Many folks have come to see that “American exceptionalism” is a toxic mind-set. A philosophy that somehow the folks who live in the U.S. are freer, better, more rugged, more enterprising, and morally superior by virtue of our beautiful country and superior form of government. It’s a belief that somehow each of us carries an awesome destiny and purpose just because we are born here.
Open-minded travel to other countries proves this is a lie. It’s not that the U.S. doesn’t have some awesome qualities. It’s that other countries do too, and many things better. We also have a lot of flaws, but pointing that out disturbs our self-image, so we tend to ignore them. So why does this myth persist? And why are those who point out its unreality so roundly vilified? What do we get out of believing ourselves to be “exceptional?” And what does that really mean to us personally?
I’m not even going to try to debunk the myth of American
exceptionalism, by the way. Lots of smart people have already done that. If you’re
reading my blog, you’re probably quite familiar with them and their arguments.
No, I’m going to talk about the personal side of things.
You see, most of us are taught from toddlerhood onward that
we are exceptional. That we must strive and achieve. That we must outperform
our peers. That we are made for greatness. Proud parents trumpet our
achievements to friends and family. Anxious parents monitor our report cards
and berate us for a poor mark or even a mediocre one. We’re signed up for
sports and dance and orchestra and we’re coached and tutored and cheered. If
you’re a parent, you’ve probably done all of these things. So what’s the
problem?
The problem is that greatness is always externally defined. Worry
about earning that validation takes the joy out of everyday living, fills us
with anxiety, causes us to lose touch with our inner selves, and discourages us
from doing the fun stuff in life.
An example. My oldest daughter went to an Irish dance performance at our local library when she was in middle school. She enjoyed it a lot and subsequently looked up a lot of Irish dance videos and determined it was something she wanted to learn. I found a local teacher and paid money I didn’t have for her to take lessons. We moved to a larger city and she found an Irish dance school there to join. She progressed quickly and showed an easy talent for learning the complicated step patterns.
Cool, right? But the problem is, the worldwide Irish dance
community is built entirely around competition. There’s a highly structured progression
– compete at a local feis, win 1-3 place, then progress to a regional
competition, again placing 1-3, and so on, with the target being competing at
the world championship in Dublin. Teachers and schools gain cache (and therefore
more students) by producing champions. In the ever-spiraling strain of
competition, fancier costumes and more intricate, challenging footwork is
encouraged. Dancers spend thousands of dollars on glittering outfits and risk
permanent injury from risky moves that put incredible strain on their feet and
legs.
If you just want to dance, not participate in all this nonsense,
there’s really no place for you in the Irish dance community. Dance as a
celebration, as a community-based activity, as an exploration of Irish culture,
as an expression of physical joy, is lost in the competitive furor. So folks like
my daughter, who love Irish dance but don’t want to (or can’t afford to) play
the competition game, just stop dancing.
“It’s such a shame she quit,” people tell me. “She was
really good. She could have been a champion.”
And so it goes. Whatever we do, we’re supposed to excel. And
excellence, of course, can be monetized.
I play violin. When was a teenager, I was quite good. I
played solos and I played in competitions. It was expected that I would
continue my music studies after high school. But I looked forward and saw how
intensely competitive the landscape was. I didn’t want to end up teaching music
in some middle school. I wanted to play Carnegie Hall, but I knew what the odds
were. I gave away my instrument and joined the Army.
Recently, I started playing again. I’m happy to play second in
our community amateur ensemble. I’m having fun and making music and getting better.
My goal is to hit most of the notes and support my fellow musicians. I’m learning
some reels and jigs to play for my daughter. Maybe we can just have fun with it.
We don’t even have to make a YouTube channel.
