I confess: one of my worst traits is my struggle to accept things beyond my control. Whether this is just human nature, I cannot tell. Whether I am “controlling” or not is another question someone else would have to answer.
I know that for all my talk of trading in mystery (to borrow a phrase from Carl Phillips), I minimize the unknown in many scenarios of my everyday life. What I can research beforehand, I do: the parking at a new place I am driving to, the “right” answers to give at a doctor’s appointment, last year’s photos of an event I am attending in order to create and manage expectations. Knowledge is power, as the adage goes, and often it is the only one I feel is within my reach.
For a long time I did not think of myself as powerful. I don’t have a particularly commanding presence. I am barely five feet tall.
I am a woman, so in many cases I have to prove myself twice in order to earn the level of respect freely given to my male peers who need only show up. My wit, a kitchen knife that needs sharpening. My self-esteem, often in fluctuation.
My social intelligence, this elusive ability to charm, connect, disarm, or read between the lines, is budding at best. Being quiet and conflict-averse don’t help sustain a sense of power I so badly crave. So, for a long time, I clung to intelligence as the source of my power.
The years have shown me how fragile this source is. Not only is it impossible to know everything at all times, but many situations require s.