Jane

When I first met Jane, she had no idea who on planet Earth I was. Several hours later, shortly after Jane and I shared lunch, she had no idea on who on planet Earth I was. 

But she told me it was going to be that way. 

Jane is one of the very small handful of very famous persons that I have had meaningful personal interaction with. When we first met, it was shortly after I had given a presentation at an event she was hosting, and somehow, I found myself with my host-provided boxed lunch, sitting at a table right next to her while she went on and on about how well I had done with my presentation, what good work I was doing with the group I was representing, how proud of me she was. She knew every detail of what I said. 

"But I will never remember your name." 

To be honest, I never expected her to remember my name. She was world-famous (literally) and probably met a million persons a year. Why would she remember little ol' me and the tiny little thing I was doing in the world? 

But she went on to explain that had lived her entire life with "name aphasia" - that is, she had some kind of physical brain cross-wire kind of thing where she simply could not remember names. It didn't matter how many times you told her. It didn't matter how many times you met. It didn't matter how many times you ate together. Even her friends, she explained, understood that she wouldn't know their names faithfully. Sometimes, she might get lucky, but she just couldn't remember names. 

At the same time, here she was, remembering every single other detail about me except my name - my whole project, my timeline, my goal, my hometown, everything I had said. She took a real interest in me, at least for the space of that presentation and the following lunch. But if anyone ever asked her about me, specifically, she would have no idea we ever met.

I think about that day often. It was honestly one of the coolest experiences of my life. But I also think about what I learned from Jane in her willingness to be honest about what she knew was a weakness in herself. 

For I also have weaknesses. 

Like Jane, I am very good at details. I am very good at remembering things. I remember your birthday, your kids' birthdays, the dates that are meaningful to you, what you like to eat, what you don't like to eat, your favorite colors, the things that have hurt you, experiences you've had that may be compounding whatever you're feeling now. Many times throughout my life, I have been told how much it means to others that I seem to so easily remember the "little" things. And, unlike Jane, I remember your name. 

But I have facial blindness - prosopagnosia. I literally cannot recognize faces. I cannot recognize my own mother's face. One time, she cut her hair, and I saw a woman in the grocery store that I knew that I knew, and I started making a plan to ask my mom who she was...and it was my mom. I have absolutely no ability to recognize even familiar faces, and I've been that way my whole life. 

I've got adaptations for this. For example, I simply say hi to everyone who says hi to me. When I'm out in public and someone seems excited to see me, I get excited to see them...because I assume it means they know me. Eventually, I get enough clues to put them into place and remember who they are. (You would not believe the things I notice about persons that others, who have the benefit of faces, don't have to pay attention to, but I have a dozen subtle clues about nearly everyone that will eventually help me identify you). But I also simply acknowledge the truth of my weakness and have a good laugh about it. 

Honestly didn't know who you were. Sorry. But I know you now. Your face means nothing to me. 

Being honest about this weakness helps me to be honest about other weaknesses. Things that are simply true about who I am and the way that I am wired and the way that I move about in the world. 

At the same time, like Jane, I also focus on doing well the things that I do well, the things that let you know that despite my weaknesses and the things I cannot overcome, I am fully engaged. I'm here. I see you. I know you. And I value you. 

I got all that from one lunch with a person who didn't know who on planet Earth I was before I sat down with my cold sandwich and handful of chips and who didn't know who on planet Earth I was after I took my trash to the bin, but who - for thirty or so minutes of this strange little life that we live - was fully engaged with who I was. 

Thanks, Jane. (And it remains one of the great honors of my life to have met you.)