On Minnesota Nice
Minnesota has been home for practically my whole life. The people I’ve known have dotted the whole spectrum…rural to urban, college educated to educated in the school of hard knocks, stoic Norsk to welcoming neighborhood matron. These are my people.
Over the last week, two events collided to make me wonder if that statement is a little too true.
1. I read a blog post on neighborhoods.com written by a visitor to Mpls. She bashed the city up and down for being a cold and unwelcoming place. She even featured a photo of the building I live in as an example of empty porches and pulled blinds! I’ve always thought that my row of neighbors were pretty friendly, but she gave my hood a failing grade in friendliness.
2. I had a review at work, and my boss brought up one of the prevailing themes among my colleagues who were asked for an opinion on my performance: I need to smile more.
My reaction to this critique was immediately defensive: I don’t smile because it implies that I might be more of a sucker than everyone else in the room, and as a young female in the old boy’s club, I don’t need any more of that than what God granted me.
But then doubt set in. I am used to being in a place where people don’t smile or say hi on the street, but is that as good as it gets? My only other long-term experience in another place happened during the time I lived in Spain, and that doesn’t really count for the purpose of this thought because everything was different, not just people’s friendliness.
And I realized I might be contributing to a self-defeating cycle. I am passionately in love with this city, and evangelize anyone who will listen (or brave enough to be dragged along on a tour). But when I keep my eyes down and put up the public bubble, I am perpetuating the unfriendly reputation that latched onto Mpls.
I already consider myself to be a welcoming person, but maybe what I’m delivering is a stone-faced invite. So a new resolution to be a kind face. I can be assertive and attentive, without the wicked witch of the west appearance. In early trials, the street population seems to be receptive. My walk in this morning chalked up one “morning” and a few reciprocated smiles. It all made me happier, too.
A brighter imagination
Practically two and a half years ago, I started working in advertising. I remember my first creative review because I left the meeting thinking that every TV script presented was crap. It wasn’t funny. Everyone else seemed to think so, though.
Over time, things have gotten funnier. Rough descriptions of an event or an idea develop more easily in my mind. And it’s more fun to have sparks flying out all over the place in my brain. Now that I look back on it, I think my problem was that my imagination had been smothered during 20 some odd years of schooling. William Crossman, author and scholar, believes that traditional teaching methods squelch our creativity by limiting acceptable expression to reading, writing, and speaking. Working in a creative industry helped me reconnect with other forms of stimulation. I spend my days watching video, reading, finding the best way to represent my ideas–in a picture, graphic, or agonizingly selected set or words. Life is more fun these days, more vibrant and more exciting.
My friends moved away so I have more time to think.
….and less people to share my thoughts with. Over wine and cheese, anyway. If you’re out there, read on.
