There will always be somebody better, smarter, stronger, more important than you. (Maybe not, if you’re Nastia Liukin or Michael Phelps) but there is always someone doing something more important than what you are doing.

The only thing that matters, really, is relative importance.

To the man in the desert, if you are distributing the water portions, you are the most important person to him right then. It doesn’t matter if someone, somewhere is out there curing AIDS because at that moment, the only thing that matters is the water.

That is the key to making yourself indispensable in an organization, in a relationship, in a friendship, in anything. You need to be the guy holding the water because there will always be someone smarter or better than you. You need to be what they need right now and to be what they need right now, you need to be thinking 10 steps ahead of where you are.

And that’s why it is the way it is.

Do you know how long it took me to learn that?  That the way today is because of what happened yesterday, the day before, or the year before, is the way it should be. Because if not, it wouldn’t be that way.

There’s a certain peace of mind that comes with accepting that things are the way they should be.  When I had this conversation with Brendan, he brought up the Serenity Prayer.

God, grant me the serenity

To accept the things I cannot change;

Courage to change the things I can;

And wisdom to know the difference.

I was like “oh, yeah.  That’s right.”

Fine.  It only took almost 24 years.  But I did it.

Dear Readers,

Today is not a post about science, psychology, or medicine.  I’m writing about something a little closer to home.

This Sunday (at least here in the U.S.) we’ll be celebrating Mother’s Day.  For some it’s brunch with mum.  For others, a bouquet of flowers and a card delivered to a special lady.

I lost my mom eight years ago and so for me, it is this right here.

Thank you Mom because what you did in the short, less than fifteen years of my life that I had you there for, gave me everything I needed to be able to be ok even without you.  You laid the foundation, and come on, let’s be honest, Dad put up the walls.  (We’ll save that post for Father’s Day!)

I’m not going to go into the science of “a mother’s love” and how a woman’s relationship with her mum can shape her for the rest of her life.

Do you remember this?

I’m going to tell you about how resourceful I became, thanks to my mom being able to make anything out of anything.  I’m going to talk about her uncanny ability to remember the drug interactions of every possible pharmaceutical combination, and how that’s probably where I got my unnaturally sharp memory (for random facts) from.  Her thick (auburn, at the time) hair: I knew there was somewhere I got my hair monster from.  I’m going to talk about her hospitality, her natural abilities to make anywhere a home. To say thank you MOM, for reminding us that dinner is served as a family, teenage girls don’t bare their bellies, and piercings are for ears, only.  That love means saying sorry, and not always with your words.  That you can be a lady and still sometimes slip up and say f***. That the best way to win over anyone is with a genuine smile, that crinkles your eyes.

I never used to let myself get this sad but someone suggested I should just go with it when it happens.  Turns out I ended up smiling and laughing mid-tears.  And I’m going to admit the completely cheesy thing that got me here: this week’s episode of Grey’s Anatomy.  The writers hit it dead-on — when you lose a parent, you think you could have done more.

But the truth is, you couldn’t have.  The only thing you can do, the only thing that is in your power is to do more now.

How many lies did you tell today?

How many of them were malicious lies?

I hope the answer to the second question was zero, (if it wasn’t, we can talk!) but here’s where I’d like to introduce the concept of radical honesty.  Dr. Brad Blanton, a self-described “white trash Ph.D” wrote a best-seller about it in 1996.  According to him, lying is the number one source of stress for people and so he suggested that people should be honest with each other about everything, including painful or taboo subjects.  I kind of agree.  Every time I lie, I have to remember something and I already have to remember enough without clouding my mind with made-up stories.  Also, I end up resenting the person that I lied to (more on that later).

So could I take a step in the “radical honesty” direction?  What did that entail?  What if my truths would really hurt people?

Needless to say, I bit the bullet and for one week last year (around this time, actually) I practiced Radical Honesty.  I told the truth and didn’t omit any truths when I felt they were too important to be omitted.  So many awkward moments ensued — seriously — like the time a male friend asked me if I found him attractive?  Having to tell my clients that I was late for their work not because of an exam but because Grey’s Anatomy played a 2-hour special was another scenario.  I chose not to “tell everyone” that I was doing this, but the few choice people I did confide in reveled in the fact that they could ask me whatever they wanted and I’d answer truthfully.

But tonight, someone put a spin on the situation (jokingly) and it made me think.  Someone asked me, in reference to this whole Radical Honesty story, if “I was a bad friend”.

Generally, I don’t think I am a bad friend.  But to be specific, to answer his question — would being someone who “tells the truth all the time,  no matter what” make for a bad friend?

I suppose you could argue that there are good and bad sides to that kind of friendship.  Certain friends of mine would argue that sometimes I lean a bit on the bad side of that spectrum.  Other friends appreciate that about me.  One friend in particular asked me to “not be so harsh about the truth” and I definitely respect that request.

The catch, and there is always a catch, is that it is much easier to be honest with other people than it is to be with yourself.  I’ll save the elaboration of that last statement for another post but would love to know what you think about friends that tell the truth…(Brendan, be nice.)

In a recent survey where I asked one friend for a subject to blog about, he suggested “love” and what it means to different people.  Well, I’ll admit I don’t know what it means to different people (though I have a fair idea from reading I’ve done) so please feel free to share your thoughts on this subject.

So what is love?  Love is an emotion we can measure by putting people into a machine and taking a functional MRI of their brain.  We can watch the areas light up and we can try and determine if they’re speaking from the emotional part of their brans or the language part.  We can see what makes those areas “light up”.

So that’s love in its quantitative form.

But what is love in its fluffy, unadulterated form?  Pillow talk in bed amongst lovers?  The bond shared between family members?

First of all let me state that I don’t believe in soul-mates.  I don’t believe in love at first sight (it’s called physical attraction) and I don’t believe in unconditional love (except you, dad).

What I do believe about love is that it is mutual fulfillment; a fulfillment that originates from first understanding the other person.  Once you understand who a person is, what matters to them, then you can determine whether or not you will find fulfillment in sharing experiences with said person.

Here is an example that is quite revealing:  babies scare me.  Not little babies that are already born and cute but carrying babies.  Pregnancy.  Childbirth.  What happens when you’re pregnant and then have to deliver the little monkeys.  So, I’ve compromised with myself that I will have babies au naturel as long as I can deliver them by C-section.  (Now, the fine print:  yes of course at the end of the day I will do whatever is best for the monkeys, but if given a choice, I would schedule a C-section when the time was right).  To some people that I have said this to, it is an abomination.  I am not being a woman.  (Uh, note: this response mostly comes from men, but I digress.)  So what does this mean?  It means my future babymaker partner will have to live with the fact that he will never be part of the miracle that is childbirth except for the part where he’s handed the baby (OR’s are sterile, sorry future hubs).

So back to what love is — love is just the comprehensive, more succinct term for, “I think we could get along.  I don’t mind compromising things with you, like what color car to buy, but if anything that is part of my structural identity (see this post) conflicts with something that is part of your structural identity, then we will have to redefine ourselves, which is unacceptable because one of us will not find fulfillment in the relationship”.

There’s a reason I believe your partner should be your best friend, and when I say best friend, I don’t mean the arbitrary title you give someone, I mean the person you know you can show the dark scary places of your life.  But, back on the unconditional comment, no love is unconditional.  All love has conditions but the conditions should be defined by the two people (or more) in the relationship, not across the board societal standards.

Thoughts?

Rolex.  Mercedes.  Hamptons House.  Black Amex.

I’m sure you’ve heard of those status symbols — objects or possessions that elevate the owner to a certain social or economic status in the eyes of those who see it.  I don’t necessarily agree with the concept of status symbols, but for the purpose of this post, let’s say I did.

Because what I’d like to discuss has to do with the status symbols and indicators that we use every day to gauge how much we’d like to be friends (or more) with a person.

I’m going to use an example that concerns two good friends of mine, S and M (and no, that does not imply anything dirty!)

S and I met back in May at a mutual friend’s party.  When I found out she lived really close to my flat in Chicago, and me being new-ish to Chicago, I asked her if she’d want to do coffee/brunch/drinks sometime soon.  We exchanged numbers and made plans for that weekend.  We hung out one time and I showed up for a drink to celebrate her birthday in September.  That’s all.

Now, M and I have been friends since childhood.  We grew up in Montreal together, our families moved to the same town in Florida, we went to high school together, and so on.  M and I are good friends and speak on a semi-regular basis and I see him every time I go back to Florida, without fail.

Last time I was in Florida, M told me that he knew S.  How?  They were both counselors at the same summer camp three years ago.  They had gotten along beautifully and had really bonded over their few months of working together.

So now, my really good friend told my new friend, “hey, I know Melissa Malka!  I love Melissa Malka!” and told me the same thing about her.  Since that trip to Florida, which was over New Year’s Eve, S and I have hung out regularly for the last month and talk almost every day.

What changed?

M’s rave review of her had “elevated” her status in my mind.  If M, who I love, loved S, than by default, I should love her too.  So – we bridged the gap.  We made plans, we talked about M, we laughed about his silly antics, we had girl time and there no longer was the awkwardness of trying to figure out if we’d like each other because we kind of took a shortcut.

This isn’t uncommon.  We do it all the time when we trust our friends to set us up on blind dates.  An internal referral from someone who is a good employee will get you a job faster than anything else.  We trust our good friends’ opinions over our sort-of friends.  We have these so-to-speak statuses for most everyone we know and we act accordingly.  Most of us, or at least I, won’t approach someone and try to befriend them just because they have a Rolex or drive an import, but we will if our good friend tells us “we would most likely get along”.

A while back, I was discussing this with a friend of mine and he shared with me a way that almost quantified it.  He had terminology and really specific ways of defining who’s opinion means more and who you would find yourself trusting and so on.  I’m going to ask him if I can post about them on here.

In short though, what I am trying to say is to just pay attention.  Pay attention to your status, your social capital.  How many people trust your judgement about potential suitors for them?  Do your friends try to get to know your other friends?  And, think about the friends of yours you tend to gravitate towards for those things to.

More on this later.

In an interesting lecture I was listening to the other day, the presenter asked his group, “what makes this chair a chair?  What characteristics can I take away from this chair that will still allow it to be a chair?”  A few of the answers were standard and expected:  you could change the fabric of the seat or remove it entirely, you could change the colour, and so on.  After a few suggestions, he asked, “what if I removed one of the legs?  Or the back of the chair?  What would happen then?”  I couldn’t help but laugh when I heard one of the participants say, “you’d get a stool”.

The presenter was implying that by removing the leg and back from the chair, it would lose its structural identity.  For the purpose of this post, let’s define “structural characteristic” as one that if you were to take away, the item would no longer functional in its original role.  To maintain structural integrity, the item must possess all of its structural characteristics.   What I liked about the guy’s response, was how quickly and simply he had redefined the structural identity of this now amputated chair.

The same concept applies to human beings.  What makes a person a person?  Medical marvels have allowed us to live without a kidney, a lung, half of a liver, and with an artificial heart.  Women get hysterectomies all the time, losing the ability to fulfill their biological purpose — are they still “women”?  Mentioning this to a friend of mine brought up a discussion about Ayn Rand’s objectivism philosophy.  Because I haven’t read enough Ayn Rand, I think I read part of one of her books a very long time ago, I’ll decline to comment on that.

My main focus is to ask, more importantly, what makes you who you are?  What makes Melissa Malka, Melissa Malka?  Some could argue that its the ever-present cup of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee, the perpetual bed-head, and the lack of willingness to take no for an answer (yes, I do it, this was a joke).  Lately, I’ve reflected a lot on what characteristics about my life have helped to define, albeit temporarily, who I am.  Student, scientist, writer, aspiring M.D., girl, friend, daughter…

If I were to lose one of those characteristics, could I, much like the aforementioned chair be redefined and repackaged into an equally stylish and functional stool?  If I didn’t go to med school, would I still be Mel?  I know if I cut the hair off…I’ll lose the crazy woman bed-head aspect, so don’t worry, the mane stays. As for the other stuff, I’m quite sure I’ll be just swanky.

Also of interest:  Julien’s Blog

Last year, I was enrolled in a course that focused on the theological perspectives of different cultures.  In those courses, I like to consider myself momentarily interested — I read the material and think about it enough to pass the class, but I don’t love those courses.

However, one concept in particular sticks out to me and I find it even more appropriate during a time like today when a part of the world has just been hit with a natural disaster.

The concept was mentioned throughout our study of Native American religious beliefs (did you know that they do not have a word for religion, instead they just refer to it as a “way to live”) and to paraphrase, the woman interviewed said that in their culture, they were taught not to resent nature.  She discussed how even the thunderstorms that destroyed their teepees and scared their children were valued as much as the soft rains that made their food grow.

Granted, it’s easier to say that from the comforts of my apartment then if I were finding myself homeless now in Haiti, but, the idea doesn’t just apply to natural disasters — it applies to all disasters. Even the ones we create for ourselves.

At the end of the day, we can either focus on the disaster, we can resent the earth, the elements, or ourselves for having “gotten us into this mess” or we can turn our focus on resolution.