Ah, the great divide between Somebodys and Nobodys which evaporates when people connect. As an introvert, I've also honed my interview skills, and often been rewarded by moments of grace, the "stillness of a chapel" you describe. Because aren't we all more alike than we're different?
We are indeed, although we tend to forget. Interviewing creates a conversational structure that sets a shy person at ease, I’ve found. You get to hear extraordinary revelations, without any expectation of sharing your own.
We're all nobodies and somebodies at the same time. I use to joke with my sisters that they could come over for lunch or dinner at anytime, just drop in, because they were nobodies! Which meant that they were so special and so easy to be with that I didn't have to make a special effort. True love! I loved this story, Rona. Love for animals - all true love, actually - opens our hearts wide, and allows us to be ourselves. I also used to have to go to all sorts of posh gala dinners and sit next to "somebodies" which my husband certainly was at work, while I was the "nobody" spouse who was either tongue tied or too spontaneous for my own good - all due to nerves. But someone who terrified me opened up like a flower when we both realized we were passionate about horses, and then spent a lovely evening side by side. Thanks for this! xx
Thank you, Francesca. There’s nothing any one of us can feel that someone else hasn’t felt too. Animals have acway of opening the heart’s most secret places, don’t they?
Reminds me of something I read recently: “walking down the street in New York, no one says hello to each other, but everyone says hello to each other’s dogs.” (And that’s always been my favorite E.D poem!)
Oh how I hated corporate events! I simply could not seem to make any kind of connection in a crowded room where everyone was trying to score points and make money. But give me a little meeting room with a person looking for help with the issue that was making them lose sleep, and I could almost always ensure they left smiling.
I have tears in my eyes for the unnamed dog and his loving owner, as I often do for your stories of Casey’s street connections.
I can identify with your story of the little meeting room. It's so much easier to connect with a person in need than to make small talk with a bore on a corporate duty call.
Thank you for the wonderful story. I have been to many of the dinners you described. Feeling out of place, I frequently glanced at my watch discreetly, hoping for the time to move faster. I learned about social interactions at gatherings, what to do, and what not to do. I have met many Kenneths' and proverbial 'Karens.' I learned that many of the "somebodies" were introverts in disguise. Their mask was heavy, and the standard of 'somebody' was even heavier. Emotions, just like the 'nobodies,' pour out when their armor is pierced.
Dogs (and cats) can tap into our emotions. They are loving and vulnerable. You look at them and can sense what they are thinking and feeling. However, their greatest gift is that they can sense your feelings. When you are happy, they are happier! If you are ill, they know what you need. There were many times when I did not feel well that my cat would purposely sit in my lab, or my dog would curl up on the floor next to the couch.
Joel, I think you're right about the Somebodies. Their position shields them from the world, and it's disarming to see their real selves emerge, if only for a moment. Alex Colville, who painted animals beautifully (especially dogs and horses) said that animals are angels. He was onto something. If you don't already know his work, I hope you'll look it up.
"...the gift of witnessing..." The greatest gift we can offer. And the recognition that, at the core, the Somebodys and Nobodys are more alike than we realize. Thank you for sharing.
What I love most about this essay, Rona, is that it was the dogs, who as far as I can tell don't give a rat's patootie about status, that gave you both a conduit to a meaningful connection. That's the treat for me. From there, I can assume that belonging is for Anybody. In the presence of someone or something that tells me I matter, even a lifelong Nobody like me becomes Somebody. Thanks for that!
Loved this capture of the awkwardness of social dinners. Maybe everyone feels the same way about them—even men. But this quote was my favorite: Intimacy without obligation: the introvert’s dream arrangement. So true. Thanks for a great read!
Your stories are magic. So many connections including the powerful connection of listening well to another's story. I just bought 'Starter Dog" for my sister for her birthday.
What a wonderful piece. It spoke to me on so many levels. I too have become a nobody but I now live in a small cul de sac surrounded by other nobodies & the connections we make are wonderful.
I miss our Border Collie Tess , even after 20 years but she still seems irreplaceable- maybe one day…..
Our first dog ended up being three (long story). That pack was a joy and I didn’t think we could ever replace them. When we had one left, we ended up rehiring another. He is different, but also a joy. He hasn’t replaced them but added to the joy and memories. Don’t punish yourself.
Rona, I love your article on many levels. Your acknowledgement of the dynamics of initiating a conversation struck me like a lightning bolt from the 1980's. I was a freshly minted college graduate in an all male department. Every Friday a group of 8 of us met for lunch. Our department head was not interested in talking sports. It was a most unusual stance for a man in a NFL town, and a saving grace for me. So my other lunch hours were spent scouring the business magazines in our corporate library for some topic of conversation the days before. I felt compelled every Friday to have something to say to prove I had a place at the table. But more importantly, your story brought a tear to my eye in memory of our Russian Wolfhound, Nikita, a giant of a dog. Decades ago a college student from Uganda came running from his apartment as we passed by. "May I take a photo of you and your dog," was his earnest request. "Everything is bigger in America," with a twinkle in his eye.
Stephanie, I used to write a career column for young women, back in the days when we all wore silk shirts with kitty-cat bows at the neck. I never had the heart to repeat the ubiquitous advice that women should read the sports and business pages to earn their place at the corporate table, as you put it. I love the story of your Nikita, the big and welcoming American.
Dogs unite us. I was a nobody until I had a dog. Then I was my dog's somebody. xxx
How well put! We're all somebodies to our dogs. And some would add our cats and horses.
Ah, the great divide between Somebodys and Nobodys which evaporates when people connect. As an introvert, I've also honed my interview skills, and often been rewarded by moments of grace, the "stillness of a chapel" you describe. Because aren't we all more alike than we're different?
We are indeed, although we tend to forget. Interviewing creates a conversational structure that sets a shy person at ease, I’ve found. You get to hear extraordinary revelations, without any expectation of sharing your own.
We're all nobodies and somebodies at the same time. I use to joke with my sisters that they could come over for lunch or dinner at anytime, just drop in, because they were nobodies! Which meant that they were so special and so easy to be with that I didn't have to make a special effort. True love! I loved this story, Rona. Love for animals - all true love, actually - opens our hearts wide, and allows us to be ourselves. I also used to have to go to all sorts of posh gala dinners and sit next to "somebodies" which my husband certainly was at work, while I was the "nobody" spouse who was either tongue tied or too spontaneous for my own good - all due to nerves. But someone who terrified me opened up like a flower when we both realized we were passionate about horses, and then spent a lovely evening side by side. Thanks for this! xx
Thank you, Francesca. There’s nothing any one of us can feel that someone else hasn’t felt too. Animals have acway of opening the heart’s most secret places, don’t they?
Completely!
Wow. This one goes to the core. leaves me so loving you Rona.
Thank you, Tam. I wasn't looking for love but am delighted to receive it. Who could not use more?
I feel the same way. Rona, you gave us a gift of love.
Thank you so much, Catherine. My pleasure.
Reminds me of something I read recently: “walking down the street in New York, no one says hello to each other, but everyone says hello to each other’s dogs.” (And that’s always been my favorite E.D poem!)
Not just in New York. The same pattern applies in Toronto—and anywhere on this continent, I’m guessing.
Oh how I hated corporate events! I simply could not seem to make any kind of connection in a crowded room where everyone was trying to score points and make money. But give me a little meeting room with a person looking for help with the issue that was making them lose sleep, and I could almost always ensure they left smiling.
I have tears in my eyes for the unnamed dog and his loving owner, as I often do for your stories of Casey’s street connections.
I can identify with your story of the little meeting room. It's so much easier to connect with a person in need than to make small talk with a bore on a corporate duty call.
Rona,
Thank you for the wonderful story. I have been to many of the dinners you described. Feeling out of place, I frequently glanced at my watch discreetly, hoping for the time to move faster. I learned about social interactions at gatherings, what to do, and what not to do. I have met many Kenneths' and proverbial 'Karens.' I learned that many of the "somebodies" were introverts in disguise. Their mask was heavy, and the standard of 'somebody' was even heavier. Emotions, just like the 'nobodies,' pour out when their armor is pierced.
Dogs (and cats) can tap into our emotions. They are loving and vulnerable. You look at them and can sense what they are thinking and feeling. However, their greatest gift is that they can sense your feelings. When you are happy, they are happier! If you are ill, they know what you need. There were many times when I did not feel well that my cat would purposely sit in my lab, or my dog would curl up on the floor next to the couch.
Thanks again for sharing this story.
Joel
Joel, I think you're right about the Somebodies. Their position shields them from the world, and it's disarming to see their real selves emerge, if only for a moment. Alex Colville, who painted animals beautifully (especially dogs and horses) said that animals are angels. He was onto something. If you don't already know his work, I hope you'll look it up.
Very moving. Went in a completely unexpected direction, and will stay with me.
I love to surprise my readers, so yours is a particularly welcome compliment. Thank you.
"...the gift of witnessing..." The greatest gift we can offer. And the recognition that, at the core, the Somebodys and Nobodys are more alike than we realize. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you, Julie. That's exactly what I was attempting to show.
What I love most about this essay, Rona, is that it was the dogs, who as far as I can tell don't give a rat's patootie about status, that gave you both a conduit to a meaningful connection. That's the treat for me. From there, I can assume that belonging is for Anybody. In the presence of someone or something that tells me I matter, even a lifelong Nobody like me becomes Somebody. Thanks for that!
Yes. I think the best thing any of us can do for anyone is to light a flare that says, “You matter.”
I agree! Even a match will suffice at times. :)
Loved this capture of the awkwardness of social dinners. Maybe everyone feels the same way about them—even men. But this quote was my favorite: Intimacy without obligation: the introvert’s dream arrangement. So true. Thanks for a great read!
There are those who love to swan around. I've met a few. But I think many of us ask, "What am I doing here and when can I leave?"
Just sitting here, bathing in this beautifully rendered story. Tears welling. Thank you, Rona. (And thank you too, Kenneth, wherever you are.)
Amy, thank you so much--and congratulations on your new book, a thrilling milestone.
Your stories are magic. So many connections including the powerful connection of listening well to another's story. I just bought 'Starter Dog" for my sister for her birthday.
And I forgot to mention: Thank you for supporting Starter Dog.
Music to my ears. I hope your sister enjoys the book. I’m proud of it.
Thank you for reminding me of my heart dog, Ryder, whose tombstone we chiseled with “the sweetest boy.”
And I don't doubt that he was exactly that.
What a wonderful piece. It spoke to me on so many levels. I too have become a nobody but I now live in a small cul de sac surrounded by other nobodies & the connections we make are wonderful.
I miss our Border Collie Tess , even after 20 years but she still seems irreplaceable- maybe one day…..
You never know, Wendy. The moment may come when you'll be somebody to another special dog.
Our first dog ended up being three (long story). That pack was a joy and I didn’t think we could ever replace them. When we had one left, we ended up rehiring another. He is different, but also a joy. He hasn’t replaced them but added to the joy and memories. Don’t punish yourself.
Rona, I love your article on many levels. Your acknowledgement of the dynamics of initiating a conversation struck me like a lightning bolt from the 1980's. I was a freshly minted college graduate in an all male department. Every Friday a group of 8 of us met for lunch. Our department head was not interested in talking sports. It was a most unusual stance for a man in a NFL town, and a saving grace for me. So my other lunch hours were spent scouring the business magazines in our corporate library for some topic of conversation the days before. I felt compelled every Friday to have something to say to prove I had a place at the table. But more importantly, your story brought a tear to my eye in memory of our Russian Wolfhound, Nikita, a giant of a dog. Decades ago a college student from Uganda came running from his apartment as we passed by. "May I take a photo of you and your dog," was his earnest request. "Everything is bigger in America," with a twinkle in his eye.
Stephanie, I used to write a career column for young women, back in the days when we all wore silk shirts with kitty-cat bows at the neck. I never had the heart to repeat the ubiquitous advice that women should read the sports and business pages to earn their place at the corporate table, as you put it. I love the story of your Nikita, the big and welcoming American.