Not that special

The world could do with a little more humility right now - meaning accepting that we're not that special and not acting as if we're hugely important or influential.

I see humility as the opposite of pride - which on the contrary is the bigging up of your own or other people's achievements as if they're fantastic.*

Personally I'm more prone to humility than pride. I'm quite self-effacing and I don't see myself as in any way exceptional. I'm just a very ordinary person doing very ordinary things.

If anyone suggests I'm special I promptly deny being any such thing. I'm just a grain of sand on the banks of the Ganges, as the Buddha supposedly put it.

I find it rather odd that people take pride in other people's achievements (especially their children), as if they themselves have achieved whatever it is. They seem to be looking for some sort of reflected glory.

But I wouldn't describe myself as humble, which unfortunately has come to mean grovelling and arse-licking rather than just being ordinary. I prefer to say I'm modest or unassuming.

Many public figures develop a view of themselves as extra-special because of all the attention paid to them by the media and by the general public. They mistake attention for genuine appreciation and respect.

Politicians in particular strut around as if they're the bee's knees and as if the world revolves around them. I hate to break it to them, but they're just temporary public servants who might be replaced at any moment.

* Isn't pride a form of boasting?

Shrinking violet

Carla Bruni may have a compulsive need to exhibit herself and be in the public eye, but I'm the exact opposite. I crave anonymity and invisibility and avoid public scrutiny wherever possible.

I know that if I come to other people's attention, sooner or later they'll be judging me and maybe finding me wanting. Simply by noticing me, they make me self-conscious, self-doubting and abruptly shy. Even being publicly thanked for something is mildly embarrassing.

I'd hate to have a job where I'm regularly exposed to large numbers of people, or even worse to have to make speeches or presentations to them. I'd hate to be a celebrity or someone suddenly thrust into the limelight by some newsworthy event.

But it's not fashionable, not "normal" to be so reticent. It's supposed to be natural to want attention, to want an audience, to want others to recognise you and appreciate you. We all love someone who's the "life and soul of the party". Or do we?

Some people (like Carla Bruni) don't feel they really exist unless others are acknowledging them and referring to them. Without that constant attention, they feel incomplete, insubstantial, vestigial.

I have no doubt at all that I exist. To me, my identity is as solid as a rock. I don't need others to convince me of the fact, or to turn me into flesh and blood. I see no need to display myself to the rest of the world. What I see in the mirror is good enough for me.

Are you listening?

How easy it is not to pay proper attention to other people. Not to listen properly, not to take in everything they’re saying, not to register the nuances and subtleties and little details. How easy it is to be distracted, to let your mind wander.

I think it’s one of the most insulting things you can do, to listen to someone with only half an ear as if what they’re saying isn’t really important or interesting or valid. As if you’ve got something much more exciting lined up and you’re only listening to them out of politeness.

In today’s hectic world, it’s so common to be thinking of something else while you’re outwardly paying attention. What you were doing an hour ago, or what you’ll be doing in an hour’s time. Some domestic or marital or family crisis. A big news story. Some detail of the other person’s clothing or appearance. Anything but the full content of what they’re saying.

I think I’m listening to someone carefully. Then they say something that makes it clear I was miles away. The row with their husband? What row? When did they mention that? And I have to somehow tease out the details without revealing that I had drifted off for a while.

Listening, true listening, is a huge talent that many of us don’t possess. We have to keep on working at it. It always astounds me when someone really listens to me, so attentively they can recall every little detail of what I told them, even things I barely mentioned.

The trouble is, we’re all so busy nowadays that we’ve got used to only half-attending to people, and used to other people only half-attending to us. A lot of the time we don’t even realise we’re distracted, we think we’re fully present. It comes as a jolt when something makes our inattention glaringly obvious.

The psychoanalyst Stephen Grosz says that what every person wants is to know they’re worth thinking about, that they’re not just an irrelevant nothing. And you can only feel that if other people are fully engaged with you. Nobody likes that glossed-over feeling.

One track mind

I'm absurdly unmasculine most of the time, but in one way I'm typically male. I'm complete shite at multi-tasking.

Give me two things to do at the same time and I'm guaranteed to mess them both up. Cook a meal and read the paper? You can be sure I'll end up burning the pasta and not taking in anything I'm reading. If I try to split my mind between two things, each half seizes up and confusion sets in.

Jenny however is typically female here and can multi-task easily. She'll do the ironing, listen to the radio, plan an academic article and check her emails - and do it all competently. She switches from one to the other effortlessly, somehow keeping everything in focus.

That's all very well, says the average bloke, but attending to one thing at a time just has to produce better results than spreading your brain all over the shop. How can you possibly do four things at once and do them all properly?

It's galling to admit, but actually women probably do do all four things properly. Homing in on one thing doesn't necessarily pay. You can get stuck in a mental rut, going round and round in circles. Whereas hopping between different things keeps the brain flexible and stimulated, keeps the creative juices circulating.

But I'm hopeless at it. I can't even have a conversation and do something else at the same time. If I don't concentrate totally on what I'm saying, the words stop flowing, I get confused, and I end up stuttering like a lunatic.

Jenny knows not to talk too much when I'm driving in case my attention wanders and the next thing you know I'll be hurtling through red traffic lights, knocking down innocent old ladies and skidding into shop windows.

I suspect it's not a natural male trait, it's the way I was brought up. Multi-tasking was simply not expected of me because "boys just can't do it, can they?" So surprise surprise, I became as incapable as they assumed. And a one-track mind is the consequence.