Dr. Carolyn Lee reflects on a different cliché each week. Recently, in her blog, “All in the Same Boat,“ she invites us to question, are we a rubber raft or a megayacht? This week Carolyn explores the cliché, cream of the crop. 

Learn more about Dr. Carolyn Lee on her biography page or investigate 29 more clichés in her latest book, Keep Your Eye on the Ball And Other Clichès to Live by. 

Cream of the Crop  

Cream, of course, is the richest, best tasting part of the milk, and it rises to the top. As early as the 16th century, the French used the phrase “la crème de la crème” to mean the best of its kind. We’ve always been impressed and fascinated by the best; we’ve been in awe of those individuals who distinguish themselves by rising to the top of the heap, who achieve a position of complete superiority over others with whom they compete. 

In 1974, my father was in the family room watching the Belmont Stakes on television.  I wasn’t particularly into horse racing, so I wasn’t paying much attention, but, as the horses entered the backstretch, my dad said, “You may want to watch this.”  Secretariat suddenly took off.  In the most unbelievable and shocking way, he charged ahead of the other horses.  I stood there, gaping, as this beautiful animal set himself apart in a way that looked almost supernatural.  The announcer was yelling, “He’s moving like a tremendous machine!”  Secretariat crossed the finish line thirty-one lengths ahead of his nearest competitor, setting the record for the largest margin of victory in the history of the race.  His winning time of 2 minutes and 24 seconds still stands as the American record for a mile and a half on dirt. 

That was nearly fifty years ago and thinking about it still gives me goosebumps.   Recently I watched the race again on YouTube.  Even in grainy black-and-white, it is breath-taking.  Sports writers at the time had a lot to say about that history-making event.  But one of them admitted, “There is no template for describing the heretofore unseen.”   

The question I kept asking myself after first seeing that unprecedented race was, “How could any one horse be that much better than all the other horses in the running?”  I mean, a little better, yes, maybe even a lot better, but that much better?  Secretariat’s win seemed to play out beyond the bounds of reason.  It was a little spooky. 

I think greatness is always a little spooky.  It defies reason; it breaks the rules; it changes the standards and resets the bar. There are wonderful stories about people who have excelled almost beyond belief, who have distinguished themselves in ways that defy norms. There are people whose talent is so limitless that they have reinvented their area of excellence.     

Of course, by its very nature, true greatness is rare.  Most of us don’t experience it personally.  But we can recognize it.  We can be appreciative spectators. One thing I believe we shouldn’t do is make greatness our objective and then feel like we’ve failed if we don’t get there.  

Kurt Vonnegut tells a story about working on an archeological dig when he was about fifteen. On a break, he was talking to one of the archeologists. The guy asked him about what interested him, and Kurt told him he was interested in theater and choir; he played the violin and piano, and he took art classes. “But,” Kurt said, “I’m not good at any of them.” Then the archeologist said something that Kurt Vonnegut claimed changed his life. He said, “I don’t think being good at things is the point of doing them. I think you’ve got all these wonderful experiences with different skills, and they all teach you things and make you an interesting person, no matter how well you do them.” 

Kurt said later, “I went from a failure, someone who hadn’t been talented enough at anything to excel, to someone who did things because I enjoyed them. I had been raised in such an achievement-oriented environment, so inundated with the myth of Talent, that I thought it was only worth doing things if you could “win” at them.” 

In 1969, Vonnegut’s sixth novel, Slaughterhouse Five, rocketed him to fame, and critics hailed him as “great.” But becoming famous and great was never his goal. He didn’t write because he wanted to reach cream-of-the-crop status. He wrote because he enjoyed it. Most of us will not achieve complete superiority over everyone else in our field of interest and “win” at everything we undertake. The important thing is to have a field of interest and do the things we enjoy. 

Want to Read More? 

Check out Dr. Carolyn Lee’s blogs on her website, she features a new cliché each week or you can order her new book, Keep Your Eye on the Ball And Other Clichès to Live By. Curious about the author? Read more about Carolyn here. We hope you enjoyed this article learning more about the cliché, cream of the crop.