I’m in sales. That makes me a salesman, I guess—and I’ve been selling for 25 years. Believe me, I know the stereotype: pushy, aggressive, in-your-face, Type A personalities. I deal with it every day, even though I’m the exact opposite of that label.
The other day, I walked into an office I hadn’t visited before. I usually introduce myself and ask about their protocol. But before I could do more than pull out my business card, a receptionist, who was half my age, shot me a cold look and, without so much as a greeting, asserted, “We don’t deal with outside reps!” When I tried to ask a clarifying question, she repeated it even louder.
On one hand, this is the nature of sales. I’ve gotten used to being treated like a third-class citizen. But on the other hand, it hurts when someone only sees me as a “salesperson”—just a label—rather than as a human being worthy of basic decency.
But if I’m honest, we all do this to some extent.
I remember sitting in an undergraduate philosophy class at Hanover College, where the professor, discussing the limitations, nuances, and intricacies of human language, explained to us that while we English speakers have only one word for the frozen precipitation that falls from the sky—snow—the Inuit people have over 50 words to describe every variation and type of it.
I must admit, I was amazed by such detailed observation and subtlety of experience.
There is something fascinating about using descriptive words and language to paint a mental picture for others that is vibrant in its specificity and detail. As a writer, I am continually reminded of the importance of words and how much readers appreciate the chance to participate in an experience, make a visceral connection to a story, and imagine the intricate details of an image—all through words.
Words can bring observations and experiences to life.
However, our diversity in words and language also makes us expert classifiers and near-obsessive labelers.
And you may be wondering why you picked up on a bit of cynicism in that last sentence.
While we may not all have the exhaustingly expressive yet delightfully detailed chops of Dostoevsky, we all have an almost innate need to describe things. We seem hardwired with the ability to observe, discriminate, label, and classify. And, of course, this is not inherently bad but serves many good and useful purposes.
However, our specificity in precise and meticulous observations—our keen eye for discrimination, our acuteness in classifying and labeling—can consequently, and unintentionally limit our experiences and create divisions in reality.
Rather than seeing people as they are, rather than enjoying experiences for what they are, we naturally, maybe even unconsciously, begin to divide all things into categories and groups. And when we do this, it can very easily lead to the creation of dualities (this one is good, and that one is bad) and hierarchies (this one has more value than that one). This can ultimately lead to antagonisms and conflicts among these divisions. And this can happen simply by the categories in which we place ourselves and other people and by what we subsequently believe about them—or are told to believe—based solely on how they are described, labeled, or categorized.
Question
Have you ever been judged based on a label you carried or a group you were associated with? How did that affect you? And how might those experiences shape the way you see and connect with others?
Peace,
Brandon
I started with the State Police about 10 months before I met your mother. A few months later, we decided to be married so your mother told her mother that we were getting married but a date had not been picked. When this occurred since we had only known each other for such a sort time, her mother didnt like the idea. She had several reasons to object to us getting married one of which was I was a law enforcement officer. She told me, I was probably like all the rest, had girl friends everywhere and would run around on your mom. I was being judged because I represented a group of people she had known, not me personally. She learned as the years went by that I loved your mom and wasn’t like others she had known. 51 years later, I still have never cheated on your mom.