Domo Arigato, Mr. Roboto

It’s been a long standing joke that I may, in fact, be part (if not at least half) Vulcan. What can I say? It is hardly my fault that I’m intensely cerebral. Notice that I say that I am cerebral, not necessarily smart – there is a difference.

I think first. Always. It’s what I do. It’s who I am.

I didn’t say that I think smart thoughts. Nope. Only that I think. A lot.

And hey, it could be worse, right? It’s not like people are calling me part Klingon – now that would be a drag.

Being cerebral has its advantages. It’s what allows me to become immersed in a book. It’s what allows me to over think even the smallest idea, dissect it, and serve the result up to you in this blog. I’d venture to say that it is what makes me wonderful in a million little ways. Okay, admittedly, it also makes me a bit creepy at times as well. But I’ll take it.

The down side of being cerebral is that sometimes it gives me the appearance of being somewhat robotic. Shocked? Don’t be. It’s okay. You can hold off on the violin solo because like I said, there’s an upside.

In my past life, the Vulcan thing always seemed to trip me up. I viewed the world through quantitative glasses, processing everything in a series of binary assessments. Unfortunately, I was working with humans who were (1) fallible despite the fact that they were responsible for molding and shaping lives and (2) Southerners who needed. . .well, more than I had to give at the time.

It was fine with students of course. Children are incomplete. They are not to be expected to have their collective crap together. Even a robot could spot ‘em the points. But adults? For adults I had expectations that I never seemed able to concede.

I don’t think there is much secret to the fact that I married my husband – who has more heart than the Lion in Oz – because he is the keeper of all things human. Generally speaking, I love that he has emotions. I watch him sometimes, feeling and experiencing life in his human way, and I wonder how he does it.

On these occasions, I feel like that robot Sonny from I, Robot watching Will Smith and working to emulate the wink. “Ah ha! I’ve got it!” I shout, celebrating my little victories and yet, there is still something stilted in my movements. The Vulcan thing.

Alas, my husband also married me. I suppose this is where the challenge is introduced. It can’t be easy to be married to a robot Vulcan, even someone who is only part robot Vulcan. Every now and again, you need them to throw you a bone, to get excited about human victories that may or may not compute.

It happened last Sunday in our household. My husband, generally not one for throwing so much as an expletive, threw down the gauntlet. It was time for a little appreciation – and I don’t mean in a dirty way, although I must admit I like where you were headed!

What’s a robot Vulcan girl who loves her all-heart Lion to do?

I’ll tell you: I made a call to a member of my task force: A group of women who are bilingual, speaking brain as well as heart. Impressed? You totally should be, it’s not easy – the verb conjugation alone is murder, but I digress. I spent hours being tutored in how to value rather than expect. (Seriously, at some point these women should write a book). People, my head nearly exploded. By the end of the day Monday, I had only one small, sincere point of gratitude – and I had to sweat bullets just to get it.

But a funny thing happened when I began to talk to my Lion. Standing there, with only a kernel of evidence for all my hours of toil, the least likely, least logical of things happened. More and more and more gratitude began to flow from my lips – and okay, who am I kidding? From my hips.

I found all the things that robots think are par for the course, and that humans celebrate. Things like effort, attempt, desire, and intention. For a moment, I glimpsed humanity and I gotta tell you people, this robot Vulcan has never been more certain that a little gratitude for imperfection is a beautifully illogical thing.