Chapter 7: Self-Deprecation & Self-Sabotage; Skee-Lo & Tim Duncan
Music is such a time capsule so we will romanticize the music from our formative years as the "golden age". I will resist the urge to be old man yelling at cloud and say that the music of the 80's and 90's is far superior to the music of Gen-Z, signaling that I'm officially washed. One of the formative songs of my adolescence was 1995's "I Wish" by Skee-Lo, the very definition of a one-hit wonder. While rap music can often characterized by braggadocios hyper-masculinity, this track was a humorous, self-deprecating lament on personal shortcomings. "I wish I was a little bit taller, I wish I was a baller. I wish I had a girl who looked good, I would call her...". Even though Skee-Lo was a black man from Los Angeles via Chicago, "I Wish" was for me the quintessential Korean American male anthem, as a 5'9" Korean male who fashioned himself a basketball player until I realized I couldn't run, jump, or dribble with my off-hand. I hilariously tried out for JV basketball in 9th grade and ten minutes in got a blister on my foot and limped my way through the rest of tryouts. Needless to say I did not make the team and I was a sweaty mess the rest of that school day.
Heavily influenced by Confucianism ideals, Korean collectivist culture values the collective good over individual identity. Inhwa, or harmony, plays out in a relationships to family, colleagues, and larger society. An example of this "all in this Together" mindset was the nearly universal adoption of masks in South Korea in response to COVID-19, no Instagram pages devoted to Korean "Karens" (캐런) our collective embarrassment wouldn't tolerate them. Another example of collectivism is kye, a rotating credit association common in Korean American communities that allowed newly arrived immigrants to receive the capital to start their own businesses when they couldn't get loans from traditional banks. On a more personal level, every personal achievement is attributed to proper family upbringing and a collective win for the culture, whether it's a student making the Honor Roll (although that might be less of an "achievement" and more of an expectation) or Bong Joon Ho winning Best Director and Best Picture for Parasite. That wasn't just a win for Bong, that was a win for all of us.
Which brings me to self-deprecation. You might have noticed a few self-deprecating jokes in previous blog chapters and even earlier in this blog. Why do we use self-deprecating humor? Using the nature vs nurture argument, how much of my self-deprecating personality comes from nature and how much of it was nurtured from my Korean American collectivism? I am terrible at taking compliments. Quick story: two months ago several of my clients at the DV shelter threw a Valentine's Day "self-love" barbecue celebration for themselves and I gathered up plates and utensils as well as volunteered to carve and serve the brisket. Despite the hatchet job I was doing to the meat with the only chef's knife we had available, my clients appreciated the effort and act of service. My colleague Serena commented that "Daniel would make a good husband" with several clients voiced their agreement. Meanwhile I stood there with in awkward silence; not wanting to admit that I was in full depression mode and fighting the urge to slit my wrists. But then I had a photoshoot I was prepping for, where these photos were shot. Second, wanting to crawl under a rock in embarrassment from the compliment.
Another form of self-deprecation I've exhibited consistently: downplaying yourself. Whenever I go above and beyond to be there for friends: picking them up to and from LAX, medical appointments, skipping work to attend a funeral, I don't see that as a special quality. I mean that's what friends are supposed to do, right? I didn't see anything special about working at a Domestic Violence shelter through the duration of the pandemic without requesting anytime off and a willingness to cover other people's shifts. If anything that probably reveals a character defect and poor life/work balance. I attributed my reliability and dependability to immigrant work ethic and gratitude for remaining employed through a pandemic where thousands and thousands of Americans lost their jobs. Sure I came in on my day off and/or worked a double shift because someone was out sick. How many people lost loved ones and/or lost their jobs? What do I have to complain about? And the reason why I don't toot my own horn is because the last thing our society needs is another self-absorbed narcissist, am I right? Besides there's nothing special or particularly skillful about what I do; I'm just the one who's there to do it.
What I imagined were some of my most endearing qualities: humility and relative egoless, my self-deprecation might actually be symptomatic of my most toxic traits. While trying so hard to be a people pleaser and put everyone at ease, my self-deprecation turned into self-sabotage. When it comes to leadership, I've tended to value "participative leadership" over "authoritative leadership" because I believe inclusivity is a stronger motivator than fear. Making someone feel invested and feeling like they have a stake in the process and not just a cog in the machine. It's what I did when I was at KAFE and it's what I try to do at my current job. Empowering and uplifting others for their contributions is a wonderful thing, but not when you're ascribing your own attributes to other people. My favorite sports team is the San Antonio Spurs and my favorite player was Tim Duncan, despite being a native Angeleno and being raised in a Los Angeles Lakers city. One of my enduring images of Tim Duncan's career aren't the points he scored or the championships he won; it was the way he'd embrace and encourage his teammates in huddles and take such joy in their achievements. But despite his displays of humility and grace, make no mistake Duncan knew he was the franchise star, the leader of the team, and he shouldered that responsibility. That last part is the disconnect I failed to grasp at times. I tried to exhibit similar leadership and collectivism as a Tim Duncan; yet I regarded myself as any dispensable role player (insert any generic White center that played for the Spurs).
Belittling my own importance, my self-deprecation was likely a symptom of my depression and anxiety. You know the saying that there's a grain of truth in every joke? I'm becoming present to the grains of truth behind every self-deprecating comment I've ever made. Every joke that downplayed my own value and worth was a funhouse mirror of my own insecurities and lack of self-worth. I couldn't graciously receive the compliment that I would make a good husband someday because I didn't believe anyone would find me worthy of being their spouse. I couldn't admit that going above and beyond for my friends, work, etc. was tied to the belief that if I didn't go the extra mile, that I wouldn't be accepted and valued for who I was. That there was no room for give and take, to admit that there are moments where I need to be supported with the same effort I extend to others. I couldn't acknowledge a position of leadership because I was afraid of the responsibility that comes with it and having any failure be on me. However, the f*cked up part is I would still internalize any failure as my responsibility even if I wanted none of the credit for any successes.
I'm learning there's nothing wrong with being down-to-earth, because that's where all our seeds are initially planted. But from the earth we need to grow and blossom. It's okay to be an individual in the collective. It's okay to go the extra mile for our loved ones in their times of need, just as it's okay to take care of myself and ask for reciprocity. It's okay to receive and accept the praise I know that I deserve. I can still be humble without downplaying it anymore.
There's no need to wish like Skee-Lo anymore. "I wish" I can see what is as it is; I'm that muthaf*ckin' dude.
Portrait photography by https://www.zacharyleeportrait.com
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