Come on now, tell the truth: You don’t actually like the taste of raw oysters, do you? I’m talkin’ no lemon, no cocktail sauce, no horseradish, no Tabasco, no nothing…just those cold, slimy, gray, elephant loogies.
And what about so-called “free jazz?” You don’t know what I’m referring to? Well, free jazz almost defies verbal definition, but, unlike traditional jazz composition, is marked by the abandonment of preset chord progressions, a lack of melodic patterns, and often involves the technique of “overblowing” one’s instrument. Still not clear? Okay, check out a couple selections on YouTube. Go ahead, I’ll wait… Well, what do you think? Am I right, or am I right? Now, I ask you: Since when did cacophonous, grating, random notes qualify for “jazz” — let alone “music”?
Clearly, I don’t like raw oysters or free jazz. But just as clearly, others do. And here’s the rub: It can be difficult — sometimes impossible — to believe that other people genuinely like something that you don’t (and vice versa) because their perceptions are so alien to our personal tastes.
Let’s grant that some people claim to like things that they actually don’t, simply because they enjoy being nonconforming, contrarian, or cheeky. (For these self-styled rebels, the very notion of not being seen as “cool,” “hip,” or at least “unconventional” would cause their very identity to evaporate.) But that still leaves a whole group of other people who are being neither untruthful nor disingenuous; yet accepting their viewpoint as valid can be challenging.
Strongly held differences between people are understandable when debating emotionally laden subjects, like politics or religion. But the same principle holds true even when we’re talking about relatively mundane or trivial things, like fashion, sports, or even the weather.
This point was driven home to me one afternoon as I commenced a lecture to my class of psychology students. After I finished taking roll, I crumpled up a piece of paper and then launched it toward the waste basket…which, of course, I missed. I brushed off the flubbed shot with some self-disparaging remark (“People occasionally don’t mistake me for Michael Jordan”), my students chuckled at their bungling professor, and I proceeded with the lecture. But I noticed that a sense of distress began to creep across the class — or, more specifically, part of the class: Some students were starting to squirm, glancing at the wad of paper lying on the floor, then back at me, and then back at the paper. The collective look on their faces said it all: “Is this guy going to pick that thing up or not?!” At the same time, I observed that other students didn’t seem to care — or even to notice. So, as a semi-scientific/semi-sadistic social experiment, I just continued my lecture, all the while totally ignoring the crumpled wad.
After a few very long minutes, I seized the moment as a teaching opportunity: “I’m curious…please raise your hand if that piece of paper is bothering you.” The hands of about half the class urgently shot up toward the heavens, expressing relief that I had finally addressed the five hundred-pound gorilla (well, tiny wad of paper) in the room. I continued, “Now, raise your hand if it doesn’t bother you.” The rest of the students looked around with a shrug, not quite understanding why this was even an issue, and slowly raised their hands.
I queried the class, “So, how do you explain the fact that some of the other students reacted so differently than you?” Someone immediately blurted out, “Well, either they’re lying or they’re crazy!” Of course, it got a laugh. But the comment was illuminating.
“Okay,” I began, “for those of you who aren’t bothered by that piece of paper, it’s probably inconceivable to you that it actually could be a source of agony to others, right? But here’s the thing: It genuinely is. And, for those of you whom it does bother, it is similarly unimaginable that the paper doesn’t matter in the least to others. Yet, it truly doesn’t. This might even call into question the honesty of those who have a different response than yours, but remember, just like the Rorschach inkblot test — people really do have different perceptions about the same thing.”
I’m sure my students understood this simple idea. However, it turns out to be a bit more complicated than that. Over the years, I have noticed that some people feel uncomfortable, annoyed, or even belligerent when others express their differences: “What do you mean you don’t eat meat?! Just have some!” “You don’t want to have children? What’s the matter with you?!” “You’re not drinking alcohol? What’s your problem? Come on, get with it and join the party!”
This always struck me as not only irrational, but also rather odd. After all, what business is it of theirs? Why should it matter to them if someone else elects not to eat meat, have kids, drink, or any other myriad choices? But it started to make some sense to me when I realized that these individuals somehow perceive the differences as a threat — to their views, to their values, even to their identity. In other words, due to their own insecurities, they take other people’s beliefs personally. And when that happens, they get defensive, needing to push back and persuade — or even coerce — others to conform with them. But differentness, in itself, is not a threat.
Conversely, when people are more emotionally secure, they view differences with others with acceptance, interest, or even as an opportunity to learn and to grow. At least, that’s how I aspire to live my life now and in the future…except when it comes to raw oysters and free jazz…I can only pray that I will never be that “evolved.”
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(P.S. Also, while you’re on YouTube, check out “Yanny vs.
Laurel” — and anybody who hears “Laurel” is either lying or crazy…)