One of my ongoing and constantly challenging self-improvement projects is to be aware of the impact of my words as well as the intent.
Whenever we humans speak we enter a minefield, not just because of what we say, but, perhaps more importantly, how are words are interpreted. Words on their faces can be neutral, but we learn as we move through a lifetime of interactions with our fellow humans that some words almost always have a positive meaning while other words usually have a negative meaning. “Fat” is bad. “Thin” is good. “Old” is bad. “Young” is good. “Laugh” is good. “Cry” is bad. “More” is good. “Less” is bad.
It is difficult to conceive of some words ever being interpreted as negative and deservedly so. Consider “healthy” and “successful.” And how about “independent?” Does that word deserve to be on the ever-positive list? Is it possible to call someone “independent” in America and not mean it as a compliment?
After all, our most celebratory national holiday is Independence Day. Don’t we admire the “independently minded” and the “independently wealthy?” “Independent” is always a good thing, right? It’s what makes each of us so uniquely American, the stuff of courage and fortitude to be yourself, to speak your mind, to do it “my way!” Nothing is as proudly American as celebration of the individual. Is that the pride that goes before the fall?
In the days after the recent death of the legendary actor, activist, and trailblazer Sidney Poitier, I re-read his book, The Measure of a Man, the personal story of his life and spiritual journey, published in 2000. Poitier grew up dirt poor on a small island in the Bahamas, but, he says, he had it good because his home was rich in family values. He decries the indulged children of modern times who can’t see beyond themselves to connect to a larger community.
In one of the many stories from his childhood, he tells how everyone in his family was expected to uncomplainingly contribute to the operation of the household. In order for his mother to cook and wash, young Sidney had to walk a long way to draw water and carry it home. He predicts what would have happened to his backside if he ever decided to exercise his independence and not fetch the water or
even question doing his chores. In Poitier’s family, interdependence, everyone doing their part, relying on each other, looking out for each other, was the rule. That was what made things work, and, he goes on to explain, that interdependence, not independence, is what makes a society work. In a society, as in a family, each individual doing his own thing guarantees disaster.
Independence is great for a solo violinist, terrible for an orchestra. Great for a free-style snowboarder, terrible for a football team. Great if we were all castaways on our own private islands filling our individual needs however we chose, terrible for a nation whose survival depends on cooperation against common adversity.