I wish I could blame the Time Magazine Person of the Year 2006, but the problem is older than Time putting YOU on the cover. The problem just seems to be getting larger. It’s awfully easy for folks to think that the universe begins and ends with them. You can pick out the folks I mean by the stars in their eyes and the ME in their conversations.
Nan S. Russell gives a model of this “universal human being.”
I realized Stan wasn’t listening. He didn’t care what I had to say; he was waiting for his turn to talk. And talk he did, monopolizing the table’s conversation with his back-patting soliloquy.
The truth is that we all get that way sometimes – firmly set at the center of our own galaxy. Been there. Done that. I suppose we all have. Looking back I wish a beautiful, black hole had been available.
Listen to this. It’s great idea . . . .because I had it. . . . No!
We need a black hole with a gravitational pull so powerful to counteract our all too human ability to over-value our uniqueness. The minute we think we’re stars, we’re not.
Stars are generous. They inspire us. They show up, except for bad weather and catastrophes. They don’t intrude. They aren’t rude. They don’t make the universe about any one of them.
A friend told me the problem in her work environment is that every team member thinks his or her part is most important. “No one seems willing to work as if all of the parts are needed to make the whole excellent.”
Hi. I don’t know you. Will you give me hours of your time and expertise for free? . . . No!
Another friend told me about a young designer, who recommended a web host for a project. When that web host performed disastrously, rather than helping to find a new web host, the designer threw a tantrum. The designer made the issue about herself. Rumor has that she’s still acting like a victim. A black hole would serve that behavior well.
I don’t have time for conversation. Just give me what I need. . . . No!
How do we get so busy that we forget the person on the other side of the conversation? Sometimes the other person isn’t a stranger. Sometimes it’s a child or a grandmother.
People and stars are made of the same cosmic stuff.
Maybe if we let a black hole suck up some of that busy, dark matter. We would see more starlight in the mirror, in each other, in the sky at night.
Liz Strauss writes about a universe of things at Successful-Blog.
You know, I feel you, Liz. I cannot tell you the number or folks who just simply refuse to understand that I, Tim, am the center of the universe!
It’s just plain rude, you know?
KIDDING.
My ex is the center of the universe…just ask her.
KIDDING. (Well, she may not have been kidding. I was never sure)
Perhaps if we all acted like the person closest to us who was in need of our help was the center of the universe, we might fight the universe smiling on us more? Yes. Easy to say; hard to do.
Morning, Liz! :-)
Good morning, Tim,
Yesterday, Valeria said she was taught by her mother to leave every person she met a little better. Now there’s a star.
I know that when I make myself the center of the universe, it’s nice for a short while, because I don’t have to care about anything else, but then . . . it’s awfully lonely. There in the center, there’s no one to talk to. I think that’s what brings most folks back when they go there. :)
Ah… you’ve done it again Liz: made me learn without my knowing it. :) I shall leave every person I meet a little better.
Hi Rico,
It was Valeria, who taught me that. So we are learning together. That’s the best way. Cool. Don’t you think? :)
I promise to let you be the center of the universe in our next conversation – lol
Hi Marti!
Oh no, no, no . . . don’t put me there! I want to be on the edge where the fun is!