The 8-Cow Wife Syndrome
In his all-knowing Islander way, Johnny Lingo explains to Mr. Harris his decision to pay eight cows for Mahana: “I wanted her to be an eight-cow woman.” The high ticket price proved that she was worth more than any other woman on the island, but while some insist the moral of the story is that women of worth require engagement rings of equal value, I suggest it’s that how we are perceived by others affects how we perceive ourselves, which then affects how we ultimately are. This outside-in approach allows for “doing” now and “being” later.
My plan to ride my bike across the country is somewhat like the decision to buy a Boxed Set (I don’t own anything by The Doobie Brothers…I know, I’ll own everything by The Doobie Brothers); it doesn’t make a lot of sense.
Perhaps if the desire were fueled by a love of touring, camping, and serious riding, a goal of doing that coast-to-coast would seem almost reasonable (though, arguably, “not really”). However, I am not a biker, nor an athlete in any way. In choosing teams, I am always picked last (note: not past tense). Even in adulthood, any participation in group sports is always mandatory and accompanied by that same feeling of being the smallest 3rd grader in my class, futilely trying to not be the first one smacked out in dodge ball.
People don’t get that, though. They hear “bike across America,” and they think “hard core.” It doesn’t seem to matter that none of us making this journey even owned a bike prior to the decision to go from Seattle to New York. The doing of it qualifies us for the image. Even now, as I ride around the city, barely knowing how to shift gears and breaking at the first sign of a hill, I am stopped by people asking me about bikes, shops, and riding advice. Apparently my neon “I’m a beginner” sign doesn’t shine as bright as I thought it did. And feeling like a fraud- because owning a Trek does not an athlete make- is something I must struggle with alone, since no one else seems willing to acknowledge that I’m just a poser.
I’m realizing, too, that this phenomenon is not limited to the world of cycling. No one ever believes me when I explain that I actually know nothing about computer hardware. Nor is it understood why I say I can’t translate complex industry-specific documents when I “know Spanish.” Gross incompetence, it seems, is often mistaken for modesty by those who don’t know better.
I’m further learning that when others insist they feel inadequate or don’t know what they are doing, perhaps they are being honest and not trying to humbly cloak their talents. But, more importantly, maybe that doesn’t even matter. Once we get past the embarrassment of wearing an 8-cow price tag when we know our true retail value is closer to only a few hooves, maybe we can learn to use the sticker price as leverage towards acquiring these attributes we supposedly already possess. If people decide I am something I’m not, I can prove them wrong or prove them right. In the case of being perceived as having some sort of athletic prowess or ability, I see no reason not to own this.
