The Old Money Book

Like many people, I knew everything when I was young. And I was very certain of everything. And I was quick to share my certainty, and often loud and discourteous about it.

People who were more intelligent than me attempted to gently suggest and kindly query, with questions that might encourage circumspection and cast doubt in my too-full mind, but I would hear none of it.

I knew best, which is easy when you’ve learned just enough to be dangerous. Like the visible part of an iceberg. And me, captain of the Titanic.

Combine that attitude with a contempt for authority and being burned a couple of times as a result of taking other people’s advice (they had agendas that did not include my well-being) and you’ve got a psychological profile ripe for a long and winding–and occasionally bumpy–road.

Lucky for me I had the fundamentals of Old Money values drilled into my head early and often. It made the obstacles and adversities (somewhat) manageable. I had good role models and good habits. I just didn’t listen to other people very often.

In hindsight, I see why I acted the way I did, and I live with the results without much regret. (Everybody has some regrets.)

Presently, I have less certainty about most things and more certainty about a few things. I cock an eyebrow when I listen to people express confident, dogmatic opinions about the world. I see my younger, dumber self in them. I’ve learned that really smart people don’t share their knowledge or expertise freely. It’s often wasted on an audience that doesn’t have the intelligence, interest, or attention span to value what they’re hearing, or to put it to any effective use.

So why share it? When I do encounter these really smart people, I tread lightly. I ask thoughtful questions and then I shut up and listen. I draw them out gently, acknowledging my ignorance on the subject (whatever it is) and doing my best to reduce complex ideas into concise concepts.  This helps me be more certain that I’ve understood what someone has said, and that I could, if the occasion arose, convey the concept to someone else accurately.

I’ve been lucky. Since living in Europe, I’ve met more than a few really smart people. It’s actually a thrill and a relief to be the least intelligent person at a dinner party: I get to learn rather than be expected to share some entertaining anecdote about how and why I became the American Writer Abroad.

But I don’t always get off so easy. Smart people will only discuss themselves and their ideas or work for so long before they want to know a little more about the person they’re talking with. I speak about myself discreetly and fairly vaguely, having learned earlier in life that bragging or being the ‘armchair expert’ about something leaves one inevitably holding forth on a subject in front of someone who is actually a world-renowned expert in that very field.

I try to avoid this scenario by qualifying all of my declarative statements, making allowances for the opinions of others, and admitting that I may not know everything about the subject at hand.

When I do actually know a lot about a subject or at least more than most people, I tend to not share it. What’s the point? To win an argument? There’s no such thing. No one’s mind is going to be changed about anything I have to say…for the most part.

I may change minds and perspectives with the things I’ve written, but reading something and having the privacy, space, and time to consider it allow much more possibility for contemplation, review, and change than being on the receiving end of a pithy comment at a cocktail party. So I leave people with the comfort of their opinions most of the time.

I do make exceptions when someone is going to seriously hurt themselves or others if they hold onto their illusions or misguided intentions. If I can stop a train wreck, I will. The only thing worse than ignorance in danger is apathy toward it.

There is, however, a brick wall behind the hedge. Through experience, study, and insight, there are a few things that I absolutely know. No bold, bombastic argument or attempt at gentle persuasion will change my mind about democracy, duty, honor, and Charvet shirts.

All four are essential for civilization to not only survive, but to thrive.

None of them need be shouted from the rooftops: most of the time, we know then when we see them. We know when they are in peril, when they have been neglected, when they have been abandoned, when they have been mortgaged for a shorter term gain.

I do not hesitate to call these out, and I doubt that any regular readers of this blog would be surprised to hear it.

This is the slow wisdom that has been distilled within me. I am not being arrogant: it has been an arduous process, and I remain a poor student.

But I know what I know, and I know I’m still learning.

• BGT