Gifted. Giftedness? Intellectual Fucking Giftedness. You know, that Advanced, Intelligent, Smart Kid? That Eccentric, Effervescent, Excitable, Freakish Geekish Idiosyncratic Jerky Odd Mental Quiet Quirky Lightning Rod of a Sharp Strange Troublemaking Weird Ass Kid? Xth¹ Grade Elementary Class, shuffled off X Classes A Day, or X Days A Week, to a Mysterious “Gifted” Schooling Existence. That Smart Ass? Well, that was me. Now all grown up! Eh, somewhat, but not really. 40's in my head, 30's — Wait no, 20's, in this reality. In this universe, where I am still alive and ̶ ̶k̶i̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶ coasting, having debated to not answer The Call to jump off that 23rd Floor, Rooftop Private Patio, on a Condo Up Top Toronto. That “Gifted Kid”, who is not so fucking “Gifted” anymore… Except for the realization that throughout writing this introspectively honest Magnum Opus, exploring the Modus Operandi² of the Gifted Label and it’s stigmatic strife, I really wish the 1 thing they taught me in those professedly irrelevant Gifted Classes was if they were right — AND THEY WERE— It really was GIFTED 4 LIFE.
EDITOR’S NOTES (As in My Own Current Editing Note):
¹ So Medium.com jerked the format of the site. Why yes, my Gifted creativity got me burned, again, specifically the creative way I used the now defunct Annotations.
² This Piece (Mostly, the Margins, Notes & said Annotations) is under some slight re-construction.
Intellectually Gifted, just so we’re clear. That “Gifted”, in it’s popularly used short-form. I’m taking it literally, semantically. So trust me, I understand The Look associated with the word when discussing Gifted. Its misconceptions, misunderstandings. Its preconceived notions. Its elitist illusions, that were conjectured just by reading out loud “The Gifted Class”. FUCK.¹ THAT. NOISE.
I know you can’t talk openly about this shit — I mean, you barely even think about looking it up — But here I am, doing something I’m not suppose to be doing, again. Gifted¹ is almost one of those things where If You Get It, You Get It, and if you don’t, you don’t. But I’m just Calling A Spade, A Spade. So… GIFTED; Not the dressed up adjective, but the seemingly innate trait of intellectual ability and talent — In the early developmental, schooling system sense. Like, Gifted Classes, Gifted Programs — Gifted And Talented Education, is what I’m referring to. But absolutely not necessarily about.
Therefore, not quite Gifted Clairvoyant Medium I See Dead People; Or Young And Gifted, and Gifted And 6'5 like the cool kids are into — The Albert Einstein / Good Will Hunting / Sharon Stone Style of Intellectually Gifted is the reference point¹ I’m referring to. Important distinction, that really needs to be more distincted² when referring to said Gifted.
And as pretentious as the playground definition¹ has got Gifted twisted, alongside the polarizing stigma that surrounds speaking about the subject, ON TOP of The Complex I’ve developed over it — It’s an actual thing. I mean, it’s really me. Maybe it’s you? Or somebody you know, though this may be the worst resource you can refer to, because my self-education of what My Gifted Experience Is, Through My First Hand Account² really has been a unique journey, one where I hope to edutain by sharing my p̶a̶i̶n brain. Or at least, sprinkle several hovering hyperlinked sources that somewhat supports my crack theory.
From being randomly tested in class one day in Grade 2 or 3, to being selected for 1 V 1 meetings with School District Psychologists, in a Community Room being used as makeshift Psychiatric Office, with things like K’NEX, and an Rorschach Inkblot Test, spread out on the Pool Table. Then from Passing The Tests, to being Labelled a Gifted Student, and pulling out of regular class the next year, for one day a week to go to another school further away. Except this other regular school was where all the other random kids¹ in the same grade who also tested as Gifted, from other schools in the district, were rounded up together on an empty 3rd Floor, as part of the Gifted Program for the next several years, give or take². At the time, I didn’t really like these other strange weird kids, but I was too young and stupid to understand OH THE IRONY. Anyways, hopefully in setting this scene from my side of the world, you can somewhat relate to this actually common scenario.
Or maybe you were fortunate/unfortunate enough to have avoided, skipped, slipped through, or just flat out “forgot” about the Gifted Identification System altogether? While maybe, Dropping Out; Tried Homeschooling; Didn’t have the actual resources; Weren’t encouraged; Or however you didn’t get caught up in the Gifted Social Suicide Squad¹. Obviously, it’s not a Rule about Being Intellectually Gifted and being Labelled Gifted, but THE LABEL does add another layer to the G-Factor. A Double Edged Sword it was, if you will.
So while I’m coming from that Gifted Label angle, I’d like to think Gifted Kids are Cut From The Same Cloth. Team Gifted, I say, fully knowing how ridiculous that notion is, and no one ever says that. Either way, what even is this actual Intellectual Giftedness I’m RAMBLING on about? Well, this Medium piece is essentially me trying to break it all down, exploring the M.O. The Method To The Madness.
Gifted… Gifted is a skill set of mental characteristics. Ah, but a paradox of sorts. A Doubled Edged Sword. Essentially, An Intellectual Ability Significantly Advanced, At An Earlier Age. An exceptional mental capability, with an extraordinary outset potential. An Intelligence Quotient in social grandeur, an Emotional Intelligence in seemingly frivolity. A very particular set of skills, Skills I have acquired over a very short career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. Wait, what?
FOCUS! Is a mantra I repeat to myself, to keep my thoughts on track, thanks to the side effects of Attention Deficiency. Now, where was I? Ah yes, Gifted is not Taken (Wherein which I entertained myself referencing Liam Neeson). Gifted is given. Hence, Gifted. Got it? Good! Ah, but gifted by what, gifted by whom? That, is an existential question (for another day).
This Gifted type of intelligence and perspectives not earned at the Age of 3. I mean, how could it be? So, about those particular set of characteristics? Well, let me try and rhyme off what I’ve learned throughout the years from the several sources I’ve searched engrossingly. From Psychology Today to Talent Development; And from The Gifted Adult to my favourite, TWITTER¹.
Let me channel my Empathy, by presenting the following Gifted Characteristical Paradoxical Potpourri:
- A Driven Need To Know
- Intellectually Curious, But Calculatory
- Just Knowing The Answers, Yet Asking More Questions
- Questioning Rules And Authority
- Reading At An Advanced Rate
- Having An Exceptional Memory
- Grasping Mature Concepts At An Early Age (Like Existential Depression)
- Asynchronous Puberty
- Intellectually Intense, Maybe Even Obsessed
- Learning Expeditiously
- A Divergent Imagination
- An Over-Excitability
- Adventurous, With A Knack To Discover
- Autodidacticism and Developing Precociously
- Difficulties Focusing
- Multitalented, Or A Multipotentiality
- Dissatisfaction With The Status Quo
- Rebellious and Acting Out Capriciously
- Idealistic, Seeing The Best
- Believing In Yourself Or An Entelechy
- Highly Self-Aware, Self-Conscious, Self-Critical
- An Over-Excitability, An Excruciatingly Heightened Sensitivity
- Empathetic, Intuitive, Restless
And that was just a little taste of this intellectual salmagundi. So basically, a lame set of intellectual superpowers. One where you can seemingly Hear The Singing Of The Flowers.
This is My Gifted, My Curse. An asynchronicity of an advanced intelligence at a youthful age. A paradox of conflicting, complex emotions and feelings. A label that categorizes your entire life. All equaling a distorted perspective on how to deal with, and apply said, Intellectual Giftedness into the real world. And yes, I threw in that Spider-Man reference. So my curse, The Curse Of The Gifted? That includes this other side of the Mental Health Spectrum:
- ADD to OCD
- ADHD to ODD
- Anxiety to Insomnia
- Astigmatism to Myopia
- Dyslexia to Dyscalculia¹
- Clumsiness to Dyspraxia²
- Bi-Polar to Multiple Personality Disorder
- Or maybe Autism or Asperger’s
- Or how about Imposter Syndrome, You Self-Saboteur
- Hearing constantly refrains of “Are You Crazy?” or “Why Are You Lazy”³
- A “Late Bloomer”
- Having Inappropriate Off-The-Wall Humour
- Deep Empathy To Neighbours And World Affairs
- Having Vivid Memories, to Suffering Vivid Nightmares
- Heavy Guilt⁴, or Soul Slicing Shame
- Constantly Comparing Yourself, And Coming Up Incredibly Lame
- High Sensitivities, from Feeling to Smelling to Hearing
Just descriptions of this abstract Gifted Problems/Gifted Complex™ that I’m convinced is An Actual Thing. Essentially, the feelings inside that your body and mind might be wrecked — All just a sampling of a Bubbling Venn Diagram of surrounding side effects.
WHY YES! It does appear Intellectual Giftedness and Learning Disabilities Often Go Hand In Hand! Again, it’s the other Edge of The Sword. And when that side is especially sharp, it’s known as being Twice Exceptional. But when it isn’t diagnosed, it is known as something else, which crumbles under the various Misdiagnosis And Dual Diagnosis of Intellectually Gifted Individuals. Intellectual Giftedness Should Not Be Confused with Mental Disorder. But that’s how stigmatic discussing Intellectual Giftedness¹ can really be. If not properly identified, it can manifest as a something else, band-aiding the situation without putting Polysporin². Ah, The Misunderstood Face Of Giftedness.
I haven’t even explored Giftedness in a rounded form through Multiple Intelligence Theory. And I won’t, because I don’t have any real in-depth knowledge on the subject (yet). But I do know I like those rounded concepts—Bodily Kinesthetic, Intrapersonal, Interpersonal, Logical Mathematical, Musical, Naturalistic, Verbal Linguistic, Visual Spatial, and Existential — Over 1 set “IQ” Number¹— That was determined as a kid that will live on with me, all because I did well on a random Not Monday Morning where I happened to have a delicious and nutritious breakfast on 8+ hours of sleep probably, with a healthy physical condition, especially when hearing or seeing, with English as my First Language and even a Teacher Recommendation, or whatever else ridiculously FORTUNATE set of circumstances that helped me achieved an ultimately abstract measuring stick figure known as an “Intelligence Quotient”.
(I like to lie and say my IQ is along the lines of, “ I Don’t Know, Maybe 169, Bow Chicka Wow Wow, I’m A Virgin.” Surprisingly, not socially effective.)
But funny enough? All of these terms and concepts I’ve presented were not even broached in my childhood “Gifted Program” experience, well because, Childhood. Looking back, I don’t give a damn if it was childhood, y’all got to at least introduce us Gifted Kids to the long road ahead. It’s like, no one bothered to explain What Does Gifted Even Mean? Or asked How Do You Feel About Being Gifted? Or even provided a guidebook or instruction manual like How To Chicken Soup For The Gifted Kid Soul¹ they were so focused on the Gifted Class Curriculum, like Debating Artificial Intelligence, Presentations Of Endangered Species, C̶h̶i̶l̶d̶ ̶L̶a̶b̶o̶u̶r Planting Flowers and Growing Gardens, Dissecting Frogs and Mice, Watching A Beautiful Mind, or Rain Man, or whatever else wacky ideas our eccentric Gifted Teachers tried to exclusively stimulate us Gifted Kids.
They didn’t really instill critical, useful, common things, like
- Channeling Your Intensity
- Developing Proper Studying Habits
- How To Fail
- Keeping Your Heart Rate In Check
- How To ACTUALLY Believe In Yourself
- Self-Confidence, Self-Esteem, even Self-Actualization
- Avoiding The Pitfalls Self-Criticism, Self-Doubt, Self-Harming, Self-Sabotage
- How To Small Talk and Socialize
- Tips To Stop Losing The Pencil You’re Writing With
- Struggling With The Seemingly Simplest Shit
- Going To Sleep Mechanisms, As Sleep Is Important
- Time Management Skills
- The Stock Market, Who Cares If I’m 12
- Where To Develop My Right Arm That Can Really Throw A Baseball² Even Though What I Enjoy Isn’t A So Called Intellectual Pursuit; Or
- Winging It Just Won’t Cut It One Day
Well, at least they instilled in us “Critical Thinking”. I love Critical Thinking. Critical Thinking is also a seemingly innate characteristic, that all Gifted Programs really did was just give this thinking process a term to call it. Critical Thinking is also why I have cited Wikipedia so much, alongside other trustworthy resources, because I trust Critical Thinking to help take what one can from this, and toss the irrelevant filler into the intellectual trash. Critical Thinking: Not just a buzzword, but a mantra, a way of life. And maybe even, a future tattoo addition¹.
Anyways, there comes This Wall in life one day, where some of us¹ JUST SLAM into, as The Emotions or The Feels of “Being Gifted” just flat out outweigh The Cares, The Learnings, or The Fucks Given about Being Gifted, as the flame appears to burn out. The Dark Implications, of Gifted Intelligence, if you will. Trust Me (At least anecdotally)—They’re not necessarily unique problems — Which is OK !— It’s really a set of shared, common, Gifted Problems.
As a Highly Sensitive, super self-conscious individual from an early age, I’ve always felt extreme emotions and feelings from the ordinary — The lighting in the room, the smell outside the window, the tags on my t-shirt — Sensory Overload, anyone? And then the other kind of emotions and feelings that came: The cutting DISSES of being called “Gifted”. The kids talking shit behind my back where I could hear conversations across the room using my Tests or Report Cards as a measuring stick. The ridiculous feelings of being easily embarrassed, or ashamed at being incorrect. So much so, I became right every time I didn’t speak up, and felt incredibly guilty at letting teachers down when no one else in class provided the actual answer¹. These feelings probably stemmed from my abilities to hear things I maybe shouldn’t hear, to read between the lines, to feel body language, and to understand what isn’t being said and why.
Other sensitivity issues I face include, how I am not a fan of confrontation. Where I unwillingly let little things bother me more than they should. Or when I talk to myself, I can actually feel the piercing looks¹. And even getting embarrassed for, or on behalf, of people. This sensitiveness maybe masked by cockiness was followed by sheepishness — From being the best fastest first, to eventually, last, because I became bored, unchallenged and didn’t care where, or even if, I finished.
My Mother always warned me about Aesop’s Fable of The Hare And The Tortoise. And even though I am in no historic position to, I always challenge the adage of Mother Knows Best (And usually lose). I started sailing along with the curriculum. Started reading just enough to pass the test. Started changing grades or screwing around mischievously, technologically, with the Teachers lackadaisical (Well, unwarranted) Grade Marking Measures. I lost that sharp competitive edge, where eventually The Pain Of Failing was more cutting than The Pain of Trying.
Somewhere along that line of Dumbing Myself Down¹, and/or Trying To Fit In (And failing), where telling my parents I’m Going To The Library became another manipulative lie², where I would just drop by to return books I had borrowed, then went biking across the city instead — I got into a lot of mischief. That I was just still clever enough to get myself out of. I was eventually able to channel that mischievous energy by immersing myself into various sports, even though, again, it wasn’t a so called Intellectual Pursuit. I eventually learned that it was OK to have pursuits that were, normal.
Where now I realize normal is not a feeling I really have, now matter how hard I strive. Especially in the normal AND abnormal instances where I wanted to cry, but just had to hold my head high. Fighting back the public, physical tears streaming down a red face, which I eventually learned to get good at, and hide. Now 15+ years without tears and counting! Sniffle, sniffle.
They really should have taught us how to deal with this whole normalcy thing in Gifted Class. Like, it’s OK to not feel normal; Or, the feelings of being constantly uncomfortable; How to exist outside the comfort zone; Or Being Hated On For Being Smart¹; Even just the whole Square Peg, Round Hole conundrum Gifted Kids tend to constantly find themselves in.
So I learned to pull my intellectual punches. Wherein which I now regularly hear the paradoxical criticisms of, You’re So Smart! Shouldn’t You Be Smart? I Thought You Were Smart… Not So Smart Anymore, Eh Smart Guy? Are You Trying To Be A Smart Ass? Did You Not See The Stop Sign You Fucking Idiot? License, Insurance And Registration Please.
Every day I am reminded of my intellectual difference. Let’s take that daily mundane drive: I don’t accelerate into fresh red lights. I know precisely when lights turn green. I know exactly how much time I can spend on my phone. I don’t block intersections, I actually overcompensate space for people who do. I roll through Stop Signs¹, except of course when there are pedestrians or vehicles or a reason to stop for. I coast using momentum, as I value ̶T̶h̶e̶ ̶L̶a̶w̶s̶ ̶O̶f̶ ̶M̶o̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ Fuel Efficiency (To be honest).
I don’t just blindly pull over to the right when I see emergency vehicles in the rear view. I get out of the way, if I’m in the way. I even clearing paths for said emergency vehicles. I recall unique vehicles and distinct drivers. I remember who cuts me off. I recognize faces randomly, and then act as if I don’t, because they most certainly don’t remember me. And I am super self-aware and self-conscious of what is going on around me. So when the horn gets layed into me, and I’m not drowsily drifting off the road², I understand people don’t see things the way I see it, because being honked at is undeserved 90% of the time, because my common sense isn’t common sense, which isn’t so common.
Essentially, that illustration of the boring drive is an experience enhanced by this unique intellectual aspect lens that I see the world through. I happen to notice details, appreciate the intricacies, and see the little things. Experience Is In The Detail, they say, where my Giftedness overcompensates for my lack of actual experience.
And yes, at the end of the road, I realize how irrelevant my enhanced driving skills are, especially when sitting in Rush Hour scrolling through Twitter. Just an encapsulation of my over-thinking.
Sticking with this Driving Analogy I’ve been painting; Intellectual Giftedness is akin to driving a Sports Car. It’s the Car’s Engine that Drives The Body. Therefore, the Highly Intelligent Mind (The High Horse-Powered Engine, if you’re following along this terrible analogy) is one where it’s Engine has enabled the ability to drive and handle it’s body faster, therefore getting to Point X faster, whatever Point X may be¹. While potentially faster than the other vehicles on the road, it’s still sharing the road in this world, of course. Which means dealing with other vessels in life — Random Vehicles, Rusty Vans, Cop Cars, Slow Trucks, Entitled Escalades, Pretentious Porches, Douche Bags Who Don’t Signal And Cut You Off, Assholes Who Don’t Wave To Acknowledge Your Charity — All the while stuck in mind-numbing stop-and-go, but hopefully scenic and interesting traffic.
At the end of the day, the world is a road shared by everyone on their own journeys, and the Sports Cars destination (Sports Car Engine representing the High Intellect Mind, remember) is determined by how well the Driver can actually handle the wheel, and how they deal with the complete unique experience from behind the wheel, in the driver’s seat. Maybe the driver was gifted¹ the sports car at a young age, which of course is a totally different driving experience than working many years to be able to drive a sports car; How about driving with a broken off side view mirror; Or an engine that hasn’t been oiled; Stepping on the gas and brake pedals with a sprained right ankle; Hitting traffic after missing the road report on the radio on the 1's; The general attentiveness to the road while distracting themselves trying to hide the phone below the window peek level; And maybe, trying to cheat the GPS and ending up lost as fuck.
And if it isn’t evident, I love to drive. Maybe, subliminally — it’s because it’s the one thing in life I have some sort of control over.
Well at least that’s how I’d describe my experience, metaphorically driving my beat up and dented Mental Mercedes McLaren, looking to upgrade my life to a Rolls Royce Wraith, yet lost out on the road not knowing how to get there.
People have vehicles and may not really care as to what is going on under the hood, to get where they’re going. Seeing as I’ve broken down, and have had to build it back up again, I DO care as to what is going on under said hood/inside my head. Because I now know my Gifted mind has not been pushed to enjoy it’s analogous 300+ KM/Hour capability, all the while where I’ve been lackadaisically coasting along Life’s Highway, watching all the fast cars zoom by.
Or even, seemingly tauntingly, park right beside me:
Does Gifted mean I’m better than anyone else on Life’s Road? Do I Think I’m Better Than Everyone Else? Do I Think I’m Too Good, Too Smart For This? Absolutely not. Even though I’ve heard that common criticism, too many times, being “Gifted”.
BUT… I guess it does help me be better. How? I’m constructive, deeply empathetic, and in tune with humanity. I’m not destructive, judgmental, or a piece of crap human garbage devolved neanderthal useless bigot who talks shit too much and deserves a beat down. I’d like to think I’m “good”, and being Intellectually Gifted helps me be.
I don’t even call anyone an “idiot” because it’s just not fair, as it defeats the end game purpose, and it basically means nothing, having been called an idiot — When I promise you I did not deserve to be called an idiot. Especially when it’s from someone who shouldn’t be throwing those proverbial intellectual stones. Related: I’m not easily offended.
Speaking of, Underrated Indicators Of Actual Intelligence has to include: Not Being Easily Offended; An Off The Wall, Even Inappropriate Sense Of Humour; Open Mindedness; Being Highly Adaptable; Skepticism/Critical Thinking; The Recognition Of Irony and Sarcasm; Empathy; And of course, ACTUAL Practical Applications Of Intelligence.
Intellectual Giftedness does help me look at the world and it’s people more completely, appreciating it and understanding it on several different levels. So yes, I have to at least say it has made me hold myself up to a better character and ideal, than the gangsters, sociopaths and thugs I once surrounded myself with. Ah, the Power Of The Dollar.
Why yes, I am a Job Hopper, and have worked under those stereotypical underachieving jobs. Construction Worker, Contraband Runner, Driver, Garbage Man, Janitor¹, Service Technician, Waiter. But I guess also, as an Ambassador, Experiential & Guerrilla Marketer, Foreman, Financial, Insurance, Project Manager, Supervisor. Among the dozen other odd jobs, not worth listing on a Resume, or Government Census, or even in my Mental Rolodex.
They once told me I was an Entrepreneur. After my schooling days were done though, as I never learned the concept of an Entrepreneur within that Brick And Concrete Fortress of a High School I barely went to. I guess I fit those autonomous Entrepreneurial Characteristics. But Entrepreneur What, they didn’t say. So I’m not much of an Entrepreneur.
While I’m not as well-rounded as I’d like to be, or even think I am, I’m still rounded at least, rolling along.
I guess that highlights the importance of making decisions. It’s been the perils of indecision, multipotentiality and scanning that has me job hopping. Exploring pastures looking for something Greener, on the several sides of a proverbial fence (Which, by the way, I’ve been distracting myself with writing this Medium Piece, Alt-Tab’ing between writing Resumes).
Because of my Giftedness, I do hold myself to a higher standard at whatever I do, having higher expectations of myself, trying to get the most out of what I have — All while striving for authenticity, creativity and integrity, to make that money. You damn right those mirrors were spotless, drinking glasses sparkling, bottles and cans actually being recycled. I even got so good at these so-called menial jobs, I could bare hand garbage bags without cutting my hands and infecting myself with Hepatitis B! I know, kind of insulting to my intelligence.
I could also get bored easily. Which sometimes lead my creativity to find the time, nook and crannies to hide from responsibilities, take power naps, or leave work just to come back and punch out. That was one way I would deal with gigs that would make me want to blow my brains out. And how many times have I been told I’m the smartest one in the room, especially when I didn’t say anything.
But as they say, If You’re The Smartest One In The Room, You’re In The Wrong Room.
Another deal is where I would see things better as being done my way, wherein which my Smartass comes into play. By, either making drastic changes or unintentionally making people look bad. That probably stemmed from having that natural characteristic, having issues with the Status Quo. Therefore, clashing with my superiors, trying to change things for the better. And to a further extent of that, my whole empathizing with social injustices, things that denies dignity, freedom, human rights, right and wrong. Even though I SWEAR I am not trying to be a hero.
And I don’t give a fuck what they say, it’s not narcissistic to think highly of yourself AND expect to get the most out of what you know you have. The double edged sword here is that with my idealistic ideas, outside the box characteristics, and ridiculously high expectations, I am an intellectual loner, finding it difficult to find like minded individuals cut from the same cloth.
My closest confidants in my life? I’d say, my Dog: Who, as an enthusiastic Pomeranian Puppy, matches my child like energy¹. Oh, and also provides a long lasting attachment to my Father, who got me and my sister a dog we weren’t looking for, before he left us and My Dog Max, and went away somewhere. By somewhere, I mean after dying from Cancer, that my Dog helped him discover. Hmm, that Existential Depression again.
Another confidant, my iPhone¹; Where while I don’t actually like to talk to people on the phone, I could fill my social void with the Smart Phone technology that shaped my life. From, the 1000+ Apps I’ve explored; To the Jailbroken iOS features I’ve tweaked; To the Mobile Safari; To all the porn I jack off to… Just threw that dirty joke in there to see if anyone was paying attention; To exploring the Gifted Phenomenon on Twitter & Social Media; And by plugging my phone into my FM Transmitter, constantly broadcasting creative non-mainstream content, like Podcasts, or Live Music and Radio. From DJ’s, Clubs, Eclectic Music Stations ranging from Dance to Hip-Hop, Classical to Heavy Metal, and to Live Sports & Sports Talk Radio.
And yes, confidants in Popular Culture Characters, both real life and fictional, who I could relate to on an imaginary level, where I could pick and choose characteristics to fit my imaginative mentor narratives; — All of which, helped me a lot less intellectually lonely, at least.
4 Years ago I was involved in a High Speed Chase from the Authorities. The Deja Vu of the WOOP! WOOP! Why no, I haven’t had the best relationship with Authority Figures, so no, I didn’t pull over. Why yes, I need to relax on engaging in risky behaviours¹. In this instance, I was driving however fast you can while being chased in rural suburbia, driving a Truck with my manager at the time, who he assigned to be his partner in crime², as recalled through a vague time hop through my Twitter account.
Driving cross-province doing 16 Hour Days, at a job that was, in hindsight, just another temporary gig. Capping off these long days by my signature closer for the road, a G&T. Gin And Tonic as it’s known, Gifted & Talented as I like to pretend¹. No, don’t worry, this isn’t a Drunk Driving Tale. I promise I will never fuck up drinking and driving.
Am I an alcoholic? I don’t think so, even considering my historical relationship with liquor. But I also think that I just answered that question in denial. I know it can be enjoyed in moderation, as it does help alleviate the mind numbing soul crushing suburban drives, or helps distort the highly unnecessary vivid memories of the mundane in my head. It also combats (or masks) my social anxiety, as I use it as crutch known as liquid courage.
Anyways, Liquor was just another stigmatic substance I happened to explore. Like Marijuana. And you guessed it, the Truck I was driving was stashed with it. So no, pulling over was not the smart thing to do — It was THE smartest thing we could do, seeing as we were able to weave and speed away. Ahh, the anxiety and excitement of D̶e̶g̶e̶n̶e̶r̶a̶t̶e̶s Unorthodox Entrepreneurs. After delivering the Truck, we just had to enjoy the tips from our side job labour, and headed to the 23rd Floor, of 2300 (Redacted) Street.
No, this isn’t a suicidal story either, although my wild imagination has explored creative and unique ways to off myself, for entertainment purposes only. Please try to not suicide. The whole thing is not really worth it.
But what this anecdote is, is is a L’Appel Du Vide Story. “L’Appel Du Vide”, another wonderful French Phrase I never learned in a Compulsory Canadian Curriculum¹. L’Appel Du Vide, translating to Call Of The Void — That feeling of jumping from high places whenever you’re up there. Never in my life did I hear that Call Of The Void louder, to jump into the certain unknown. Other than knowing of a closed casket grieving, having strangers show up to that, and just the selfish entire mess I would create by jumping over a railing.
Were my feelings especially enhanced because I was stressed out and phantasmajorically high? Probably. Was it a point in my life where I finally answered the ringing call, even after having grown up on the top floor of an inner city Apartment Building, living with that life long curiosity to find out what really was over the Top Floor Balcony? Almost. So much so, I feel a kind of vertigo, flashing back to that scene of the crime, whenever I’m high. Kind of like, well exactly like, the opening scene to Limitless.
Looking back, that was encapsulating of my Gifted Experience. I actually had no idea what the term L’Appel Du Vide was at the time, but I knew I’ve had that exact feeling my whole life, absolutely describing the concept in my head. Exactly the case with Giftedness. And to an extent, it may have been at the bane of my Existential Depression, In Gifted Children. I didn’t know what drove me to do what I did, but I just felt different, even felt as if something was wrong with me. If only I had know the term “Gifted” was already accurately describing me.
Essentially, I slipped through the cracks, and Gifted Education failed me. I cruised through an unchallenged elementary education without really having to work hard, eventually losing enthusiasm having to learn at the same glacial pace, the one size fits all style, which undoubtedly stunted my intellectual growth. Kind of absurd that school is separated by Age as the standard, where from Ages 4–18, you’re supposed to be stuck in this herd, where from 18 or so on you’ll never be in an age defined group in life again.
The one regret I did have, in hindsight, was not being accelerated. Because Intellectually Gifted Kids should be accelerated through the system, with Special Gifted Programs. You probably even get the most bang for the educational buck. Wait, is this thought process elitist? Well, no. Athletically Gifted Kids are accelerated, as poignantly posed through Palcuzzi’s Ploy¹.
So from English, to where I once went from a 100 to failing 45, after I got charged with “Plagiarism” where of course I didn’t plagiarize (But I ironically enough, used Latin Phrases to get my points across, which unfairly categorized my work as plagiarism). To the Mathematics, where teachers didn’t believe in me either, as I Just Knew The Answers, but not how to properly Show Your Work. I illustrated mathematical formulas in my head on paper, that made sense only to me, because I don’t think linear, and got burned for doing so. No really, I swear I used to be smart.
My whole High School experience was actually devoid of any of this Gifted concept or even consciousness, as I eventually fell below average, disinterested and disillusioned. Gifted smarts is different than an experienced, formal, proven education. I still get bad dreams of a High School Graduation I never went to, because I was given a Diploma not because my school work deserved it, but because I was too smart to not have a High School Diploma that I minimally attended, and when I did, it was only because I was under the influence of alcohol.
Alcohol I purchased myself, because I was able to look mature at that under-age, with money I earned working as a part time employee at a full time environment alongside unionized veterans who made DOUBLE me, who told me I was too smart to being doing this shit. So instead, they made me risk my job I had no interest in keeping, by drinking on the job alongside them, as I jockeyed Beer Bottles on ice, in a mop bucket walking past actual spills, through this public event exhibition environment I enjoyed working in.
The irony here is that in my long standing relationship with alcohol (in responsible moderation), it has been the Drinking Glass helping me to see through the Looking Glass. Writing under the influence, In Vino, Veritas.
I am a classic case of the Gifted Underachiever. I don’t pretend to be a psuedo-intellectual know-it-all hipster, as the one thing that I do know is that I know nothing¹. So admittedly, I am a stereotypical underachiever. And I fucking despise stereotypes. In being honest with myself, I have so far in life, failed my unrealistically high expectations set out from, my Gifted Program, from Society, from my Dead Dad, but most importantly, MYSELF.
I mean, I still refuse to believe that I peaked in life while standing in front of that makeshift gym auditorium getting a chuckle out of my Elementary School Valedictorian Graduation Speech. I deny myself that I have found my level in life. I even refuse to believe that this is it for life. I feel that there is more to life from where this Gifted shit all came from.
Could my failings be attributed to anything specific? For one, I don’t know the concept of “How To Ask For Help”, probably thanks to the Gifted Complex™. Another could be my crippling inability to make decisions. I am so indecisive, with even just groceries¹, or what I want to eat for lunch. Ah, Analysis Paralysis. No wonder I couldn’t decide what I wanted to focus on in my life. Then again, it’s amazing how narrow your entire focus can get when your back is up against the wall. Can I blame Multi-Potentiality for all of this? Or am I just too Big Picture?²
Was I a product of my environment? Did nature versus nurture get into a fight during my development? Am I a victim of circumstance and timing? Or is it because Life isn’t exactly about hard work, or even smart work; It sometimes can be more about who you know, than what you know. Or even, knowing too much and knowing you know too much? How about my poor 1 V 1 Interviewing Skills, where I bomb and my restless anxiety gives out nervous vibes.
Or maybe because The Difference Between Good And Great Is Consistency? And that irony kills me, from my supposed flashes of brilliancy. Or is it just In The Stars, because I haven’t connected with creative soulmates? A group of people to bounce ideas off of, or just knowing that someone has your back?
I still don’t know what my bread and butter is, or how to cash in this supposed lottery ticket I’ve been told I’ve been sitting on, with this Gifted shit. All I know is that so far, I’ve been the stereotypical Gifted Underachiever.
There evidently appears to be two common paths that come out of the Gifted Program: ̶ ̶I̶n̶c̶r̶e̶d̶i̶b̶l̶e̶ ̶E̶m̶p̶a̶t̶h̶ ̶o̶r̶ ̶S̶c̶o̶r̶c̶h̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶S̶o̶c̶i̶o̶p̶a̶t̶h̶ ̶̶ Underachiever, Or Overachiever. Thanks to expectations, there is seemingly no in between.
I haven’t made any significant breakthroughs, but there has always been this positive inkling that the universe will align with something coming through the pipeline. I don’t necessarily feel special, but I’m not blind as to what I’ve been unquantifiably been given — Been Gifted, if you will. Even though I’ve tried to exercise it through several failings. Failed Actor, Failed Baseball Player. Failed (Redacted) Dealer. Failed Project Manager. Failed Salesman. Failed Safety Rep. Failed Son.
Well, at least I know that I’m not completely alone in that job hopping scheme & scanning, successes and failings, as illustrated through the very relevant book Gifted Grownups: The Mixed Blessing Of Extraordinary Potential.
OK, so maybe Failed is a harsh term, as I believe failing is straight up giving up, and learning nothing from experience. Or maybe fuck— it’s just that hard to admit I have failed to ultimately, myself. Has my whole life of underachieving been my refusal to play “The Game”? Even though Life’s A Game, But It’s Not Fair? I Break The Rules So I Don’t Care. Either way, I have been a “Gifted Underachiever”, as hard as that term is to use to accurately describe me. Well, might as well try and own it, and see what happens from here.
Other descriptive “labels” besides Gifted Underachiever that I’ve also heard and can relevantly apply to my existence: Exceptional. Indigo¹. Introvert. Lone Wolf. Loner. Misunderstood. Night Owl. Non-Conformist. Old Soul. Outcast. Problematic. Raging. Rebel. Restless. Too Much.
Also, Ambivert. Avant-Garde. Effervescent. Empath. Entrepreneur. Exception To The Rule. Exemplary. HSP (Highly Sensitive Person). Idealist. INTJ². Intense. Outlier. Perfectionist. Sapiosexual. Virgo³.
Admittedly, it has been hard to make friends and develop relationships, as I seemingly exist on another level, in an out of sync wave-length. Maybe my creativity has been polarizing, because in general people aren’t comfortable with original ideas. Sometimes, I don’t even feel I am of this earth. Or even, Mars, seeing as how realistic that achievement of humanity is becoming these days. Maybe I feel like I’m living in another Multiverse. Or at least, a place where my imagination is greater than my Live-Die-Purgatory-Heaven-Hell Religion. My God is All-Knowing, Empathetic and Forgiving. My God is not tiny. And I even used to memorize the Roman Catholic Rituals of Sunday Night Latin Mass. Now? I feel a bit of dissociation with the religion and the world I live in, living a a life in disarray and disaccord.
Maybe, in an alternate Universe where I was accelerated and chose the door to skip several grades ahead of me, this may not be the case. Well, not in this Universe, where I used to skip High School, to go to Driving School¹ and sometimes drop in to the University that was on the way for the rest of the day, where later on I formally dropped out of University and an Individualized Degree I couldn’t decide on.
I’m pretty sure that now, I can’t even pass an IQ Test without choking, or at least physically, chucking up lunch. Even though I’m sure IQ is overrated, where Applicable Intelligence (Not an actual term) is what really counts. Well, maybe I can still prove my Intelligence Quotient, but only if I’m alone in my room, doors closed, late at night, music on just loud enough, for 3 hours, and a tub of ̶V̶a̶s̶e̶l̶i̶n̶e̶ Smartfood Popcorn. Then maybe I’d pass Mensa’s iPhone App. But in this universe, my IQ doesn’t really mean anything. So here I am, currently just coasting along at the speed-limit, down the underachiever’s bright moon light, ocean side highway.
Fucking Gifted, as I like to refer it to, daily. It has been my go to swear word. I know, it’s weird. Well, because the word “FUCK” is seemingly less socially stigmatic than the word “GIFTED”. So I might as well double down on society’s frowns. My signature swear, as it is. As I don’t really care what people think anymore. ALAS, I feel what people think.
Like, when I wear Sunglasses in the Gym. I know. I know you know that I think I don’t know. But I know. I’m an asshole, not a douchebag. Even though they’re athletically PRESCRIPTION sunglasses. People don’t care, so I let them judge the hell out of me. I don’t care. In fact, thanks to my procrastinated late-in-life diagnoses of astigmatism and myopia, I’ve attuned to wearing Prescription Sunglasses 24/7. I recommend it, as it h̶i̶d̶e̶s̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶f̶e̶a̶r̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶m̶y̶ ̶e̶y̶e̶s̶ enables my curious eyes to wander, without making that awkward soul-staring eye-contact. Yes, I am super self-consciousness.
Being able to read body language and reading between the lines; Seeing what is or isn’t there; What could be, but what isn’t— Are just some of the over-analyzation intricacies that I have a feel for. Which includes, feeling the piercing looks where I ask for 1 Ticket To A Theory Of Everything. And then comprehend the interaction after finding out the movie was a stupid love story and not a movie medium to actually learn and illustrate Stephen Hawking’s Actual Theory Of Everything. Damn it, a waste of a New Years Eve.
In addition, I have this Intuition, which includes just understanding how things work. It helps me easily grasp concepts like Advanced Baseball Analytics, Shopping Psychology, The Multi-Verse. What I can’t grasp are “simple” concepts like Networking, Relationships, Work-Life-Play Balances (Unless you count Extremes as Balances). Or the one big life concept of “Getting Your Shit Together”.
And excuse all my fucking swearing¹, but maybe that’s just part of my defensive mechanism when discussing Gifted (Or, “Socializing”). Which falls along the thought process of Think Like A Genius If You Want, Communicate In The Language Of The People. So, if I have to suffer through life with a so called Stigma, a Mental Health Stigma, I’ll take The Gifted Label, For Life, Alex. And I’ll take the Gifted Complex™, which I’m convinced is half the battle, in this Me Against The World, GIFTED LABEL Mentality.
In illustrating this Gifted Label/Complex™ I have used the term Gifted 100+ times throughout this. But To Be Fair, it has been the thesis of this magnum opus, my Modus Operandi. But don’t take my word on this Gifted shit; Nullius In Verba, See For Yourself.
Esprit De L’Escalier, Wit Of The Staircase. One last term En Français I did not learn in French Class. Essentially, coming up with the best answers & responses, only after the time has passed, when you’re already up the stairs. I experience this daily through my daydreaming scenarios. I admit, the imaginative fantasy that I play perfectly in my head never actually plays out in real life.
Maybe it’s the Bottleneck Effect; 1000 Ideas, but only 1 for the 1 moment in time. Like when I don’t get my points across completely, or when I freeze when attempting to charm the pretty lady — And of course, in writing and publishing this Medium.
In fact, my Staircase Wit was at its peak when I initially published this months ago, which fortunately no one read. Which is when the 8000+ words really started to flow. That Wit, in combination with a crippling lack of self-confidence, self-criticism and self-sabotage, in tag-team with an agonizing perfectionism, or even an obsessiveness to improve everything, alongside a constant existential mantra of What’s The Point? Is what kills me to share this.
Where I strived to punch out 2300 words maximum I of course couldn’t limit myself to that restraint. Well, why should I, I’ve had enough of that limiting experience in school. Here we are, churning ~8000 words later. While I don’t think I’ll be ever be satisfied with this, opening up to my Gifted Experience, I have to send out sometime before I burn it. I mean, it’s been sitting in my Evernote for years, albeit full of broken sentences, where I have been trained by Twitter to dispense my thoughts in 140 characters or less.
This whole time I’ve waiting for the perfect time, when there is no perfect time.
Or I’m just poor at Mastering The Art Of Timing¹.
Alas, I think I’ve at least found the perfect Medium. One, where I have a clean canvass, an honest atmosphere, to openly discuss my Gifted Experience where I won’t get shit on by Anonymous Shitheads in the random Blogosphere, or worse, get wrecked Tweens on Tumblr, on this honestly seemingly delicate subject. In fact, I think I’ll start exploring, and sharing the rare works on the first hand experiences of Intellectual Giftedness, through this Medium Publication Platform.
It’s enough I hate myself for having written all this, for putting too much procrastinated effort and energy¹ into it. It’s actually the first time in my life I’ve tried to even put my Gifted Experience in a coherent set of thoughts. Well, I’m just trying to put the broken pieces back together, and hopefully break through in doing so. It was almost as if I’d rather not try, than not give it my all. And I ended up putting a little too much s̶i̶z̶z̶l̶e̶ salt into this steak.
At least I know I’m not alone in all of this. It’s hard to believe that, but we’re not alone in this Gifted Experience, as explored through the Twitterverse. Of where I have an obsessive interest in.
I hear Life Opens Up When You Do. I wouldn’t know, seeing as I especially like my personal private space, and practice perfecting privately. But here I am, opening up to what I think I know about Gifted. I don’t think it’s because I’m now wiser, per se; But at least I’m now less of a wise ass than I once was.
Then again, all of this bullshit might just be me hanging onto that Gifted Tag, because it was the thing I rediscovered, as I was scraping Rock Bottom. The cutting irony in my life is that, it was in The Label where I should have been looking for answers. It wasn’t self-evident at all. I mean, I do it washing my favourite Jeans, carefully reading the labels twice over. SOMEONE SHOULD HAVE SAID IT WAS THE SAME THING WITH GIFTED.
The Double Edged Sword of the Gifted Label — While degenerated, dull and rusty — It’s still a sword. At the end of the day, it is now the chosen sword I will die on. I know it’s my Master Key¹. So much so, I got my sleeve art centred around “Gifted”, plastered in handwriting on my left forearm, as a Conversation Starting, Suspect Identifying, Life Long Lasting, Obnoxiously Large Tattoo.
I know I’m not one to give advice, but if I can share some wisdom that I’ve cherished and valued, it would be to Own Your Difference. My Difference happens to be Intellectual Giftedness, which I have been trying to own. I’m not saying it’s the panacea to the Gifted Problems dilemma, but ignorance is not bliss when you know what’s amiss. Gifted? Own it.
& If there is 1 last thing that I hope can be learned from my experience, and if I didn’t iterate it enough throughout my carefully constructed, painstakingly prose, emboldened opening statements through each short chapter of this unnecessarily lengthy Medium— If there is 1 thing I know, throughout the internal strife, it’s that i̶t̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶, i̶t̶ ̶r̶e̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ ̶h̶a̶s̶ ̶b̶e̶e̶n̶, it really is,
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J. Roca is a Jack Of All Trades Master Of None. An Entrepreneur. A Free Lancer. But not a Writer… Even though he is now writing in the 3rd Person, acting as if this were edited by a 3rd Party. It was not. He is his own Party. Feel free to blast me, @JRoc23, JRoc23@ProtonMail.com or @JRoc23.
