Margie Clayman

I just got done watching the Wimbledon men’s championship – Roger Federer versus Andy Murray. I used to watch tennis a lot when I was younger, especially around my high school years. At that time, I agreed with the announcers whole-heartedly when they talked about a player being “old” at age 30. Thirty seemed ancient. Now that I’m a bit past 30, the fact that I’m older than Roger Federer is kind of depressing. Even more strange is that people were kind of expecting Federer to crash and burn this year at Wimbledon. He’s almost 31. He has twin girls. People were thinking his run was over.

Against that backdrop, the announcers noted, as Federer headed towards championship point, that he had talked about wanting to get his 7th Wimbledon win from the time the tournament started. He had also made it no secret that he wanted to get back to being the #1 male player in the world (which he now is). The announcers expressed some surprise about this. It seemed odd that a player would so openly voice his hopes and dreams. Most players shy away from saying such things because they don’t want to jinx themselves, or maybe because they don’t want to have to eat their words.

I tend to think this phenomenon is not restricted to tennis or even athletes. I think we are all hesitant to say that we are going for something. We don’t want to say we’re aiming to get rich. We don’t want to say we hope to be president of our company or of our nation or of the world one day. We don’t want to give a name to our goals. Now why is that? Are we afraid we’re going to jinx ourselves? I’m not so sure that’s it. I think people frown on ambition. I think people confuse ambition with cockiness or ego. We don’t want people to think we’re cocky. We don’t want people to think our egos are bigger than the planet. So we refrain from voicing our goals and our dreams. We tuck them in and just strive for them on our own, quietly.

I’m not sure this is the best way to go about things. First of all, if you achieve your dreams or your goals and you start doing a victory dance, it will seem sort of out of place. No one will understand how long you fought for those accomplishments or how much you wanted to get to where you are. That’s a shame because nothing is more fun than doing a victory dance as a group. But even more than that, I think we keep a distance between ourselves and our dreams by not giving them a voice. They’re sort of minimized little secrets until we give voice to them. It’s like we’re ashamed of them or ashamed of ourselves for wanting something, for fighting for something.

Roger Federer voiced his wish for winning his 7th (record-breaking) Wimbledon title. And when he did it, when he accomplished that, people said, “Woah, he said he was going to and he did.” It seems like we could learn from his example. Why be ashamed of your wishes? Why refrain from voicing your dreams just because there’s a chance you might fail, at least at first? Seize your dreams. Give them a voice.

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If you know much about William Tecumseh Sherman, you’re probably unable to think of him as the soft and squishy type. In fact, at least based on his wartime actions and his writings, Sherman was cantankerous, honest to a fault (even when it was uncomfortable), stoic to the point of hardly showing any emotion at all, and merciless. His “March to the Sea” is perhaps one of the better known military campaigns in all of US history, not only for the pragmatic genius behind it but also because of the amount of damage he inflicted on the South in such a short period of time.

In his writings and in the writings about him, I can think of only two people to whom Sherman showed respect and affection. One was Ulysses S. Grant, whom Sherman profoundly respected. The other was a woman named Mary Ann Bickerdyke, who served Sherman’s troops for four years by feeding them, finding food for them, and caring for them. Her ability to organize and execute plans to keep up the care of her men inspired Sherman to say, “She ranks me.”

Now that’s quite a statement. Sherman, a general, a man in the 19th century, a man who was having increasing amounts of success, points to a woman and says, “She ranks me.” It was oddly humble. It was oddly favorable. Coming from Sherman, in fact, it was just plain odd. But this tells you how amazing “Mother” Bickerdyke must have truly been.

When you reach a point of success, it’s important to acknowledge other people who have done things you feel are more extraordinary. Doing this helps keep your feet firmly planted and it helps prevent your head from becoming too big. Doing this reminds you that you are not the greatest gift to creation now. Doing this reminds you that other people may be traveling paths that are more fraught with danger than yours. Doing this reminds you that other people might be working more towards a greater good than you are. Doing this gives you an outside perspective on your own success. It gives you context.

Sherman is known in our history books as an extraordinary messenger of death and destruction. Mary Ann Bickerdyke is known as a bringer of care and compassion. Can you weigh which kind of success is better remembered?

When I have some sort of social media success, I think of women like Molly Cantrell-Kraig, Angela Daffron, and Jennifer Windrum, who are using social media for social good. When I do a good deed, I think about people like Steve Woodruff, who travels to Haiti to help those in need (far more than anything I’ve ever done). These people rank me.

Who might you think of as people who “rank” you? It doesn’t have to be a comparative thing. It is more a perspective thing. Who would you strive to be, even at a moment of your greatest success? Why do they rank you? And would you try to travel that path you admire or would you rather let them shine on alone?

I’m interested to hear your thoughts!

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Back in 2000, Ed Harris produced and acted in a movie called Pollock, which, per the name, told the story of artist Jackson Pollock or “Jack the Dripper.” I don’t remember a whole lot about the movie – it was pretty depressing, if you must know – but there is one scene that has always stuck in my head. Despite all of his neuroses, Pollock eventually found not only fame and success but also several people who cared for him and supported him with devotion. There is a scene in the movie where Pollock is in a gallery, surrounded by admirers, and all of a sudden he looks up and over to his wife, who stood by him even when things weren’t going well. He nods to her. Then he goes back to his conversation. It’s extremely understated, and if you had been in the scene you probably would not even have known it had happened.

I think this is how true influence is really measured.

There are all sorts of ways to give a nod to a person. You can do it physically, of course, like in that scene. You can tell someone that they really helped you out or opened your eyes to a new perspective (that’s quite a direct way to go about it). In the online world, the “mention” is the thing. Unfortunately, a lot of ways I used to give the nod to people online have become shrouded in yuckiness. For example, I used to really like making lists highlighting people for various reasons, but now there are so many lists and so many lists that are clearly just link bait that the effort seems cheapened somehow. The same holds true for “Follow Friday” on Twitter. So many people just list a dozen names that the actual feeling behind the nod is kind of lost. That’s too bad. I think if it were easier to give meaningful nods, there might not be so much confusion about who the “influencers” are.

To me, influence is not always something you can pinpoint. Have you ever watched the movie Hugo? Hugo influences an older man he barely knows and doesn’t like. It ends up benefitting both of them in the end, but it all happens in indirect, serendipitous ways. Hugo gets a nod (not to spoil too much), though not by name. In a lot of ways, it’s like the scene from Pollock. Understated yet powerful.

In my two years in the online world, and in my 30-some years of life on this earth, I’ve been influenced by countless people, from my parents to my high school speech team coach to my driving instructor, the lovely Wally. I’ve been influenced in ways that cannot be measured by things like retweets and “conversations.” I’ve been influenced to try or not try new things. I’ve been influenced to change my perspective or to develop a new opinion. I’ve been influenced to take part in a cause or in an effort. Giving a nod to all who have influenced me would be great neck exercise. But quantifying this influence? I’d never be able to do it. I wouldn’t know where to start. What is the value of believing you can do something? What is the value of accomplishing something you were afraid to even try?

Do not aim for the Klout Score, the Ad Age Power 150, the PeerIndex score, or that Kred number. Aim for something more valuable and less tangible. Aim for the nod.

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Part of my July 4th celebration this year was to watch the HBO miniseries, John Adams. The series seems to do a pretty good job of portraying the rocky friendship of Thomas Jefferson and John Adams, who in a lot of ways were sort of like the odd couple. Jefferson was a Virginian, Adams was a Massachusetts man. Jefferson was not highly religious while Adams was. Jefferson owned slaves, Adams did not. Through it all, however, they managed to admire each other and became close friends.

Sadly, politics got in the way of that friendship. If you can believe HBO’s presentation of events, Adams felt that Jefferson failed to support him properly. Jefferson felt that Adams was too much controlled by Alexander Hamilton, whom Jefferson believed was loathsome. Eventually, both men did and said a lot of things that they regretted. It was only tragedies in Adams’ late life that drew them back together.

In watching these scenes where the men sort of drifted around the fact that they felt let down by each other, I realized that we  have the same problems today. We all have our own expectations of people. We all define “friend” differently. I wonder if we would fare better with people if we indicated to them, gently and without judgment, what friendship means to us. We certainly end up cooking boiling pots of resentment when they don’t live up to our expectations or hopes, but how can they be the friend of our dreams if we don’t say, “By the way, I’d like it if you…”

People often tell me that my expectations of people are too high. I’ve been told that my whole life, in fact. That may be true, but what I can say for sure is that I never sit down with a person and say, “You know, it really bummed me out that you never contacted me when you knew I was going through a hard time.” I just let things simmer, and I either drop it off eventually or let it build into a giant snowball that eventually gets me to talk. This is not, I think, the best way to go about things. I have never told anyone, “You know, I think we’re at a point in our friendship where if you see someone attacking me, it’s fair I expect you to come to my defense.” We never have “the talk” like couples do as we are making friends.

Maybe we should.

All of this gets more complicated, of course, because the online world makes friendship harder to define. Are you truly FRIENDS with everyone you’re connected to on Facebook? We use words like “friending” and “unfriending,” but are all of those people in the same category as your friends from high school or college? Do we no longer have hierarchies of close friends, bosom buddies, acquaintances, and work connections? Should we set expectations with all of those people?

John Adams clearly expected that Jefferson, as his friend and VP, would support him no matter what. Jefferson clearly expected that Adams, knowing Jefferson’s hatred of Hamilton, would bow to Jefferson’s judgment regarding the man’s character. Both were let down. Would their vitriol still have built to a crescendo if they had taken the time to explain these things to each other? Is conflict amongst friends truly inevitable? Must all bridges be burned, eventually?

Do you set expectations with your friends? Why or why not?

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On July 4th Eve (if there is such a thing) I was determined to stay up late because I wanted to sleep in late on Wednesday for the holiday. My plan seemed to be going smoothly until I randomly woke up at 6:45. I tried to go back to sleep, but I had this desire to get a run in before it got too hot. “Oh, you don’t need to run anymore,” I thought to myself. “You’ve been doing such a good job of exercising this year, take a break.” This is what prompted me to get out of bed and do a 3-mile run.

Why did that thought process have that effect on me? Because it is worrisome, and I think we give in to that kind of thought process far too easily and far too often. When we leave school at whatever level, we think, “Ah, well you’ve put in x number of years learning. That’s good enough.” When you exercise and start to lose weight, it’s so very easy to say, “Ah, well, you’ve more than worked out enough to earn this brownie sundae.” When your kids reach 18, you might have a fleeting thought that you’ve taken them to adulthood and so you’re done.

Factually, as soon as you start proclaiming to yourself that you’re done with one thing or the other, you are giving up on yourself. Think of it this way. After you leave school, have you learned everything in the world you could ever want to learn? After exercising for awhile and improving your eating habits, have you gotten into the best shape and the best mindset you could ever possibly achieve? My guess is probably not. There is always another author to read. There is always another field of study to explore. There is always a new exercise to try or a new level to test yourself on. Always.

Refusing to say “I’m done” is not about ambition. It’s about a commitment to living life to the fullest. It’s about leaving all of the doors open, and all of the windows, too, for that matter. It’s about remembering that you are human, imperfect but capable always of improving.

Yes, it’s true, I’ve been doing a lot of exercising since the beginning of the year and I’ve lost about ten pounds. But I still can’t easily complete a half-marathon. I still have a lot of Yoga and Zumba moves that I need to figure out, and then there’s a whole new layer of stuff I can’t even imagine trying to do right now. And besides, I’m not where I want to be fitness-wise yet. So I woke up and I ran.

What is something you have proclaimed you’re “done” with? Are you sure you’re done, or did you give in a little bit to that nagging voice that wanted you to quit? Maybe it’s time to revisit that skill or that field or that…whatever it is. Maybe it’s time to expand yourself. Maybe it’s time to recommit.

What do you think?

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Today is the birthday of the United States of America. I often wonder on this day, as I do on many other holidays, whether people really contemplate what today is all about. America is one of the younger countries in the world, comparatively speaking, but I fear we have already lost a lot of the importance tied to what today really should, by all rights, mean.

Today, I’m thinking about what it means to me to be an American. Like many Americans, I have parts of my family that can be traced back for generations. My ancestors ranged from Rhode Island and Pennsylvania down to Virginia and Tennessee. Somewhere along the way Native Americans (Cherokee) came into my family tree, and they had been here for thousands of years. But also like many Americans, I have parts of my family that have only been American for a short time. In fact, five of my eight great-grandparents were not born in the US. Four were born in Russia and one was born in Switzerland. I know precious little about what their lives were like. I have very few family relics. What items we do have, the meaning has been lost in most cases. As an American I’m sort of like a newly potted plant. I have some deep roots, but not a whole lot. I lean on my identity as an American and can’t depend on a sense of self coming from the past.

As an American on America’s birthday, I am worried for my country. That might seem strange to those of you who feel like the US thinks of ourselves as indestructible. That’s part of the problem. But I fear most that hatred is beginning to reign supreme. Perhaps hatred has always been at the core of the US. African Americans and Native Americans would likely say so. The hatred I see now is not seemingly based so much on skin color, but rather on a sense of people needing to feel that their views are 100% accepted. In the Ken Burns Civil War series, historian Shelby Foote notes that Americans have always been masterful at compromise. I fear we’re losing that. I fear we are losing our capacity for civil discourse. Especially when it comes to the issues that matter most.

I have a lot of wishes for America. I hope that we can continue to emphasize our capacity to do great good. I hope we can come through this election season as a single country, though I’m beginning to wonder. I hope we can make peace with our past and build for a stronger future. I hope Abraham Lincoln remains Abraham Lincoln and not just a vampire slayer. I hope we can remember how big we are and that there is room for plenty of perspectives.

I have a lot of hopes for America. I have a lot of worries, too. My worries for my country stem from the love of my country. I want it to be the best. I want it to be what our founding fathers dreamed it could be in 1776. Onwards and upwards, America. Seize the Day.

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