I used to have a person who would help keep my house clean, but for numerous reason her services were terminated – mainly because I would come home after she had been there and spend the rest of my night putting things back were they belonged. I kept reminding myself that she’s really honest and trustworthy and such a sweet lady. I kept telling myself that honesty and trustworthiness are worth something in the world today. I thought about helping her and maybe leaving little photographs of how things should be put back in place, or drawing little chalk outlines – but never got around to it. Cleaning up after the cleaning lady got to be too much. I should have let her go six months prior, but I’m a wuss, and I couldn’t bring myself to do it. But in the end, my OCD got the best of me.

I mention this because it always baffles me that someone has chosen a profession that they are not good at. In our younger years, we get a bye for job-hopping. I moved from job to job every few years to gain experience or recognition for my work. When I felt I wasn’t valued, it was time to move on. It’s a searching time – trial and error. But at some point, most of us learn what we like to do, what we are good at, and what we really don’t like to do. From there, you surround yourself with people who like to do what you don’t like to do. To do the things you don’t do. Do I make myself clear? Transparency is the new black.

There are a number of ways that people learn. And there are a number of learning styles that fit different people. You can be a visual, aural, verbal, physical, logical (so not me), social, or solitary learner. I am a visual learner. I have to see something in order for it to embed in my head.

The twist for me is that I am a visual learner with a warped sense of humor. Growing up, I could not remember vocabulary words until I envisioned them. To give you an example, the word – double-entendre. Until I visualized my two aunts freezing in Antarctica – I just couldn’t grasp the word. To this day, two (double) aunts (pronounced in the east coast lock-jaw uuunts) standing in the tundra – had a whole second meaning to me.  And that’s how you make a double entendre into a pun. Take that Mrs. Stevens (second grade teacher).

I know that all of you linguistic learners are thinking that’s way too much information and way too long of a process to learn, but it’s not. We, the spatially proud, see all of this (the two aunts freezing in Antarctica, with caribou walking by) all in a matter of a microsecond – and it’s there. With hundreds of mini vignettes running through my head all day long, it’s no wonder I love popcorn so much. I get the large – one free refill bag w/real-like butter – just in case I stay for the double entendre feature. You can pick out visual learners in a crowd. They’re the folks that are sitting quietly one minute, and cracking-up the next (seemingly out-of-the-blue). That’s because in their head one of the caribou that walked by the two frozen aunts was rapping an Eminem song.

To this day, I think people think I’m “slow.” Slow, not in the, “Hey, Tom your special bus is here to pick you up” kind-of way, but slow in the not brilliant kind-of way. But just for clarification, I’m not slow. I am merely enjoying the film. So if you are looking for an immediate, knee jerk reaction, that’s not me. I have to wait for the credits to roll through my head before I can answer.

Which brings me to another pet peeve of mine. Why are there film credits? I mean, what’s the purpose? I understand giving credit for work done, but when was the last time you could actually read the name of the person who did the set design or the lighting? If you are going to add that at the end of your film then make it at least readable. I really think this would reduce the number of people that actually “say” they are working in Hollywood by half. Seriously, the last 16 films on my resume just wouldn’t exist.

It should not come as a surprise that artists – this is a gross sweeping generalization – are visual learners. I am not saying artists are special (although I do know a couple artists that obviously missed the bus more than a few times) but artists tend to see and process things differently. For an example, take balance. Balance comes naturally to me from an aesthetic angle. I can look at a painting, traditional or abstract, and see balance or lack there-of.  I walk into a room and immediately will notice the way the room is weighted. Is it balanced or out of proportion? I am happy to say, I no longer take it upon myself to move and rearrange friends’ furniture and coffee table stuff to appease my sense of balance. I will warn you though; I will straighten a painting if it’s hanging crooked.  Balance, on the aesthetic side, I get. Fortunately, this is neither the time nor the place to address balance on the personal side. I only have one page to work with here – and I could go on for days.

So the process continues. In any given situation, we learn what works for us and what doesn’t. We learn who works with us and who doesn’t. Hopefully, with a little self-reflection, we can accept that the order of the stack of books on your coffee table – although it should always ascend from largest to smallest – is not an end of the world issue (but at least the square ones should be grouped together – damn it). And that we all learn differently and in different ways. Take this magazine; it’s been one big rubber band ball of learning experiences over the past five years, many of which we share again with you in this anniversary issue. The biggest lesson learned: we all see the world in a slightly different way. And I’m good with that as long as everything is in the right place. Sign me,

Can you move that over to the left an inch?