Stand Up

Initiative – an introductory step or act; leading action; readiness and ability in initiating action; enterprise; one’s personal, responsible decision

Recently, I realized that I place an incredibly high value on initiative. The relationships in my life that have fallen by the wayside all share a common trait: a lack of initiative. While I am certainly guilty of failing in this area, I most often find myself as the introvert leading most of the action in my relationships. I’m not entirely surprised – after all, I’m also Type A and incredibly goal-oriented, so if someone isn’t meeting me halfway, I jump in and make up the difference.

The knowledge that many people in my life take almost no initiative frustrates me to no end. I’ve tried the aggressive approach (leading all the action myself) and the passive approach (waiting to see how much time will pass before the other person reaches out). Neither has been successful, and as I’m well aware, the definition of insanity is repeating the same thing with the hope of a different result.

Instead, I’m going to start a new thing. Instead of acting passive-aggressive, I’m going to take initiative for the sake of my relationships, and model the way I want to be treated. I’m also going to openly communicate my desire for mutual initiative. Finally, when others do reach out, I’m going to set aside my introverted nature (which sometimes cripples me with inaction), and take the time to respond. I’m crossing my fingers, and hoping and praying for improvement in this area. I have a few emails I’ve been neglecting, so to get things started, I’m going to take the time to acknowledge them this morning.

In some ways, I hate stumbling upon books that I love. While I enjoy becoming deeply engrossed in a piece of literature, a sense of loss always follows the conclusion. My experience reading The Piano Teacher last week was no different.

Janice Y. K. Lee’s first novel is breathtaking. A former editor at Elle, she skillfully intertwines the lives of Hong Kong elite with British expats both during and after World War II. Lee’s language is beautifully sparse, and none her characters are particularly likeable, which makes their idiosyncrasies all the more intriguing.

In 1951, Claire Pendleton travels to Hong Kong with her husband Martin, an engineer. She is hired as a piano teacher by Victor and Melody Chen, a wealthy Chinese couple, and quickly finds herself more at ease in the stifling humidity of China than she ever was in her predictable British life. As she emerges from her shell and begins an affair with Will Truesdale, the Chen’s driver, the story returns to 1941, when Will was head over heels for the Eurasian Trudy Liang. The women are opposite in looks and personality–”Claire, with her blonde and familiar femininity, English rose to Trudy’s exotic scorpion”–yet both pique Will’s interest.

While the chaotic Japanese invasion and occupation of Hong Kong also play a central role in the novel, Lee’s rapidly disintegrating characters are most engrossing and make this a piece worth reading (I foresee Keira Knightley as Claire in the inevitable film adaptation).