The Low Bar for High-Browed Boys
The Low Bar for High-Browed Boys
How I've been disserved by a world that's optimized for the likes of me
A friend of mine lamented the day they learned that the most prominent people were far from being the most capable people. It’s a loss of innocence that we all reckon with at some point in time. It hits extra hard for those of us who later revisit this sad revelation and realize, “Wait. What? Oh. There’s a good chance that I’m one of those people who have been a disappointment.”
It was really difficult to process at first, so I kinda/sorta grasp how fiercely people will resist the thought that the Western world has been programmed and engineered to be optimized for success by people who are very much like me.
To me, the world I’ve succeeded in is just the way the world is. I didn’t make it that way. If other people are not as successful in this world, I used to believe, that's on them.
As humans, we tend to not notice the tailwinds in life but we pay close attention and rarely forget the headwinds we've encountered. This is just as true for people who have had an easy time of it, as it is for those who’ve had a tough time. For people like myself, it doesn't feel like it was easy at all.
It's not just that things come easy because the system is tailored for the likes of me. For whatever reason, the bar I have to clear to be successful always seems to be at the lowest setting. My finish line is always closer to my starting block. All I notice is that I cross the line first.
That's how tailwinds work.
The people who face the headwinds are absolutely well aware that they were running a longer race. But who am I to argue if the judges - who are all like me most of the time (or they're trained to admire folks like me if they're not themselves like me) - select me to stand on the winners' podium?
If America is going to be great it will be because we've opened up our rat race to everyone and not because we've rolled back the clock to an era when the bar was set at its very lowest.
I jokingly tell of how this plays out during a cookout with friends. As the guests arrive, I will create a fire and then take the meat that my wife shopped for and toss the meat on the fire. I will then grab a beer. (I don't personally drink beer, but it's better to imagine me here with a beer and not a Smirnoff Ice which my kids are ashamed of on my behalf.) I multitask my outdoor meat cooking chore by simultaneously talking with the other men about recent sportsball news, the grade of lumber on my deck, and all the best ways to put the meat on the fire.
Meanwhile, inside and outside, my partner is preparing a number of assorted side dishes that take into account the allergies and dietary restrictions of our guests. Refreshments are poured for each guest, which seems more laborious than pointing the bottom of my “beer” bottle to a cooler where the men guests forage for their drink that’s nestled in ice. She flits outside now and then to make sure the table settings are in order. Inside, she’s doing all the things - who even knows what that entails? - that are necessary to ensure the house reflects well on her, as she alone is judged by its condition. She is in charge of how everything is timed and sequenced - which is highly efficient if you consider that she’s doing all the things that aren’t meat cooking, cooler pointing, and idle chattering.
And then, once the meats are finished sitting above my fire, we all gather at the table which looks like a catering firm has pulled it all together. I walk up with the platter of cooked meats and all eyes fall on me and everyone says, "Yay, our food has arrived!" oblivious to the assortment of food items and table decorations that had been staged prior to their being seated. Even though I'm bringing one unadorned thing of the numerous items that will go on each plate, I ceremoniously put down the meat platter - the flagship foodstuff - amidst the massive spread that had awaited everyone.
Our guests then grab their meat items, gussy it up with the lettuce and tomatoes or whatever else that my wife provided for, depending on the type of meat she acquired, and then they all take a bite and everyone, sequentially, declares, "Jim! This is a wonderful meal!"
I think that’s an apt allegory of what it’s like to exist in a world designed for you.
Let me be clear, though: it totally pisses me off that the bar is set so low for people like myself because - and this is purely a character flaw on my part - I live down to the low expectations. I will accept the easily earned platitudes life throws at me and not work harder to gain no additional admiration.
Here’s another little way that this works.
Having worked from home for many years, I've often been the parent on the PTA council or whatever the panels are for parents who have time to get involved in their children’s education. When there'd be PTA meetings, I'd only remember them at the last minute, so I'd swing by the Minit-Mart and grab a box of yesterday's "priced to move" doughnut holes as my baked goods offering. This detour meant that I’d arrive late - which would be received with celebration as the group of PTA moms had grown unsure if I would find time to be involved in my kid’s school.
I'd throw down my box of doughnut holes, with the discount pricing removed because, yes, I did feel some measure of shame. And there those doughnut holes would sit, beside incredible gourmet brunch-qualified dishes of lox and bagels, deviled eggs, myriad quiches, and - if my memory serves me well - very likely a life-sized ice sculpture of the principal that one of the moms made with a chainsaw after the morning student drop-off. Yet everyone would say, "Oh, Jim, thanks so much for bringing that wonderful treat for our meeting!"
Sure, yes, I am well aware that some of my fellow PTA members were rolling their eyes at the praise offered for my mediocrity, but the patriarchy is strong and I firmly believe that many more of them were hard-wired to see my minimal effort as Herculean in comparison to the dads who were not there at all.
So, with all that glory, am I going to be the ice sculpturer the next time?
A better person than I would step up, but not me. I'll be the guy who's more than lightly celebrated for bringing the day old doughnut holes - taking the path of least resistance through life...which is very sad when my path of least resistance is so effin' easy.
I need to emphasize this much: I really do prefer the competition. When I have to earn the flowers, it makes me a better person. A better man. A better husband, father, co-worker, and friend. I’m going to do better when the bar is not set so low for me.
Some people can be that person on their own initiative...however I don't think I'm unusual in living down to the low expectations established for straight cishet white guys.
In fact, when I hear people whine and moan about “DEI” and the prospect of other people having access and opportunities - to the point where they’re invoking the “DEI hire” taunt for those who've succeeded by running the longer race and tearing through the headwinds - I know full well where that's coming from.
It’s a visceral reaction that comes from the resentment of soon having to run the longer race (or from the fear of having more people running the shorter one).
DEI means the artificial and arbitrary barriers that give me a smaller pool of competition are being broken down. That can feel like a headwind. Of course, not being highly experienced in the world of headwinds, some of us may process that as other people receiving a tailwind.
With wider access - on account of more people having fewer arbitrary hurdles and softer headwinds - people like me will have to actually earn credit amongst so many people we had grown accustomed to lapping with the aid of all the nonsense hurdles thrown in their paths.
That's understandably (or at least it’s predictably) scary for some people.
For me, I'm thrilled to think of what the world would look like where, for example, I can get a liver transplant from the best surgeon - and not the best surgeon who's very likely to be selected from among people who are like myself, the people who've had the bar set low or have faced few hurdles en route to our short track finish line.. (I’m not in current need of a liver transplant. I’m just saying, I really do enjoy a citrus Smirnoff Ice.)
Yeah, I totally see how it's unsettling for guys like myself to observe all the successes and achievements of people who we’re not accustomed to seeing getting the praise or the promotions. Deep down, we’re coming to terms with the fact that the jig is up. Of course, some of us will be extra fearful and try to diminish the successes of others, if only to blot out the realization that our own successes are the ones that have been diminished by a system that’s been replete with “legs up” and “hand outs” and tailwinds and short tracks.
But if America is going to be great it will be because we've opened up our rat race to everyone and not because we've rolled back the clock to an era when the bar was set at its very lowest and the competition was at its most filtered for people like myself.
Personally speaking, that wide open, barrier-free world cannot get here soon enough because in that world, even if I’m not succeeding and “winning” as easily as that has been for me, I know that’s the world that will drive me to show up as the best (or probably a better) version of me, setting all new personal bests, which I’ll take as a win every single day.