Confessions of a Know-It-All

I got this

I really hate know-it-alls. You know, those show-offs who use big words and use them correctly? What’s that about? And the big shots who like to expound and expound and expound on science, literature, the arts, the state of the world, the global pandemic, the economy, you name it. They have a well-considered opinion and they’re not shy about sharing it.

Why do such “geniuses” make me grind my teeth and itch to slap perfectly innocent bystanders?

Because I am one

Was I always the smartest one in the room? No. I’m still not. But I sure do believe that I am…sometimes. Ok. Often.

I was the little girl who didn’t have a shot of Wild Turkey on her first day of kindergarten but who could have really used one. And I was shy and wracked with middle-age levels of anxiety and insecurity. But I also harbored the dark certainty that I was smarter than just about any grown-up who bent down to kindly inquire what I wanted to be when I grew up. Please.

I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up or even if I’m interested in growing up, but I’m still pretty sure I’ve got this. Whatever it is. I got it. No, thanks, I don’t need your input.

When I was 42 years old I got the nutzoid idea to transfer from Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland, Ohio to Columbia University and move to New York City (Yeah, I’m one of those, ahem, “non-traditional” students meaning I started college for the first time when I was, shall we say, not eighteen). Here’s grandiose for you: I didn’t even bother to apply to any other schools in New York and there are many very good schools here. Nope. It was Columbia University or nothing.

It was Columbia

Was I totally blown away when I got the acceptance letter from Columbia? Geeze, I hope so. What kind of arrogant so and so opens that heavy cream-colored embossed envelope and just shrugs? No, I’m sure I was gobsmacked. I’m also sure the only person who had an inkling of that was my mentor, Anita.

And was I unsure of myself at all when I first moved to New York, knowing no one and gazing through the snow at Pulitzer Hall during orientation? I had to be, right? But I also had to act as if I was sure of the solid ground under my feet. interestingly, I knew better than to pretend I understood what inductive reasoning was in my intermediate composition course. Check this out: it turns out that asking questions is a great way to communicate how thoroughly on top of things you are. You’re welcome.

In very short order, I learned that even such a basic thing as walking down the sidewalk in this city is a lesson in bull-headed, get-out-of-my-way-know-it-allism.

I’ve now been in the city for twenty years and my level of know-it-allism is off the charts. I’m like a shark on the street, always watching the traffic lights to determine when I can make my crossings without ever having to stop and wait for traffic (life is too short for that nonsense). I know which lights can be pushed and where it’s actually safer to cross against the light.

Subways. I generally know exactly which car to board in order to be closest to my exit at my destination and I’m happy to steer you towards that car if you’re in doubt. I know better than to engage with anyone who seems to be off their meds. I’m not the only one to know that an empty car during August means the AC is not working in that car but I’m usually the quickest to board another car. I’m not shy about shoving out into a rush-hour pack that’s trying to get on the car before allowing anyone off (idiots) and am also not shy about being really vocal with my EXCUSE me’s.

That’s all par for the course in this city. A lot of us have these things down and take a wee bit too much pride in that being, you know, real New Yorkers and all.

But bring up a topic at the diner? Any topic. Ok, not organized sports because who cares about that anyway? But any other topic. The effect of global climate change on ocean currents. The seemingly hard-wired us vs them-ism that keeps this country, and so many others it has to be said, embroiled in war after war. Gender roles. The evils of binary thinking. The fact that all nature shows are basically about who’s eating who today. How the Weimar Republic influenced German cinema and literature for decades. Why cats are superior companions to dogs. Why people insist on voting against their best interests. I’m so knowledgeable about these subjects that I often write about them (thanks for reading and clapping, btw).

I can talk about it all. At length.

But when someone else at the table displays the same enthusiasm and knowledge-base, I want to throw my gazpacho in their face. I don’t. Of course, not, but I have my ways of needling those tiresome know-it-alls who think they know more than me. Subtle ways. Apparently so subtle that many of them miss my dagger looks and subsonic sighs.

You may be tempted to point out that this is maybe not such a great way to live one’s life. You might even want to toss this tired old chestnut at me: Do you want to be right or do you want to be happy? To which I will promptly respond: When I’m right I am happy.

Any snappy retorts to that, Sunshine?

I do have to admit that it can be trying for my partner. Because I so often sound as if I know what I’m talking about, a hallmark of the older know-it-all, AleXander will go along with whatever it is I’m saying we should do. This happens more frequently for some reason when we’re traveling. And more often than I’m comfortable admitting it turns out I was wrong (yes, yes, I know). When this happens, AleXander will quietly seethe that once more I led us astray when he knew not to go along with my ever-so confident lead. Ok, sometimes he’s not exactly quietly seething. But he’s right.

Never trust a know-it-all

We don’t in fact know it all. We may not know very much no matter how certain we seem to be. Question us. Yes, of course, we’ll get cranky and all up in your face. Don’t worry about that. Another hallmark of the older know-it-all is that we bluster fabulously and then fold like a house of cards with one stern “Oh really?”.

Will I ever see the error of my ways and get some humility going on? What do you think?

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