Paul Cézanne: Self-Portrait (1898)

“I’ll be studying and learning this lesson for the rest of a halfway Decent lifetime.”

Brian was always the brightest person in any group he worked with. He naturally gravitated toward performing in a pivotal role, often as a leader. If not the formally-declared leader, then the most widely-acknowledged one. He was, by any measure, an enormously Decent person, patient, often to a fault, and extraordinarily kind. He promoted The Muse and my work, sponsoring some workshops and championing our perspectives. He mentored many. When our business went bust, The Muse found a real job, primarily on the strength of Brian’s lead and his firm, supportive recommendation. He worked unimaginable hours, routinely arriving early, leaving late, and working weekends. He developed the habit of never taking vacations, since he was really the critical presence when one of his dozen or more projects faced a significant milestone. Something was always facing another critical milestone review.

HR finally confronted him after he’d accumulated three months of unused vacation time. He decided to take it all at once, more as a sabbatical than as paid vacation. He spent the first month looking for a new job, then left after he’d used up his accumulated leave. After he announced his departure, a couple of senior executives met with him to try to entice him to stay. One appreciated him for finally clearing his backlog of leave, noting that several other members of staff had also accumulated more leave than seemed reasonable. He invited Brian to lead an effort to determine how the organization could better encourage staff to use their vacation time as they earned it. Their solution to the Brian Leaving Problem was to offer him an opportunity for even greater leadership responsibility. Brian left.

In his new role, he didn’t disclose how central a role he’d previously played. He kept his head down and stayed in the weeds. He steadfastly refused to lead anything or anyone, rejecting every offer to guide any effort. He took to offering quiet observations instead, asking genuinely innocent questions, and letting others figure out their tangles on their own. He’d realized that his well-intended attempts to direct the universe hadn’t accomplished much, other than to render him indispensable and to burn him out. He reported that he felt a whole lot better about his contributions when he wasn’t perceived as indispensable but as useful. He began to find a certain joy in his work that had gone missing when he was still indispensable. He started interpreting what he had once seen as serious problems as mere plot twists, so he left their resolution mostly to the younger, more excitable ones. He wasn’t above offering occasional advice, but usually in the form of some well-intended question so as not to disrupt someone’s up-and-coming effort to become indispensable themselves.

Brian was displaying perhaps the most crucial element of Decency I’ve discovered in this long and winding exposition. Most of the stories have focused on Decency as an out-there act, something one contributes to the world or, at least, to others. Those kinds of interventions remain near the heart of Decency, of course, but one precursor practice seems essential, the practice of what I label Selfullness. Selfullness is the opposite of selfishness. It is kindness to oneself first, to create the platform upon which Decency might be more meaningfully and reliably dispensed. Brian learned after many years of selfless service that he could contribute more effectively if he put on his own oxygen mask first. He essentially suffocated himself so others could breathe until he caught himself nearly suffocating himself in selfless sacrifice. He was spending principle when he could have been expending some of the infinite interest everyone naturally holds.

Decency dispensed from such a bottomless well proves to be the most renewable source of Decency. It proves impossible to meaningfully deplete the resource if you’re continually replenishing it yourself. Each act of Decency toward ‘little old me’ merely adds to the preexisting infinity, ensuring that there’s never a meaningful shortage whenever additional Decency’s needed. That infinite well’s not really bottomless, but it might just as well be bottomless if you’re continually replenishing it with additional personal Decencies. The smallest kindnesses somehow seem most significant. The little choices made when nobody’s watching keep the foundation secure. Self-sacrifice employs an impossible calculus. It presumes improvement by diminishing the very agent responsible for creating differences. In very short terms, the calculation can work. As a lifestyle, it’s slow suicide, clear and obvious.

By far the most daunting Decencies I ever commit are ones I contribute to myself. I, probably like you, was poisoned when educated into believing that I was somehow the least essential element of every engagement. I was enjoined to let others have the limelight and to avoid taking credit for my contributions lest I offend others’ more delicate sensibilities. I was taught how not to be myself as the primary means for succeeding, and I excelled in my studies and my practice. I forfeited much of my earned vacation, too, a sure sign that one is depleting their otherwise infinite well. Such was the price of my treasured indispensibility. None of that time was ever refundable, anyway. I learned better later, which proved to be a perfect time to learn better. I still struggle to treat myself as Decently as I deserve (I almost said “probably” deserve, as if there were still questions about whether I really deserved my own damned Decency). I am learning to take my leave as I earn it, not to defer necessary renewal and recognition, and to tenaciously practice Decency upon myself. I expect I’ll be studying and learning this lesson for the rest of a halfway Decent lifetime.

©2025 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #Decency, #PureSchmaltz