What does "laid-back" mean anyhow?

I have lived on the west coast for twelve years. When I say the west coast I mean all of it. I’m one of the few people I know that can actually say that they have lived in California, Oregon, Washington and Alaska. Therefore, when I say I have lived on the west coast, I really mean it. The point is this. After twelve years living on the west side of America one would think that I would have not only become a “laid-back” person but would also have a solid working knowledge of what the term really means. But I don’t. Worse yet is that I detest this phrase.

My disdain for this phrase stems from the fact that everyone I know out west not only describes themselves as laid-back but also uses the term laid-back to explain all sorts of things, from why they were late to their indifference to what is happening around them.

Spurred on by yet another morning commute in which my carpooling colleague’s indifference to world events was explained away by being “laid-back”, I decided to get to the root of this phrase. A quick search of web-based Dictionary.com yielded nothing.

A thumb through Webster’s New World Dictionary resulted in nothing. No definition was found by searching any dictionary or thesaurus currently in print. My only option was to look up the phrase in urbandictionary.com. There I found five definitions for this irksome phrase. The first definition equated laid back to being “lazy”. The second claimed that a laid back person would “get stuff done…eventually.” The third defined it as “relaxed, calm, not anxious”, and the fourth “apathetic, passive or passive-aggressive.” It was the fourth definition that struck a powerful chord in me, as that is exactly how I would describe a laid-back person.

My claim that a laid back person is apathetic, passive or passive-aggressive has been proven throughout the duration of my tenure on the west coast. I have often been reproached by my employers for being “harsh” when I have addressed co-workers or my own staff with whom I had problems. I would be told that I should talk to my supervisor first about the problem and then have my supervisor talk to my offending colleague’s supervisor so that the issue could be worked out. What? This type of logic has always escaped me. I mean why would I not be able to discuss the matter with a co-worker like a reasonable adult? It’s work, it’s not personal and I can address someone is a very fair, open-minded and diplomatic method. I have learned however, that others cannot and I have been fodder for many an early morning water cooler gossip session. Moreover, I have come to realize that the simple act of talking to a colleague about a problem would be interpreted as being “harsh” and I would be accused of “yelling” despite the fact that I rarely, if ever, yell at anyone.

Around the fourth of fifth time I was accused of yelling I began to really question myself and seriously wonder if I was in fact yelling? Three minutes later I realized that I was not the problem and yet I was the problem. It simply came down to perceived versus real time location. I was on the west coast but acting like an east coaster would and this was something that needed to be addressed, immediately.
I began my professional career on the east-coast. I worked at a small college for a man named Mr. Dick. In addition to the obvious issue of having to address someone as Mr. Dick without laughing, I also had to work closely with a rather persnickety study abroad advisor who had the knack for promising things to international students that were patently untrue. As the Residence Life Director I would inevitably dash the hopes of the foreign students upon their arrival. I would have to explain that we didn’t offer private rooms, that you couldn’t smoke in your room, we did not have a private kitchen, and no you couldn’t call Djibouti from your dorm room without an international calling card.

After trying and failing to reason with my study abroad nemesis, I went to see Mr. Dick. I explained to him the ongoing problem with the dissemination of misinformation and he nodded appreciatively and would “hmmm, I see” to acknowledge my concern. I thought the meeting was going well and assumed he would come to my aid when he said, “ And you’re telling me this because?", he said sacrastically.

“Well like I said Mr. Dick, the problem is that…”

“Yes, and I believe I hired you to problem solve NOT to bring your problems to me. Is that correct?”, he countered.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now go out there and solve your own problems. I have too many fish to fry and I hired you to solve these problems for me. Not to bring the problems back on to my plate. If you can’t handle that then you need to look for a new job.”

“I can handle it sir. Thank you for your time,” I muttered as I walked out of his office.

I was angry and dismayed. I thought he would help. I puttered around my house, furious the rest of the evening. I called my friend to tell her what happened and she said, “Well this is great. Now you can deal with it anyway you want to. The gloves come off.”

I never thought of it like that. I mean I was in charge of dealing with my own problems and conflicts. I could handle them the way I see fit to get the results I wanted. How liberating, how empowering. I began to like this Mr. Dick.

The next day I sought out the study abroad advisor and let her have it, diplomatically of course. I walked in to her office and laid down the ultimatum. I said what I needed to say, I stated very clearly my expectation for what I wanted to happen, and I gave her the choice to either do that or face the consequences. Period. And unsurprisingly that was the end of the conflict.

I realize in hindsight that the difference between east and west is simply the east-coasters willingness and desire to confront the situation. We are not afraid of confrontation and sometimes we actually like it. Moreover, we are often empowered to handle things ourselves. Mr. Dick didn’t like that I was going to him with the problems and in truth it made me look bad. That is why it was the last time I ever went to see a supervisor about a problem co-worker. I want to show that I can handle the issue myself, like an adult. Moreover, I don’t want to get anyone in trouble with the boss when we can handle it ourselves. I’m not trying to get anyone fired; I just want to work together in a more effective way. How is that not the epitome of laid-back? East-coasters deal with the issue when it comes up and then let it go.

That is not the west coast way. The west coast way involves telling your supervisor, getting someone in trouble, writing a report, and then telling everyone in the office what happened behind that person’s back. Its subterfuge and it’s catty and deliberate, especially when that same tattletale is nice and sweet to your face.

So why do the west-coasters do this? The first reason is fear of conflict. West-coasters are conflict adverse. They hide behind the idea of wanting everything to be nice and harmonious and “no worries” to the point that they won’t bring up anything that is really bothering them to the person who is the cause of the bothering. Instead they “vent” to everyone and anyone that is willing to listen to their complaints. The west coasters try to rally everyone on to their team before they take action. That action is usually avoidance of the trouble causing person and or scheming to make their lives miserable by getting everyone else to hate them too so that the trouble causing person eventually quits or gets promoted.

The second reason is that west coasters like their drama. Afterall, work wouldn’t be so much fun without the petty drama and gossip, the who said what to whom, the dirty looks, the back-stabbing, the lies and deception? West-coast living is a lot like The Real Housewives. I mean watch those two shows. Watch the California housewives and then watch the New York housewives. Wow, vastly different personalities and methods of handling problems. And they epitomize my point so effectively.

So all you “laid-back” west-coasters can continue to own that self-describing moniker and I will accept it for what it is – a self-descriptive phrase. In two words you are conveying to me the fact that you identify yourself as passive-aggressive and someone not to be trusted. I mean push come to shove you won’t tell me that you have a problem with me. You won’t tell me what the real issue is. You’ll simply tell everyone else and remain in high school forever. Now, remind me why I should want to hang out with you?

The Worst Reason For Looking Good

“The only reason you still look so good is because you don’t have kids.” I was stunned the first time I heard a woman say this to me. I could not believe someone would say something so hurtful and ignorant to a complete stranger.

I was supposed to be relaxing at the nail salon, enjoying my day off with a well-deserved and long overdue pedicure. The place was busy and there was a lot of talking going on between a group of three women, all of whom I took to be around my age. They were laughing and gossiping and seemed to just be really enjoying their girl time. Made me long for my girlfriends as well, except that I didn’t really have any. I was always moving and never really had time to make friends. Thirty seven moves in thirty six years will do that to you.

As I sat there enjoying my salt soak and the kneading action of the massage chair on my back, one of the women turned to me and said, “You’re real fit. What’s your trick? What do you do?”

“Ugh, who me?” I asked incredulous. I was stunned by being invited to engage in some girl talk so her question threw me off my guard.

“Yes, you look really in shape. What’s your secret? No wheat? No sugar? No carb? You’re a vegan?”

“No,” I laughed. “I’m just a runner. Have been for 20 years.”

“That’s it. You run?” she questioned in disbelief. “You have a strict diet or something?”

“No. I pretty much eat anything I want, in moderation of course. Sure I try to avoid the bad things, the junk food, and I don’t drink soda – ever, but otherwise that’s it. I just eat when I’m hungry and keep lots of healthy snacks around. Oh and I eat lots of fruit and vegetables.”

She chortled. A real chortle. “That’s it? That easy huh? You have kids?”

“No, why? Does that matter?”

“Well of course it matters. I mean the only reason you still look so good is because you don’t have kids!”

I was stunned, shocked. I didn’t know what to say. I looked around the salon for help, for someone to say to me, “Oh don’t listen to her honey” or any one of those cliché phrases heard only in women’s salons. But there was no help. In fact, everyone who had heard the woman seemed to nod their head in agreement while they sized me up and down. The young man filing my toes just kept his head down and scrubbed harder.

“I don’t think that’s true”, I started in my defense. “I know plenty of women with kids that look fantastic.”

“Right. Hollywood women. Stay at home moms perhaps with nothing else to do all day but count calories and weigh food. But I’m talking real women. Women who work and raise kids. You wouldn’t look so good if you were one of those women.”

And that is when the gloves came off.

“So what you’re saying is that women look good before kids and look terrible after kids? I mean this is what you’re saying right?”

“I wouldn’t say I look like terrible now”, she retorted. I could tell she was getting upset and her friends too but honestly I didn’t care. I was beyond tired of having mean things said to me regarding my single, child-free status and this latest comment just pushed my anger over the edge. I was going to defend myself and my looks to the end, or at least to this woman and her goons.

“I wouldn’t say you look bad either. I just don’t agree with you. But you know what I will tell you my secret. It’s easy. Here you go……I work out. I work out a lot. I work out every single day. People don’t just “look good” they have to work at. It’s like going to a job. Models, actresses, athletes, spend a lot of time and money to look good. They work out. And I work out. I always have to push myself hard. To run farther, to run faster, to run better. It’s such hard work that it’s taken me 20 years of running to keep looking this good. Twenty years!” I was really fuming by now.

“And it has nothing to do with whether or not I’ve had a child," I raged on. "Plenty of mom’s look great. Why? Because they carefully monitor how much baby weight they gain during pregnancy and they work hard post-pregnancy to take the weight off. I even know women who were thinner post pregnancy. So you’re comments were not only mean to me, but a slap in the face to every mom out there who is fit and sexy and takes care of herself.”

“Fitness and health don’t just come naturally,” I preached on. “If you want to be in shape, if you want to be fit, then you’re going to have to work at it. Make it a job. Because it is the most important job you’ll ever have. Your life depends on it.”

And with that I pulled my feet out of my pool of tepid spa water, threw my money on the counter, grabbed my flip flops and walked out of there.

Was I mean? I don’t think so. I think I was candidly, east-coast style honest. And in my opinion my comments were long overdue to be heard. As a fit woman I’m tired of hearing and reading about other women’s complaints about their size, their figure, their thighs, and their weight. I’m tired of being fit and being blamed or ostracized or criticized for being fit. I don’t have super genes. I don’t have a weird diet. I don’t practice anything special. I just move, all day. I find ways to exercise throughout my day and it’s subconscious. It’s a nervous energy thing. And I eat when I’m hungry and not a second before. That’s it. No crazy diet scheme. I even drink whole milk.

All I want to see and hear is women taking responsibility for their own appearance, for their own health. Instead of blaming a fit person for being fit and instantly coming up with some far-fetched excuse as to why she is fit and you’re not, why not head outside for a walk or to the gym or eat an apple and get on track to being fit and being the envy of every woman that walks past you on the street.

Baccalaureate Versus Bachelorette

I am an academic advisor at a university. My job is to assist students in identifying a major, reviewing degree requirements, and offering suggestions on what courses to take. I also offer advice on financial aid, scholarships, study abroad, internships, practicums, medical/law/dental school, and work with faculty on advising issues, etc, etc, etc. The job description may read simple enough and anyone who’s been to college may recall having met with their academic advisor at some point or another.

When I tell people I’m an academic advisor I’m typically met with a cringe, followed by the regaling story of how their advisor “did them wrong”. Now I’m not going to claim that an academic advisor never gave bad advice or mistakenly told a student the wrong information. It happens. We are human and in our defense we see a lot of students. I alone have over a thousand (yeah you try keeping them all straight and see how good you do!) Sometimes though, it’s not the advisor that does the student wrong. Sometimes the student is or does the wrong all by themselves.

One such case involves the nigh unfathomable number of times I have had to explain to a young lady that she is in college to earn her baccalaureate degree not her bachelorette. Now, you may laugh as I admittedly did the first time a young woman said this to me. In fact, I almost spit my coffee all over my keyboard. The young woman asked me if I was, “Ok”, to which I quickly said, “Great. So you want to earn your baccalaureate degree” and quickly moved on with the conversation hoping that the young lady would not make the same faux pas in the future.

As time passed however, I routinely began to hear students of the female persuasion calling their degree a bachelorette and I began to wonder if this was some type of deliberate euphemism for a women with a degree and by default a brain. I mean after all, I have two degrees and am still single so I could argue that I in fact have earned by bachelorette status as a result of attending college. I mean society is rife with clichés about how men don’t fancy smart women or how smart, confident women intimidate men. I have always dismissed those comments and the men who have called me intimidating as mere troglodytes who want to drag me back to stupid and the cave kitchen. But alas, with this new upsurge in “Bachelorette Degree” verbiage I may have been wrong.

Perhaps not though.

I decided to put my theory to the test and began asking the women, who referred to wanting to earn a baccalaureate degree as a bachelorette, if they knew they were using the wrong word. Often the young lady would appear uncomfortable and would say, “You mean it’s not a bachelorette?” I would then have to explain the difference in the meaning of these two words, which admittedly made me question the quality of English education our students are receiving in high school. I mean can you imagine having to explain to a college student that “A baccalaureate is a degree issued after four to five years of study in a specific discipline and demonstrates the student’s increased ability to reason, research, and form and communicate ideas and opinions whereas a bachelorette is a single woman most likely seen on ABC’s “The Bachelor or Bachelorette”, “Temptation Island” or my personal reality TV favorite ‘The Flavor of Love.’”

In most cases the young lady realizes her mistake and says, “Wow, that sounded real dumb didn’t it?” To which I yearn to reply, “Well, frankly, YES!” But I never do. I always say, “Easy mistake and great joke,” in the hopes that they would confirm my theory that the bachelorette degree is the new euphemism for a smart, unmarried woman. But they never get the joke. I end up having to explain the joke or I just say, “Never mind,” and continue with the advising appointment.

In rare cases I have to offer a more in-depth explanation of the differences. This explanation usually goes like this:

Me: Are you single or do you have a boyfriend, husband, etc?

Student: I’m single.

Me: So if you’re single, then you are bachelorette. That is why the bride is given a bachelorette party. It’s her last night of being an unmarried woman.

Student: Oh! So wait, how’s that different?

Me: Well are you in college to earn a degree in being single forever or are you here to earn a degree in say biology or chemistry?

Student: Well I’m pre-med.

Me: Whatever. The point is, are you getting a degree in being a single girl or are you getting a degree in pre-med?

Student: Pre-med.

Me: So if you want a degree in pre-med it’s called a B-A-C-C-A-L-A-U-R-E-A-T-E not a bachelorette.

Student: Uh-huh, yeah so do I need to take Anatomy or…?

This is typically the point where I really want to have Homer Simpson fed audio in my office so that I can make the “D'OH” sound at the click of a button. Other times I simply scribble the students name into my notebook of people who will never be my doctor. And still other times I simply wish for students to really hear what they are saying and to take responsibility for themselves and their own academic career instead of blaming us poor advisors all the time. But sometimes wishes are like bachelorettes – always the bridesmaid never the degree.