a few years ago something like this would have been the end of me. I would have receded to the deepest, darkest dungeon of my own self-pity and not emerged for months. The length of time that misery would have endured was determined by two things: the energy I was willing to expend in denying whatever truth was found from the event, and the amount of time it would have taken me to find a suitable set of excuses that were believable enough to allow me to remain blissfully in denial.

The reality is that most people that hold high personal standards will at times find themselves falling flat on their faces. It takes tremendous courage and boldness to attempt to scale those challenging peaks. The attitude and temperament of high achievers is often interpreted as a strong ego, arrogance, or overconfidence- and sometimes that assessment is accurate. But it is important to remember that that attitude and temperament is the necessary element present in anyone that has ever endeavored to exceed the status quo and challenge themselves to the limits. The challenge is balancing that driven nature with a degree of realistic humility. So, just as I had to accept that my undergraduate diploma will always read “magna” instead of “summa” because of silly arrogance, so too will I accept that silly arrogance was again (mostly) to blame as I prepare to move forward and apply for other funding sources.

My hope is that some of you out there can relate to this kind of thing and will be encouraged. It is important to remember that we are more than our achievements, and failure at an endeavor does not mean failure as a person. No, we are not invulnerable atomic super-mutant geniuses that some of our trophies and GPA’s have led us to believe. And if we are not careful, as I have certainly shown more than once, we can prove that in spectacular fashion… again and again.

Here’s to another lesson learned.

“nihil ausus, nihil lucratus”

In level IV Dabrowski described his unique flavor of therapy, which he called “autopsychotherapy.” This controversial image of therapy has long been a sticking point in traditional Psychology circles, yet for those in the throes of development many find it a useful and valid concept. For those who can commit to the personal journey toward developing beyond the rote and robotic roles of socialization, the promise of clarity, serenity, and a fully integrated personality beckons. Come along as we complete the journey through the wilderness of personality of development.

Dabrowski’s TPD

My feelings of acceptance were followed by the next most logical step a person at my level of development and understanding could make- I set out to prove that things were the way I saw them. The thought process, when examined objectively, was perfectly logical: in my new understanding of myself I was now happy and free to continue behaving exactly as I always had before. So when my behavior was in question by others, I now had a very convenient and convincing (at least to myself) excuse for why that behavior should be considered entirely acceptable, even if it was not acceptable to others. For people like myself, I would argue, those rules do not apply. I am a special case, and therefore must be treated as such.

My newfound discovery and its euphoric effects lasted only briefly, however. I soon discovered that the problems I had before (lack of friendships, social awkwardness, feelings of isolation, feelings of alienation, trouble with authority, difficulty paying attention, difficulty finishing projects, inability to chose a career path or commit to much at all, etc.) were just as prevalent in my new life as they had been in my old life. The only difference was that I now had a new set of glasses through which I viewed all of my struggles. These new lenses enabled me to reframe all of these hardships into a sort of martyrdom. This was my ‘cross to bear’. This was especially true when I began to reach out to others through Giftedness Revealed. By creating a podcast which began to garner a group of followers, I became the self-appointed leader of a tribe of seemingly like-minded individuals, bound together in a common struggle against all things that sought to discriminate or control our uniqueness. Advocacy became the name of my purpose. It was for others that I said and did everything, so read my mission statement. And to some I became the sort of saint I wished myself to be. Their thanks was my reward; their accolades fed my needs just enough to ‘keep up the fight.’ Meanwhile my struggles only grew in intensity as I persisted with the same behaviors year after year.

I moved around a lot during this time, partially because of the military, but even before the military I found myself a frequent traveler, always wandering around seeking a home and a place to be accepted. Music school promised much, but I was again bewildered to find that I fit in there no better than I had anywhere else. The school was simply not sophisticated enough to appreciate my level of talent, so I told myself. I must find the environment that will allow me to be myself. So off I went to an even bigger and more prestigious school, driven by a belief that there was a place that would understand me, if only I could find it. That school, unsurprisingly, proved no better. So continued my search of my own personal Camelot, still insisting that the only explanation for the struggles that had plagued me since I first became aware of my surroundings were the result of an ‘unfair system’, or a ‘biased culture’. Those imbeciles will never appreciate me for who I really am. I deserve better than this!

I am not sure whether it is fair to blame the experiences of deploying overseas for the slow realization that perhaps there was something wrong with my thinking, because while those experiences changed my life dramatically, most of my thinking- and more importantly most of my behavior- changed very little. But inside there was a small, dimly lit, shadowy figure. It was not very loud, and it had very little impact on the way I lived my life at first. But every once in a while, when I would allow it to, it would rise to the surface and speak. Its exact words were masked and muffled, but the feeling it left was undeniable and clear. It was doubt.

What I can be sure of as a result of my experiences overseas is that I came home taking nothing for granted. Living, eating, sleeping, training, and relying on those that had previously been thought- and been taught- to be my enemies had the effect of forcing me to realize that perhaps I did not know as much as I thought I did, and perhaps it would be wise of me to cease proclaiming my knowledge to the world since all it tended to do was prove my ignorance. I saw so many things that challenged my beliefs and understanding of the world that the feeling of surprise was no longer as pronounced anymore. In other words, as I returned home I had something that I never had before- a willingness to consider alternatives. With this new additive my inner doubt began to grow.

It was also through this long experience overseas, and the year following my return, that I was forced to realize something about my little pet project I called Giftedness Revealed. I had painted myself the protector and caretaker of all gifted people in its initial days, which is why I carried so much guilt with every month that passed that I could not produce an episode. It was also why I felt such resentment and despair when I compulsively checked download stats and comments, sometimes hour by hour following a published episode, only to find virtually no one seemed interested in what I had to say. Time wore on and my life continued to teeter on the balance between complete and ultimate war with my environment, and a deep seething resentment and misery within myself as I attempted as best I could to fit in with that environment. It seemed those were the only two states I could exist in: a state of complete rebellion (all in the name of the cause, of course), or one of complete submission at the expense of my identity and freedom of expression. I was miserably damned either way, but at least I could hold my head with pride whenever I chose to ‘buck the system’. It was, after all, the destiny of the gifted, right? It was up to me to continue the tradition of activists and visionaries that had gone before me. And so continued my noble rationalization in the form of a pitifully sung tale of woe, heard only by myself in the silence of my invisible prison.

One day, when the mountain of evidence had risen so high above me that I could not escape its shadow or ignore its presence anymore I decided that I had had enough. Playing both sides of the fence, first rebel then serf, had taken its toll and I was sick and tired of being sick and tired. My answer was to publicly declare my allegiance, to admit to others, relative strangers at that, that I was gifted. The thought was that if I could explain this condition to them well enough, and if they were willing to accept it as fact, they would accept me for who I am, or rather for how I thought, spoke, and behaved. To me this was the biggest, most momentous display of courage I could imagine. I would stand before a crowd of ‘ordinary’ people and unabashedly proclaim to them my unique nature. It was my own honorable ‘coming out of the closet’, and I was determined to see it through.

I stood in front of a classroom full of future counselors, complete with several professionals in the back of the room, and informed them that I was gifted. I proceeded to explain the nature of giftedness, the needs of ‘people like me’, and every other bit of information I could muster that would serve as a reasonable explanation for why their interpretation of me- why everyone’s interpretation of me for the past 30 years- had always been incorrect, and why the image I saw of myself was indeed the ‘real me.’ Ironically (or perhaps not) the exercise I chose to make my gallant last stand was one designed to encourage us students to remove the masks we frequently wear. As I stood there selling my delusion, I can remember thinking to myself that things were not going so well. They were not hearing me the way I wanted them to hear me. I needed to explain it better. I needed to help them to see things as I see things- then we will all get along. When they understand WHY I am the way I am, THEN I will have peace and rest from the drama and strife with the rest of the world that had defined my life since… third grade was it?

I ended my rambling with some statement to the effect of “…this is often difficult to understand, even difficult for some people to believe.” The firestorm of comments and questions that I had expected did not come, however, to my everliving disappointment. My arrogance was so great that even the lack of disagreement was an insult- aren’t my words important enough for you to argue? The only comment I received came from one of the instructors, who simply followed my statement with what was to be the most profound statement I had ever heard: “… it doesn’t even seem that you believe it yourself.” I am sure I mumbled something, then returned to my seat and was quickly forgotten as others continued with the exercise. I had made my stand, said my piece, stood bravely before the council, but there was no consolation. I had merely embarrassed myself in front of a group of individuals that I had chosen to reveal my deepest, darkest, most cherished secret. And they had ignored me; just another notch in my victim belt, another example of how unfairly I had always been treated.

It is said that all alcoholics must reach a bottom, a point at which they are left with no more excuses, alibis or scapegoats, before they will become willing to change their behavior. It is no coincidence that I saw my current predicament through such analogy; I was, after all, studying to become a substance abuse counselor. Alcoholism and its effects had been the subject of discussion every single day for three months. Even as I sat in those lectures and listened to the descriptions of a disease that I had no intimate knowledge of (I had never been much of a drinker myself) it was impossible not to consider the similarities. And just as acceptance is the first step an alcoholic must take before true recovery can be achieved, I too found the only answer- incidentally the simplest and most obvious answer- had been growing in me for quite some time; its voice becoming clearer and clearer every time I allowed myself to listen to its calm and steady wisdom.

The instructor was absolutely right about me. I did not believe my own lie. Whatever image I had created in my head over many, many years of attempting to fit in, it was not an accurate representation of who I was. The more determined I was to prove it as truth, the more desperate (and miserable) I grew, until, literally and figuratively alone, separated by 2,000 miles from my family, I was faced with the cold, hard reality that I was a phony, and nothing I had to say about myself, whether inside or outside of my own head, could be trusted.

Mercifully I was in the ideal environment to undergo such rapid and violent upheaval of internal structures. Those same individuals that I had written off as ‘below my level of awareness’ or ‘unable to understand someone as complex as myself’ welcomed me into their group as graciously as I had ever experienced, and with a look of understanding that at first seemed odd to me, after all, I was the most unique creature they had ever seen, right? The answer, of course, was no. I was more like them than I had ever imagined, for they too had travelled through the painful realization that much of ‘who they were’ had been false and pretend, and in doing so they had come to appreciate anyone else who possessed that rarest and most coveted of characteristics: humble acceptance.

And so I began my trek back across the country toward my family, my formal education now complete, with eyes wide open for the first time in my entire known life. Everything- literally everything- deserved reevaluation. I found myself recognizing the familiar trappings of the old patterns of behavior more and more, and consciously choosing to let go of them and consider something new. Everything from the thoughts that I permitted to the clothes that I wore changed as I began to both explore and define who I really was. The process was long and slow, and to my initial disappointment it was quite painful still, despite the early rush of excitement and relief I experienced when I first submitted to reality. I had many serious crises of identity. At first I thought that perhaps the whole gifted thing might have just been a sham, a pitiful delusion of grandeur fashioned to paint myself superior to 98% of the rest of the world in order to make up for my debilitating feelings of inadequacy. The more I explored the subject, careful to call myself out whenever ego seemed to be involved, I found the answer, which again was the simplest. Those feelings and characteristics were still there. As it turned out, they were in fact part of my nature after all, as evidenced by their presence even when dressed in the most ridiculous of costumes. That deep need to explore, internal motivation, excitable response to stimulating challenge- it was all still there, as pure and unadulterated as when it first reared its head in early childhood. Only now I could appreciate such things, rather than clutch at them desperately, exaggerating their presence and importance, grasping at any attempt to prove I was who I said I was.

Without fail as I began to accept myself, the rest of the world followed suit. Before long I found myself enjoying the company of people I would have never considered ‘worthy’ of my sophistication or genius. I discovered hobbies and interests that I had previously written off as ‘uncultured’, ‘barbaric’, or even ‘pointless.’ As it turned out I enjoyed football as much as I enjoyed computers; UFC was just as entertaining as science-fiction. I listened to styles and genres of music that I had once considered too simple or popular, now with new ears of appreciation. Not only did I enjoy riding a motorcycle, but it turned out that a lot of very intelligent, creative, and interesting people enjoyed riding motorcycles as well. As I expanded my interests and tastes, so increased my social circle. It was simple numbers, really. The more I had in common with other people the more people became attractive to me as friends.

Virtually all of the problems I initially identified dissipated and faded into memory. I had always thought that the way I experienced and perceived the world was why I had such a hard time making friends. It turned out to have a lot more to do with the way I acted toward others, which more often than not was arrogant and judgmental. I had suffered with ambiguity over career interests since high school, lamenting that there was no way I would ever be satisfied with just one; I was far too talented to be boxed in like that. Of course the more I lamented to others, the more attention I received, and the more often I could reinforce the image I had built in my mind. When I ceased with that agenda the obvious answer was waiting for me, clear and simple as always. So too went the feelings of alienation, isolation, and problems with authority. My inability to finish projects or pay attention in class turned out to be more of a lack of skills which should have been developed in early grade school. With some effort I was able to learn study habits and the ability to prioritize just fine. For a time I secretly wondered what I would do now that I had no more battles to wage. The drama had been such a part of my identity for so long, I wondered if I would know what to do with myself. This answer, too, was quite simple: start living life.

And so I am brought back to my beginnings, that little pet project of mine that started with nothing but my laptop in a closet. As I underwent these changes I was forced to acknowledge that while the originally stated purpose- to foster and encourage a community of individuals- was genuine, most of the reasons why I had created Giftedness Revealed were in hopes that I could find answers to my problems. And since these problems were no longer problems I had to consider whether or not the project was worth continuing or not. Would it survive this mental spring cleaning, able to reinvent itself, open under new management? Or would I retire it as I had so many of my other attempts to make up for my feelings of worthlessness and insignificance?

I must confess, these days I often feel less in touch with other gifted people than I do with ‘normal’ people (whatever that means). It seems the changes I have made often appear bizarre to many. So, in many ways I am back where I began, holding opinions and a reality that conflicts radically with many other (gifted) people. The difference now is how I choose to respond to that challenge. Rather than shying away, censoring or altering myself in order to fit in, I choose to remain true to what I believe because I am not looking for validation or someone to pat me on the back. I am speaking from the only platform I am qualified to speak from: my own personal experience.

So my decision was made. I would continue Giftedness Revealed under the same authentic desire to foster and develop a community of people that can feel welcome. I no longer espouse (or preach) divisive topics that emphasize differences or reinforce the ‘Us vs. Them’ mentality, nor do I entertain or endorse notions that there should be unique rules for those that find themselves in an advanced developmental trajectory. Instead I try to emphasize that integration, not segregation, is the ultimate goal of any human being, especially gifted adults. I try to separate the unique characteristics of giftedness from the non-unique problems such as social awkwardness and feelings of isolation, and help others recognize that regardless of what kind of internal emotional climate, intellectual preference, or creative potential, our responsibility is the same as any other human being: to be productive members of society. I am perpetually reminded of the image of myself all those years ago, miserable and alone and looking for help, and to him I always try to aim my words, even though I sometimes forget that it took a great deal of misery and pain before I was willing to listen to such things.

To those who have wandered long and far in search of an explanation for why things seem so confusing and complex: Welcome. I hope you will find solace and comfort in the knowledge and understanding that you are not alone, and you are not broken or malfunctioning.

To those who have come looking for validation and safe haven from the stormy existence you have known for so long: Welcome. I hope you will find stimulation and inspiration in the notion that there is something more, and will listen carefully as you choose what path is right for you.

To those who have emerged, who now stand with that same knowing look upon your face, who are now defined by simple clarity: Welcome. I hope you will find camaraderie in the joyous laughter and smiles of others who have shared your journey.

Re•cov•er•y |riˈkəvərē|

1. a return to a normal state of health, mind, or strength

2. the action or process of regaining possession or control of something stolen or lost

3. a process of change through which individuals improve their health and wellness, live a self-directed life, and strive to reach their full potential. (http://giftednessrevealed.com/de)

Dabrowski’s TPD

In this episode we will look at Dabrowski’s concept of Developmental Potential, and will explore the first two levels that he described in this Theory of Positive Disintegration. This is not by any means an exhaustive review of Dabrowski’s work. It is intended as a summary exposure to the most prevalent elements of his theory.

Click the link below for a graphic overview of the theory, which can be used as a reference.

Dabrowski’s TPD

*Silverman, L.K., (2009). My love affair with Dabrowski’s theory: A personal odyssey. Roeper Review, 31:141-149.

About Wendy:

Wendy B. is a student in Portland State’s Urban Honors program, studying Film theory and Arts & Letters. Her interests include Neuroscience, Paleolithic Anthropology, Evolutionary Psychiatry, Cognitive Semiotics, and Absurdism. In her spare time she likes to plunk at pianos, get dirty in gardens, croon with Karaoke from Hell, avoid doing dishes like the plague, fashion her house like a mad scientist’s, and muse upon the nature of meaning.

Download in iTunes.

These are questions not uncommonly asked by gifted adults. Yet raised with only an academic understanding of giftedness, most gifted adults fail to recognize the true nature of their issues. In this episode we will explore the true nature of giftedness, and discuss how these two fundamental traits are critical for understanding the answers to life’s most challenging questions.

Download in iTunes

The novel I am writing for this year’s NaNo is actually an idea I came up with while I was serving in Iraq a few years ago. Somewhere around August of that year our little 13-man team had been told we would be flying home soon. So after we finished tearing down our training center and wandered back across the open desert to the nearest firm base, we began the very frustrating process of trying to coordinate a flight. Every day we would gather all of our stuff, wander up to the flight line, sit on the side of the runway while one of us went up to the flight boss in hopes of negotiating a ride home. Every day we were told to come back the next day. This went on for ten days straight.

As I wrote about last week, I seem to do my best writing when I am trapped in a situation and am forced to make due with it. I didn’t have this insight back then, at least not enough to verbalize it. What I did have was 23.5 hours until the next time we would try to fly, and my trusty MacBook Pro. So, sitting in a little hut with no air conditioning and no where to go, I started writing down ideas for a book. This turned into characters, which turned into a plot, which turned into a full-blown story line which I outlined in detail using a flow chart format. I did this on the first day. The second day I started to write. By day 10 as I stepped onto the C5 Galaxy and left that sandy mess of a country for the last time, I had written 37,000 words. Not bad for a week and a half.

Last week I finished 15,000 words, which I thought was a great start to the month, especially considering it was the first time I have picked up this project since arriving home almost exactly two years ago. And since I was writing a story I had begun over there, and it was the second anniversary of my return home, I couldn’t help but reminisce.

What I started to see looking back really surprised me, and I thought I’d share some of what combat taught me about being creative.

A built-in pressure relief valve

In the years since coming home I have been a very happy guy. This is actually somewhat surprising to me, believe it or not. After sitting through hundreds of hours of briefings about PTSD I was beginning to think that I was destined to suffer its fate somehow. Truth be told, I actually spent a lot of time thinking about this while I was over there. Thankfully I have been given a clean bill of health after every checkup since returning home. Unfortunately, several of my friends that lived through the same experiences suffer PTSD today. Some of their symptoms are relatively minor; others are quite severe.

So what do I attribute this to? Well, there are dozens of factors, and almost none of them have anything to do with me. But one factor that I do attribute to my healthy return is that while I was there, I did something creative every single day. I wrote every chance I got. I kept a journal, I wrote poems, I wrote letters to anyone that would write to me. Aside from writing, I found other ways to get creative too. When we finished building our camp and started training folks in military tactics, I saw that we didn’t have anywhere to sit down outside. After a long day of grueling work, I just wanted a place to relax and unwind. So, I taught myself woodworking, and before anyone knew it I had made an entire campfire-type area filled with Adirondack Chairs and benches. I even made my own hammock out of 550 cord during a particularly long sandstorm.

What I can see now is that while I was engaged in these activities, I was actually processing things that I had experienced. I was in essence unloading the emotional baggage that had accumulated from the prolonged stress of working under such conditions. I think getting creative allowed me to somehow “get out of my head” and process things, almost on an unconscious level. I would just zone out while cutting wood or writing out poems, or sketching landscapes in pencil on the back of a cardboard box. It didn’t matter what I was doing, it all seemed to have the same effect. You too may have noticed that your own creativity turns up in frequency when times get tough. Creativity seems to be almost like a built-in pressure relief valve for some people. The danger then is not knowing this about ourselves, and choosing to refrain from doing something creative because we don’t feel like it. Looking back, I think being creative had a lot to do with me coming home with relatively few emotional and psychological wounds, especially when compared to some of my other service members who only sought to play video games or watch movies on their free time.

Stress is my strongest muse

Undoubtedly my ferocious pace at writing two years ago was made possible by the fact that I was so anxious about coming home. I would have done anything to pass the time. But as I consider what elements were at play during those ten days on the flight line, I can see that stress had a major role to play in both my motivation and inspiration.

I have always worked better on a deadline. I have known this about myself for a long time now. For some reason I do not do well with the “spread it out” approach. I prefer to procrastinate and wait until the deadline is looming, and then somehow with this added pressure behind me I can turn on the juice and get everything done.

This is probably very familiar to most of you. It is a well-known phenomenon seen commonly in gifted children, often to the dismay and consternation of parents and teachers. If I were more “logical” I would use the entire two months to work on the project gradually and in stages. But I have never worked that way. Call it lack of discipline if you’d like. All I know is that the pressure works.

But that pressure and stress is not limited to just providing motivation. I have found that pressure really encourages inspiration for me as well. For instance, if I just sit around and try to brainstorm for a project that has no timeframe, I will often sputter and wander around for hours, barely able to write down any ideas at all. When I sit down to come up with ideas for a project due in two or three days, I can come up with dozens of ideas in only a few minutes! Just look at the flight line example. I had outlined the entire book, complete with descriptions of characters and settings in one day. So, for me, activities like National Novel Writing Month work great because they put me in the very scenario that I am at my creative best.

A fly on the wall

When people experience traumatic events that are too horrific to discuss, often they will dissociate. Essentially dissociation is the separation of mind from body for a brief period of time. Some would describe it as being a fly on the wall, looking down on their own body. It is a defense mechanism that can be seen most commonly in young people, especially those that experience sexual assault or other traumatic events. These are things that their young minds are not equipped to handle. So, in a desperate attempt to escape the horrors that are happening to them in that moment, dissociation occurs.

While the entirety of my experience in Iraq was not filled with chaos and violence, the few times that things got really bad were enough to give anyone nightmares. What was particularly dangerous to me was that things would happen in an instant- far too fast to realize what was going on. But the lingering after effects: the images, the sounds, the smells… those are the elements that make telling those stories rather unpleasant.

The book I am writing now is based in the same region that I lived and worked in Iraq. I had not originally intended to write about any of my stories, but as I really delved into this project and began to write action scenes, it became quite easy to borrow from some of my own experiences. I would splice in bits and pieces of my own memories into the scenes. What I noticed was that I was able to do this without much trouble. What was more interesting to me was that I was essentially telling some of the most gruesome parts of what I had seen, but without the anxiety or emotional turmoil that I would often experience before.

I have heard many say that authors should not include themselves in their stories. Personally, I think that there is something to be said about writers using personal experiences as inspiration. I am not sure that it is possible to completely remove onesself from the process of writing fiction anyway. But for me, writing this book has allowed me to tell my story through a proxy, which somehow has taken away the fear and horror of it all. No longer am I reliving those events as I tell them, but now my character is living them; I am merely the fly on the wall watching it all happen.

That might seem morbid or disturbing to some. Perhaps it is. But that is the nature of combat. What I choose to do with my experiences and how I choose to deal with their after effects has very little to do with others’ opinions, and very much to do with how I will continue to live my life having been there and done that. To me, allowing those bits and pieces to come out in my writing has been a very therapeutic experience. I would hesitate to call it enjoyable… but I certainly have been having a lot of fun writing this thing.

This is probably not as novel a concept as I am making it out to be. After all, artists for centuries have been painting and sculpting images that give form to their inner experiences. You may find yourself pouring out your emotions into a creative work, only later to feel free of that burden you were carrying before. I guess I had never really considered what a useful tool being creative could be to allow those inner experiences to come out until now.

So, they may seem like odd lessons to learn, but they are valuable to me. Reflecting back on experiences has always seemed like the most effective method of learning. In my case understanding how my own creativity works to keep me sane and healthy has taught me a lot about myself. Of the many qualities we may possess, interestingly enough, creativity may be the biggest and most critical to our survival.

 p.s. no funny comments on the mustache. It was a phase…

I was sitting in a very long staff meeting today that was dragging on and on. As the time for us to wrap things up came and went with no end in sight, I found myself daydreaming excessively about my characters and plot. In fact, I thought about them so much that by the time the meeting was over I had completely outlined my next chapter. After the meeting I raced to my office and jotted down the entire thing in bullet points within a few minutes, all from memory.

Afterwards I considered how unique (or not) this was. If someone had told me that they found their best creativity came from a crowded room full of people vying to be heard above one another, going around in circles with no apparent agenda, I would think they were crazy. Yet that’s what I was thinking to myself- I actually do my best brainstorming when I am “trapped”.

When I am in a place like a board meeting, or an airport layover, or a long train ride to work I find it much easier to engage in creative thinking than when I sit down in a quiet room all by myself. My theory is that the creative thinking serves as entertainment in an otherwise boring situation. Or it could be that (in the case of the board meeting at work) that when I am in the presence of group think and @ss kissing and inflated egos, and all other manners of obnoxious workplace behaviors, creativity is the only thing that makes it all bearable, or makes me feel human?

Whatever the reason behind it, I just know that I found it a very useful environmental condition to brainstorm; one that I will almost certainly use again.

What about you? What kinds of environmental conditions do you find most useful or conducive to creative thinking?

Hello, everyone! It has been quite a while since I publish a podcast episode. So, I thought it would be only fitting to discuss why that is in this first episode in over a year!

You’ll also hear me mention Ben Gleib, who is a really funny comedian that I discovered through Ayisha Tyler’s podcast, Girl on Guy. I was super inspired by this guy’s willingness to really bring his ideas out and share them with the world.

Oh, one last thing: I forgot to mention in the podcast that I need to ask others to rank the podcast in iTunes. This is very important in order for the podcast to grow and reach more potential listeners, so please go to iTunes, rank the podcast, and post a comment while you’re there. I greatly appreciate it.

Thanks for tuning in!

-Eric

Download in iTunes

This weekend I hopped on the bike and headed to upstate New York to scout out a potential school for the next step in my education. I thought I’d share a quick trip report and show some of the more aesthetic points of this truly amazing trip.

Wisconsin to New York, two days round-trip.

I started out from my farm in southeastern Wisconsin with a beautiful sunny sky overhead and lots of blue skies. As soon as I passed through Chicago (which I did in record time somehow), the skies immediately turned ugly. Sure enough, it rained for about an hour and a half, which made for an interesting first leg of the trip. It was not without its perks, however.

No need to wash the bike...

Things were pretty dull for about ⅔ of the trip out there, due mostly to a few states who’s names I will omit out of respect. (Just fill in the blanks between Wisconsin and Pennsylvania). Once I got into PA, however, things started getting interesting.

Fall colors begin to emerge

Colors started becoming more vibrant, elevation started changing (finally), and best of all, that wonderfully familiar smell of fall began to permeate everything. Riding a motorcycle is such an experience for the senses. I was so excited to be riding on this trip because I would have totally missed out on the wonderful smells if I were in my car.

As I moved on into New York (the state, not the city) things turned from awesome to idyllic. If you have never been to the state of New York and driven through its amazing landscapes, you cannot seriously claim that you have experienced beauty. It is truly a land unto itself. The villages are quaint, the mountains roll and cascade into one another other creating layers upon layers of wonderful topography. Add to that canvas a rich and vibrant pallet of fall color and the experience becomes absolutely breathtaking. Every crest of a mountain reveals new hidden valleys filled with rustic old barns and peaceful looking farm houses. Shelves of granite stone line the sides of the roadways, whose steely grey appearance contrasts nicely with the foliage, making the colors stand out even more. The roads curve and twist through saddles and valleys, making the otherwise mundane highway travel into an adventure that is at once completely pleasing to the senses.

As I entered the town of Ithaca, I was immediately taken back to those long-past days of my pre-adolescence, back when I only sat in the passenger seat and stared out the window at this tiny haven in the middle of the Finger Lakes region. I remember wondering to myself back then what was so great about it all. If I could reach back in time and inform myself of what an amazing privilege it was to live there, I would. Unfortunately, at the time I did not know what I had. But I think that made this trip so much more fulfilling. Now, fully aware of what a gem of a town Ithaca is, I made my way through the crowded, cobblestone streets, and began to feel like I was coming home.

The Cornell Clock Tower

The campus of Cornell was exactly as I remembered it. Large, sprawling, multidimensional, complex; pleasing on so many levels. I was not aware of this prior to arriving, but I apparently chose Alumni Weekend to visit, so the campus was packed with alums, parents, tour groups, and all manners of people coming and going. At one point I walked past an outdoor theater group. Only a few minutes later I passed a jazz trio performing outdoors. Later I observed a wedding procession led by a New Orleans Style marching band playing tunes like “when the saints go marching in”. The entire wedding procession walked through the campus, guests twirling white parasols and dancing as they made their way. What a way to celebrate a wedding!

Cornell University

After I had finished the business part of my campus tour I decided to take a quick walk down memory lane. I spent my first years of life only about an hour or so from Cornell on a small farm way up in the mountains. I barely remember any of it, but for anyone in my family that visited while we lived there, the experience was so profound that every time they see me they want to do nothing else but talk about how amazing the place was! It has been 30 years since we moved from that farm, and I figured that if I had come this far, I had might as well make the extra effort to visit the place.

The journey out there quickly turned into a post-card-inspiring trip as I passed through some of most amazing mountain towns and farms I had ever seen.

Notice anything odd in this picture?

I did not have an address, but I did remember the name of the town, and I knew the name of the road we lived on because the road dead-ended at our house on top of the mountain. So my trusty GPS got me to the center of the town, and a few minutes of wandering found me the right road.

Halsey Valley, NY. Hard to imagine more humble roots.

The drive up the hill is about a mile and a half long, and is flanked by tall, overarching trees that create a tunnel effect. I had a vague memory that as the road neared the summit of the hill the view became wider and suddenly there would be a large field with a beautiful barn, and at the far end would be our quaint little farm house sitting on the edge of the mountain overlooking the entire valley below.

As I drove the long drive up the road I wondered if I would remember anything of the place at all, or if the memories I had were just fabricated from the stories others have told me. As I came to the very top of the hill, the answer struck me. I was immediately overcome with emotion and tears. There it was, exactly as I had remembered it. The long, dirt road; the field; the barn; the farmhouse; and the view. It was as if I had reached back into the deepest recesses of my memories and connected with a part of me that has been dormant for over 30 years.

Of course, having crested the hill I was now completely exposed and could not turn away without being seen from anyone in the house. I could only imagine what the owner was going to think. I didn’t think they received many visitors up there to begin with, let alone strange men on motorcycles that arrive in tears!

The Farm

I decided that I could not simply see the place and ride away, so I turned off the motorcycle, attempted to compose myself, walked up to the door and rang the doorbell. When the owner came to the door I managed to say “Hi, my name is Eric and I grew up here” before I lost it and returned to tears. Thankfully the owner was not only understanding and welcoming, but she seemed as interested in my visit as I was!

Our barn

We had a great time discussing the property (all 101 acres of it), the farmhouse, and all sorts of fun tid-bits about the wonderful place that we have both called home. She said that her friends and family are enamored with the place the same way that my family was. It has apparently not lost its charm. I spent about 30 minutes walking the property, snapping pictures and trying to take it all in while I could. Such an opportunity seemed so rare that I wanted to make sure to take every advantage of remembering it as I could. She sent me away with a bottle of homemade maple syrup, which was like the icing on the cake since I distinctly remembered my father and mother tapping the maple trees in winter and boiling their own maple syrup. It was an amazing and emotional walk down memory lane.

The view from the patio overlooking all of Halsey Valley

The next morning I was on the road at 5:00 am, greeted by a star-filled sky and crisp cool mountain air. As the stars began to fade the colors really began to come alive. Light pillows of fog dotted the colorful mountain tops.

A ride to remember

For four hours I was completely alone on this highway of color, rising and falling through the landscape, thoroughly enjoying the thrill of the journey and the roar of my bike as it handled the winding mountain roads with graceful power. I must have looked like a complete fool to anyone that could have seen me, but I could not help but hide my absolute pleasure.

Big smiles!

Unfortunately all good things must come to an end, which is what promptly happened as soon as I passed into Ohio. (Sorry, Ohio. Nothing personal.) The rest of the trip was pretty much all business. I hit a few more rainstorms, and only a few small areas of construction. Over all it was about as smooth a trip as I have ever been on. The return trip took almost exactly 13 hours, with a total round-trip mileage of 1,166 miles. There were no problems, other than a few achy joints and some wet socks (I need to get waterproof boots).

I felt incredibly fortunate to have been able to take this trip. I have moved so many times in my life that it is difficult to really answer someone when they ask where I am from. Even though I spent only a few years in upstate New York, I cannot escape the influence that wonderful place had on me. In many ways I think I compare everything in my life to those few memories I have. Now, having seen the place through mature eyes, I have confirmed that my fondness has not been held in error.

Some say that you can never really return home. I have to disagree. Even though I had only two days there, in some way it was as if I had never left.

A journey complete.

It was the ride of a lifetime.

Hi, everyone!

I have had several persistent emails coming my way over the past… many months, regarding the status of Giftedness Revealed, the podcast, the blog, the forums, etc. So, while the perfectionist in me would rather wait until everything is completely up to date and excellent, I will resist and just come out with this quick update to let everyone that has expressed an interest in this website know what is going on.

Where did the podcast/blog go?

Well, the easy answer is that it didn’t go anywhere… it just sat for several months. In June, 2011 I finished my Master’s Thesis and graduated! The semester leading up to that was so intense that not only did I not touch the podcast or blog, but I barely touched facebook or anything else other than to hug my wife and son once in a while! It was an intense journey, but was trumped only two weeks later with the arrival of my newborn baby girl! My family and I are very happy and doing well, and slowly but surely we are starting to get some sleep again. I am now back to work, and am taking a bit off from school before starting the next level of education, so I am looking forward to bringing things back up to speed shortly.

What is Giftedness Revealed really about anyway?

A while back I was talking with a good friend, and we got onto the topic of my website. As a very funny commedian, he commented that it seemed like a website like mine would only exist as a reason for nerds to get together and talk about how smart they are, or to whine and complain about how they are never appreciated. While it was clearly a joke, it got me thinking about things like online identity and purpose. What I realized was that I had never really expressed to others what GR was all about, and, as they say, in the absence of clear direction, everyone is lost. I definitely do not want this to be a site that just rants about the injustices of the world. There are plenty of other places you can go for that kind of stuff.

So, I thought I would just say in this quick post (which is starting to drag on already) what Giftedness Revealed is, and perhaps more importantly, what it is not. I think I will start with the “is not” portion first.

Giftedness Revealed is not a mutual admiration society where we sit around stroking our own egos, talking about those “poor folks” that only scored a 1900 on the SAT and couldn’t get into Vanderbilt. It is also not a place that gives license to bash people of other ability levels, or even talk about them, really. I also don’t get into the politics of gifted education all that much because there are PLENTY of other websites that do that just fine, and frankly I don’t want to contribute to that kind of rhetoric.

What we (I, this site, whatever) are is a place devoted to being real. That’s the easiest way I can put it. If you are a gifted adult then you are probably familiar with the struggles to be the real you in a world that often seems to discourage much of what drives you. I can’t change what the world does or doesn’t do, but I can provide a venue where you can come and connect with other people that may share some of your experiences and understand what it is like.

This site is about personal development. It is not about quick-fix methods to unlock your potential, or “five proven methods to be a more creative producer,” or any other gimmick like that. It is about helping guide you toward ways that you can be a better you. Why is this important? Well, if you are a gifted adult then you are probably familiar with the all-too-common feelings of “I should be doing more” or “there has to be more to life than this”, or perhaps the “I know I have something of value to offer, I just can’t figure out what it is or how to do it.” That is part of who you are; you are naturally geared toward moving forward. Some are perfectly happy with themselves the way they are and have no interest in any topics on “betterment”. Gifted adults, on the other hand, simply cannot ignore that pull toward self-improvement. Abraham Maslow called it Self-Actualization, Kazimierz Dabrowski called it Positive Disintegration, Carl Rogers called it Optimal Development. They are all essentially describing the same idea; one that cannot be escaped by the Gifted Adult. So, this site is primarily focussed on that.

I can pontificate all day long about what giftedness is, but what some of you have expressed, and what truly drove me to start this project four years ago, is that no one seems to be out there talking about how to manage that raw talent and ability into success. This site is about you becoming a fully-integrated gifted adult; overcoming biases, transcending stereotypes, eschewing traditional roles, and stepping out from behind those protective masks that we all put on from time to time. If you are interested in doing that, then Giftedness Revealed is a place for you.

What’s with all the swans?

It has also come to my attention that perhaps my choice of logo is not completely understood by all. The swan logo comes from Hans Christian Andersen’s story of The Ugly Duckling. If you have not read it, I highly recommend you do so. Pay close attention to your reaction as you read through to the end. If you connected with the story, tells us what you thought on the facebook page.

So, that’s my update. I look forward to hearing your comments and getting back in touch with everyone. Until then, take care.

-Eric.

p.s. As always, you can contact me if you have any questions, or like us on facebook and join in the conversation!