“Oh, will you grow up!”

I heard this a lot as a boy, especially from my two older sisters. Perhaps to counter their disapproval, or through some genetic trait or developmental defect, I acquired an attitude toward life that can be best summed up by what a boss said to me when I was twenty-two:

“Alan, you’re only young once, but you can be immature forever.”

I don’t wisecrack when I feel uncomfortable as much as I used to because I’ve learned that those jokes frequently get me in trouble. I still hear “Oh, grow up!” occasionally, but now more often it’s “Will you please act your age!”

I used to think there was some archetypal age when I would be “grown up.” When I was six, I thought it might happen when I was a teenager; when I turned thirteen I thought it would happen when I was sixteen. And sixteen was awesome; I got my license and put the ’53 Dodge I bought when I was fourteen on the road. But it quickly became clear that rolling a pack of cigarettes up in my tee-shirt sleeve and driving with my left arm resting out the window didn’t really make me grown up, which more than one policeman was happy to point out to me.

Then it was draft age (nope), then age twenty-one when I’d be grown up. It was true I could vote and drink, but voting wasn’t such a thrill and, in college, I’d already proven that drinking definitely didn’t add anything to my maturity. I remember whining to my father when I realized that it was time to stop trying to earn a living as an actor and get a real job. “I can’t believe I am twenty-three years old and I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up!”

“Do what I did,” he said softly.

“What?  Become a printer? You’re always telling me it’s a dying trade!” I exploded in my truculent twenty-something angst.

“No. . . .  don’t grow up.” He smiled.

I didn’t appreciate it then, but Ray Culler was on to something. He died one night when he was ninety-five. Earlier that day, he was “cutting up” with the nursing staff. “He had us in stitches,” one nurse said. Maybe being grown up isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, after all.

Then I was married with children, still waiting for the mythical maturity to be bestowed upon me by my advanced age. Oh, I was responsible. I had worked since I was thirteen, had had lots of jobs, paid off car loans, and had a mortgage by twenty-six, but somehow I never felt grown up.

I’ve often looked at others who seemed a great deal more together than me. They usually seemed older, whether they actually were or not.

Sometimes I feel like a grownup and am annoyed when I’m treated like a child. I’m not alone. On the morning commuter train to New York recently, the conductor walked into the full car and wanted everyone to get out their tickets to speed up the process. What she said was, “Okay, kids, let’s get this done.”

The thirty-something woman crammed into the seat next to me muttered, “There are no kids on this train.” 

“At my age, I’m starting to feel like it’s a compliment,” I said in what I thought were soothing tones. Her expression told me that she did not share my view.

I have come to learn that one’s idea of maturity is individual and personal. It comes from inside. Twenty years ago I was talking to a client who was the founder and CEO of a $1 billion media company. Here was a man who traveled by private jet and limo, and owned five houses around the country, two of them in communities whose names began with the word “Palm.” He was complaining that an employee had referred to him snidely as “comfortable.” “I’m not rich,” he boomed and then quickly named two other well-known media executives. “Now those guys are the real grown-ups in this business.” He was in his mid-sixties at the time.

It strikes me that feeling grownup doesn’t happen at any magical age. It can’t be bestowed by others and shouldn’t be derived by comparing yourself to others or having others compare themselves to you.

On one project years ago, a forty-something independent consultant was talking about the difficulty our client was having prioritizing strategic actions. “It seems obvious to me that they can’t do everything. I find myself thinking, ‘Oh my God, ‘I’m the grown-up in the room.’”

“That’s never happened to me,” I cracked. We laughed, but his espousing greater maturity probably didn’t help others to become unstuck.  Perhaps you’ve seen those signs in parking garages and along the road that show your speed in real time in big yellow lights. Turns out they work better than anything at getting people to slow down because you “see” that you are speeding.

Fitbit, which measures your activity in steps and allows you to compare yourself against yourself, is a very successful tool for losing weight and getting fit because the feedback compares yourself to a goal you’ve set, not what someone else wants you to do.

Seems like comparing yourself to others only makes you vain or unhappy. Comparing yourself to a realistic view of yourself can create the motivation to change.

Recently, I had lunch with a friend who is seventeen years younger than me. He had consistently struggled to get projects in his chosen field. He had difficulty in relationships. Our past conversations had always been laced with his self-comparisons to others who were richer, or more established, or luckier. This, however, was a different conversation. He said, “I have come to realize I am basically happy with who I am. This year I am going to listen a bit more, speak a little less and try to be less judgmental.”

Wow, I thought. He seems so grown up. Maybe I could get there someday.

The picture above is of our granddaughter, McKenna, when she was ten. Now that she is older, I hope she isn’t too “grown up” to climb trees.

“That’s just WRONG!”

I was stunned. Twenty-one and newly married, I was living with a member of the opposite sex who wasn’t my mother or my sister for the first time.

“LOOK, I appreciate that you changed the toilet paper roll when you used the last of it, but you are going to have to learn to DO IT THE RIGHT WAY! The paper must come out from the TOP of the roll where it is easy to grab, NOT from the bottom of the roll where it gets lost and you’ve got to touch the roll to find the end. VERY UNSANITARY!”

I grew up in a household that was an underhand TP domicile. I never thought about it much. Much later my sister explained the rational for placing the toilet paper roll so the paper comes out the bottom.

“When it comes out the bottom you are likely to tear off less toilet paper as opposed to when it comes out the top and the paper tends to keep rolling and go everywhere. Plus, the cat loves to play with an overhand roll, batting at it until the TP is all over the bathroom.”

This proves that there are logical reasons (rationalizations?) for either preference. But at twenty-one, faced with the evaluation that I was doing it “WRONG,” I quickly acquiesced to becoming an overhand TP domicile. Fortunately, my second wife also runs an overhand house so I have remained on the side of TP rectitude, except when I visit my sister.

The clash of small domestic preferences and habits often happens early in a marriage, if not between the bride and groom then certainly between them and the in-laws. My new father-in-law, Stewart was a big man, very conservative, and I was an anti-Vietnam war-hippie-type; we didn’t agree on much.

We did, however, really enjoy watching All in the Family together. He identified with Archie Bunker, the right-wing main character, and I identified with his son-in-law, Michael, who Archie not-so-affectionately called Meathead.

One scene started with Archie coming in to hurry Michael along getting dressed Michael put on his left sock and then put on his left boot. Archie was incensed.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What’re are ya doin’ der?! The whole world puts on a sock and a sock and then a shoe and a shoe and there you are doin’ it all WRONG!”

The bit goes on with each of them rationalizing his preferred way of putting on shoes and socks.

“With my way, if there’s a fire and I hafta leave I have on a sock and a sock. It’s even, see?”

“But if it’s raining, with your way your feet get wet whereas I can hop around and still be dry.”

Stewart and I laughed and laughed and it prompted a comparative discussion of preferences.

His mother always told him to button his shirt up so he started at the bottom button; I, on the other hand, started at the top button. He believed that by visually lining up the bottom button he would be less likely to button incorrectly. “You have to look in a mirror to do that.” “No, I don’t; I just feel the top button and the hole.”

Stewart steadfastly maintained that you should put on your shirt first and then your pants. Otherwise, he maintained, “You’re always buttoning and unbuttoning your pants, first to hold them up while you get your shirt, then to tuck your shirt in.”

I put on my pants first and then my shoes so I protect both the creases in my pants and my ironed shirt by tucking it in last.Our comparisons went on for some time. Perhaps because the conversation started with a comedy routine, we didn’t turn our evaluations of preferences into a moral imperative. “That’s just WRONG!”

All too often, in marriages, in the workplace, in politics, what start out as simple preferences become habits and then internalized as the RIGHT WAY. Consequently, a different preference, which has become someone else’s habit, is the WRONG WAY. I am making light of these disagreements, but for some people and some preferences this can become a holy war. We must convert the other to the moral imperative of OUR WAY to avoid the penalty of eternal damnation for us all.

I know women for whom the way of doing some household tasks is so important that they would rather do all household tasks rather than let their “idiot husband” do the work. In some cases the husband, being no fool, lets them do that. I also know some men who feel protective about taking care of the family car, or anything that requires mechanical, electrical, or carpentry skill. Their wives, not being stupid, let them do all that stuff.

What starts out as a mild preference quickly becomes a habit and then creates a kind of belonging.

Brand loyalty is like that. We start out slightly preferring Ford F-150 pickup trucks over Chevy Silverados and over time become F-150 people. Or Charmin people, not Scott people. Or Harley people and definitely NOT any other kind of motorcycle people.

Sports teams tend to drive that sense of belonging as well. Sometimes sports tribalism comes about because you grew up in Boston and everyone rooted for the then-hopeless pre-2004 Red Sox when they played the Evil Empire New York Yankees. Or if your city doesn’t have a team, you adopt some other city’s team. Then you hang out with others of that preference and suddenly you are chanting “Let’s Go Mets.” Or waving the Terrible Towel.

Clearly, I think that preferences or even habits are unworthy of moral imperative or Armageddon.  But sometimes I feel alone in that view.

In business I saw battles over which inventory valuation process to use (last in first out, LIFO, or first in first out, FIFO). I saw true believers in LEAN spout many reasons why Six Sigma is wrong as a continuous improvement system. Really? Can’t we just agree to improve?

There are some preferences over which we have little control; perhaps they are genetic. Left- or right-handedness is technically a preference. Most people believe you are born with this preference for one hand or the other. My father was born with a left hand preference. In 1904, left-handedness was seen as WRONG by adults in his life. These adults tied his left hand behind his back, so he developed the habit of using his right hand.

Dad could use either hand for many things. When he taught me how to hammer he would hammer with his right hand and then switch to his left, not missing a strike. It frustrated me that I’d have to stop to rest, and his two arms were twice as productive. To this day, I still can’t hammer with my left hand.

In my part of the world, right- or left- handedness is accepted as an insignificant preference, neither right nor wrong. However, in some places where toilet tissue isn’tubiquitous, cleanliness requires using your left hand for hygiene and your right hand for other tasks including contact with others. In these cultures, using your left hand to hand something to someone is not just a poor preference. It is wrong.

It is worth considering what is a preference, what is a habit, and what is truly a moral imperative.

In the United States we routinely discuss how much of personality is genetic (nature) and how much is environmental (nurture.) This kind of absolute vs. relative debate now includes personality traits about which some people have deeply held values, e.g., gender and sexuality.

Here and elsewhere in the world, many have turned politics into moral imperatives. Turning one’s own belief, preference, or habit into a moral imperative for someone else seems mean-spirited at best and hateful at worst. How does one discuss or compromise about a moral imperative?

We might individually prefer more or less government or more or less safety net; we might think problems are best solved militarily or diplomatically; or argue over how much debt is too much. We might choose our own personal liberty over public health regulations based upon our own risk preferences, but is it fair to say that others must share those risk preferences?

In some cases, we have moved from preference to contend that those who have different preferences are wrong. Not only are “they” wrong, but they are an “existential threat.” The pride of belonging to our tribe has become destructive. We can’t abide those in another tribe.

In my own life, I’ve come to the following conclusions:

• Some preferences and habits, like toilet paper roll placement, are largely irrelevant. I’m happy to do whatever makes peace.
• Some preferences and habits fall into the “live and let live” column. “You button your shirt your way, and I’ll button mine my way, and we never have to discuss this again.”
• For those preferences and habits that affect both of us, we have to talk. We focus first on where we agree and compromise where we don’t.
• Seriously question moral imperatives and holy wars. Most of the time the hill isn’t worth dying on.

This isn’t to say that everything is relative or that there isn’t a right and wrong. There are issues of moral imperative, but they are fewer than many espouse today, and they certainly don’t include which way the TP comes off the roll.

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