Monday, August 15, 2016

Vulnerability

Last Friday, my boss invited us all to work and offered us food and talked to us regarding vulnerability. He's new here after our last boss left abruptly a couple of weeks ago. I guess his schtick is vulnerability, because vulnerability is the path to creativity, innovation, and something else that I can't remember at the moment.

I'm a math teacher, but I do know a bit about vulnerability, so maybe I know about creativity.

The ironic thing is, he didn't demonstrate to us anything even remotely resembling vulnerability. "If you want to innovate, you must be vulnerable," he said and I agree with this. Trying new things is risky. Did he try anything new? Not really. He had us get into groups and write things on paper about what we wanted to see (at work, of course) and what we didn't want to see. Then he burned the things we didn't want to see. I've written on paper before and I've burned things before. I thought he was going to read those and I wrote on one, "Organizational vulnerability starts at the top." Oh well.

Did he say anything personal about himself, as in something that would make him vulnerable? Definitely not. Now this is something I can say "I know about that!", having been a member of the Mortifyingly Embarassing and Uncommonly Shameful Addictions Club for the past 19 years (actually longer, since I was literally a member before I knew I was a member).

If I were an alcoholic or a drug addict I don't think it would be as difficult as admitting to what I am actually addicted to, but admitting to these would definitely make me vulnerable. Admitting to a nervous breakdown, or to not having finished college in a room filled with college graduates would make me vulnerable. Maybe he overslept one time? Nope. There was nothing like that on Friday. Not even any allusion to any hint of a reference to any kind of weakness was mentioned. At all.

All of which left me kind of sad. I've been vulnerable before. It does take courage, or stupidity. I'm still not sure which. I wanted to be in a room with vulnerable people. I wanted to know that I wasn't alone. I know I'm not, in other venues, but at work, I am.

I have failed as no one I know ever has. I am a teacher in a room of other teachers, only I am older and have more years in the business, with far less to show for it. No one ever wonders why. I don't want them to wonder why, but I do want them to.

I don't want them to wonder, "Hey Mr Cortez has been teaching for 15 years, so why is he working part-time here? What has he been doing all this time? What happened to him?" Actually I do want them to wonder, but only if they are going to ask me directly. Otherwise I will be even more alone than I am now.

What have I been doing all this time? Trying hard to not be vulnerable. I tried to steel myself against failure. I didn't think I was capable of the kind of failure I have failed at, even though I failed at many things before I failed the really, really, really fantastic failure. I failed at sports mainly, and trying to be cool.

Not believing I would ever fail didn't work so well, so now I'm doing the opposite. I'm basically embracing failure. Every week I meet with other guys who have failed and we talk about our failures during the week. Sometimes we succeed and we talk about that. Once in a while we notice some guy hasn't been to our weekly meeting in a while and we hopefully conclude he just doesn't fail anymore. (Sometimes I secretly think the reason is exactly the opposite). Our group is all about vulnerability. It's the only place I can be myself, at least for now. I have trust issues. For me to be vulnerable is the most difficult thing possible, but I have to do it. I have to learn to trust not just other people, but myself.

After you've failed as much as I have, you don't believe success is even possible. I don't believe in any kind of personal success. I don't trust myself and I don't trust God and I categorically, emphatically, do not trust other people. At this point, where I am at my lowest, I have to risk the remnants of my sanity and self-worth and take the bravest step possible: I have to expose my failures to other men and be vulnerable.

I have to do this every week. More than once my lack of trust has been justified, but recently I've been able to address this directly. Most of the time I am able to breathe deeply and sink back down in my chair in relief. This week, these guys aren't berating me for being a schmuck. Thank God for them. Maybe I can trust them after all. Maybe I can trust God. Maybe I can trust myself.

No, Mr Boss didn't show any kind of vulnerability, and I don't think he's really going to get the kind of innovation and creativity he wants, but this isn't Apple and I only make $20 an hour so what does he expect anyway?

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