You know those embarrassing encounters you have that leave you questioning why you even left your house that day? The type of encounters that you think about days, months, or years later?
Well, I had one the other day.
I went to a concert in Philly for a relatively unknown artist this past Tuesday. The artist used to be more popular in the early 2010s but has since become less well known. I only went to the show because I needed to test a mobile app that the company I work for is developing.
The opener, sporting a fedora, walked out with an acoustic guitar. I sat at my table, ordered myself a personal margherita pizza and a Coke and thought to myself, “This might be a long night.”
The opener played a few songs, did a bit of crowd work, and got the audience ready for the headliner. I wasn’t too familiar with the headliner going into the show, but I was pleasantly surprised at how great the performance was. As I sat there, an idea popped into my head—what if I talked to the headliner about the app I’m testing? Maybe he will want to support it in some way.
The show ended, and the headliner encouraged everyone to come back to the merch table to say hello. There were only about 30-40 people at the show, so I figured, why not? I’ll wait in line and try to talk to him about the app.
Let me set the scene: there was a small corridor in which the merch table was set up. First, fans spoke to the opener, and then behind the opener was the headliner, and then behind the headliner was the exit door.
So there I was, waiting in line, and anticipation was starting to build. I was getting a little nervous. The voices in my head started having a battle.
What are you nervous for?
I don’t know, I get nervous waiting in lines to talk to people.
Well, you shouldn’t be nervous about this, you didn’t even know who this artist was 2 hours ago.
Well I am, ok? I’ll try to keep it under control.
Meanwhile, I noticed the woman in front of me was acting a bit peculiar. She was middle-aged, decked out in black clothing, and standing beside what I assume was her mother. I got the sense that she was behaviorally stunted, since she was acting the way a child might.
After waiting in line for about 10 minutes, the woman in front of me reached the opener. The woman exchanged a few comments, got her poster signed, and started to move on to speak to the headliner.
And then a very rapid succession of events happened.
The woman, walking backwards away from the opener, stared at him with wide eyes and started blowing kisses to him. The opener nervously waved goodbye to her. The headliner slipped out the exit door, avoiding an encounter with the woman. And I, now the last person in line, was left wondering what the hell just happened.
The opener, quickly adjusting, looked at me, extended his hand to shake mine, and said, “Hey man, thanks for coming to the show!”
Still confused about what just happened, and combined with my compounding nervousness, I responded:
“Hey… uh… it’s great to… uh… meet you. Thanks… uh… for an awesome show… I actually came here… uh… actually it’s a funny story… uh… I came to test an app.”
The opener looked at me like I had three heads.
Based on the way he looked at me, I have to imagine that he thought I was talking about an appetizer (not a mobile app). And although he didn’t say it, I could see his mind saying to himself: this is the weirdest fucking crowd we’ve had on tour.
The thing is, I never even intended to mention the app to the opener. I simply wanted to say hello to the opener, and then move on to the headliner to discuss the app. But, seeing that the headliner had left, I blurted out the part about the app.
I decided that it wasn’t worth explaining. I said thanks again to the opener and walked off.
As I left the venue, I couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. Even though I would never see the opener again, I was mad at myself for getting nervous in a situation where there was nothing to be nervous about. If I could’ve just played it cool, maybe I could have given him a demo of the app.
As I was reckoning with this moment over the past few days, I happened to stumble on an article from the Wait But Why blog titled “Taming the Mammoth: Why You Should Stop Caring What Other People Think.” The article is both hilarious, insightful, and certainly worth reading.
The author, Tim Urban, discusses how 50,000 years ago, “fitting in” was a survival mechanism for our long lost ancestors because they needed to be a part of a tribe in order to survive. Despite our civilization drastically changing over the past 50,000 years, we as humans have not evolved quite as much. And therefore, we still feel a desperate need to fit in. He calls this your Social Survival Mammoth, and my Mammoth was certainly yelling at me when I left the venue that night.
He goes on to explain that the opposite of the Social Survival Mammoth is the Authentic Voice. He says,
“Your Authentic Voice, somewhere in there, knows all about you. In contrast to the black-and-white simplicity of the Social Survival Mammoth, your Authentic Voice is complex, sometimes hazy, constantly evolving, and unafraid. Your AV has its own, nuanced moral code, formed by experience, reflection, and its own personal take on compassion and integrity. It knows how you feel deep down about things like money and family and marriage, and it knows which kinds of people, topics of interest, and types of activities you truly enjoy, and which you don’t. Your AV knows that it doesn’t know how your life will or should play out, but it tends to have a strong hunch about the right step to take next.”
This made me think a lot about something I wrote last week about how it’s bad advice when people tell you to “be yourself.” In the essay, I outline two types of people in the world:
The pleasers are likely always listening to their Social Survival Mammoth. They adjust their behavior because they feel the need to fit in and get approval from those around them.
The non-pleasers are listening more to their Authentic Voice. They don’t seek the approval of others, so they are able to act in a way that is more authentic to themselves.
After reading Tim Urban’s article, I realized that it’s not cut and dry. It’s not like we’re either a pleaser or a non-pleaser, but instead we belong on a spectrum. We may have moments of both, depending on the situation. We should all strive to listen to our Authentic Voice more often, but there may be times when the Social Survival Mammoth benefits us.
I still think “be yourself” is bad advice. I wasn’t trying to be someone else when I had my awkward interaction with the opener. It just happened that way based on the circumstances.
But what I shouldn’t have done was listen to my Mammoth, which was calling me “stupid idiot” my entire walk home that night. Instead, I should have listened to my Authentic Voice, which would have told me that the opener probably didn’t think twice about my app comment, and even if he did, that’s ok, because at least I tried.
Try listening to your Authentic Voice today. You’ll be surprised how little actually matters when you free yourself from the burden of your Mammoth.
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You know those embarrassing encounters you have that leave you questioning why you even left your house that day? The type of encounters that you think about days, months, or years later?
Well, I had one the other day.
I went to a concert in Philly for a relatively unknown artist this past Tuesday. The artist used to be more popular in the early 2010s but has since become less well known. I only went to the show because I needed to test a mobile app that the company I work for is developing.
The opener, sporting a fedora, walked out with an acoustic guitar. I sat at my table, ordered myself a personal margherita pizza and a Coke and thought to myself, “This might be a long night.”
The opener played a few songs, did a bit of crowd work, and got the audience ready for the headliner. I wasn’t too familiar with the headliner going into the show, but I was pleasantly surprised at how great the performance was. As I sat there, an idea popped into my head—what if I talked to the headliner about the app I’m testing? Maybe he will want to support it in some way.
The show ended, and the headliner encouraged everyone to come back to the merch table to say hello. There were only about 30-40 people at the show, so I figured, why not? I’ll wait in line and try to talk to him about the app.
Let me set the scene: there was a small corridor in which the merch table was set up. First, fans spoke to the opener, and then behind the opener was the headliner, and then behind the headliner was the exit door.
So there I was, waiting in line, and anticipation was starting to build. I was getting a little nervous. The voices in my head started having a battle.
What are you nervous for?
I don’t know, I get nervous waiting in lines to talk to people.
Well, you shouldn’t be nervous about this, you didn’t even know who this artist was 2 hours ago.
Well I am, ok? I’ll try to keep it under control.
Meanwhile, I noticed the woman in front of me was acting a bit peculiar. She was middle-aged, decked out in black clothing, and standing beside what I assume was her mother. I got the sense that she was behaviorally stunted, since she was acting the way a child might.
After waiting in line for about 10 minutes, the woman in front of me reached the opener. The woman exchanged a few comments, got her poster signed, and started to move on to speak to the headliner.
And then a very rapid succession of events happened.
The woman, walking backwards away from the opener, stared at him with wide eyes and started blowing kisses to him. The opener nervously waved goodbye to her. The headliner slipped out the exit door, avoiding an encounter with the woman. And I, now the last person in line, was left wondering what the hell just happened.
The opener, quickly adjusting, looked at me, extended his hand to shake mine, and said, “Hey man, thanks for coming to the show!”
Still confused about what just happened, and combined with my compounding nervousness, I responded:
“Hey… uh… it’s great to… uh… meet you. Thanks… uh… for an awesome show… I actually came here… uh… actually it’s a funny story… uh… I came to test an app.”
The opener looked at me like I had three heads.
Based on the way he looked at me, I have to imagine that he thought I was talking about an appetizer (not a mobile app). And although he didn’t say it, I could see his mind saying to himself: this is the weirdest fucking crowd we’ve had on tour.
The thing is, I never even intended to mention the app to the opener. I simply wanted to say hello to the opener, and then move on to the headliner to discuss the app. But, seeing that the headliner had left, I blurted out the part about the app.
I decided that it wasn’t worth explaining. I said thanks again to the opener and walked off.
As I left the venue, I couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. Even though I would never see the opener again, I was mad at myself for getting nervous in a situation where there was nothing to be nervous about. If I could’ve just played it cool, maybe I could have given him a demo of the app.
As I was reckoning with this moment over the past few days, I happened to stumble on an article from the Wait But Why blog titled “Taming the Mammoth: Why You Should Stop Caring What Other People Think.” The article is both hilarious, insightful, and certainly worth reading.
The author, Tim Urban, discusses how 50,000 years ago, “fitting in” was a survival mechanism for our long lost ancestors because they needed to be a part of a tribe in order to survive. Despite our civilization drastically changing over the past 50,000 years, we as humans have not evolved quite as much. And therefore, we still feel a desperate need to fit in. He calls this your Social Survival Mammoth, and my Mammoth was certainly yelling at me when I left the venue that night.
He goes on to explain that the opposite of the Social Survival Mammoth is the Authentic Voice. He says,
“Your Authentic Voice, somewhere in there, knows all about you. In contrast to the black-and-white simplicity of the Social Survival Mammoth, your Authentic Voice is complex, sometimes hazy, constantly evolving, and unafraid. Your AV has its own, nuanced moral code, formed by experience, reflection, and its own personal take on compassion and integrity. It knows how you feel deep down about things like money and family and marriage, and it knows which kinds of people, topics of interest, and types of activities you truly enjoy, and which you don’t. Your AV knows that it doesn’t know how your life will or should play out, but it tends to have a strong hunch about the right step to take next.”
This made me think a lot about something I wrote last week about how it’s bad advice when people tell you to “be yourself.” In the essay, I outline two types of people in the world:
The pleasers are likely always listening to their Social Survival Mammoth. They adjust their behavior because they feel the need to fit in and get approval from those around them.
The non-pleasers are listening more to their Authentic Voice. They don’t seek the approval of others, so they are able to act in a way that is more authentic to themselves.
After reading Tim Urban’s article, I realized that it’s not cut and dry. It’s not like we’re either a pleaser or a non-pleaser, but instead we belong on a spectrum. We may have moments of both, depending on the situation. We should all strive to listen to our Authentic Voice more often, but there may be times when the Social Survival Mammoth benefits us.
I still think “be yourself” is bad advice. I wasn’t trying to be someone else when I had my awkward interaction with the opener. It just happened that way based on the circumstances.
But what I shouldn’t have done was listen to my Mammoth, which was calling me “stupid idiot” my entire walk home that night. Instead, I should have listened to my Authentic Voice, which would have told me that the opener probably didn’t think twice about my app comment, and even if he did, that’s ok, because at least I tried.
Try listening to your Authentic Voice today. You’ll be surprised how little actually matters when you free yourself from the burden of your Mammoth.
