intelligence
Dec. 7th, 2018 10:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lifeonthepikeSomehow I have gotten spoiled. As I scan my eyes down through my reading list, I know I have a lot of really deep interests, much of which requires actual conversation with other people. Americanah, the second book I will read by Adichie, with the first being Half of a Yellow Sun - historical perspective on part of a world far away. Men Without Women, a collection of short stories by Murakami, mostly about, well, men without women. And I have Life of Pi, hopefully to read appropriately enough while at sea. All of these have a bit of interest in life beyond here and life beyond my day-to-day interest. I am fortunate that the people I have known the past few years have depth beyond their day-to-day lives as well. PhDs, social scientists, researchers...
You know, a few years ago I was involved with someone who thought very highly of herself. She had puffed herself up nicely, talking about her career that had taken her all over the world and how she was a lawyer who gave it up to become a consultant. She worked, like many in DC, on international issues, building consensus and having an intangible impact on the world which may or may not be positive. Impressive. So you could talk to her about her work all day long and never realize that she did not pick up a book in her spare time.
On her online dating profile, she wrote about being over educated but over it, implying that life had given her a hard dose of humility since she finished her dual degrees.
She is the exception to my rule, and as a spoiler I add now, it was not true.
-----
I have a belief that if you sit in a cold office building for half a day, you can then put your suit coat on and walk outside in DC summer heat for half an hour before it becomes obvious that you are sweating. Once you realize you are sweating it feels like hot mud clinging to your skin. Nobody goes outside. Even worse, if you find a suburban office park, everyone walks from the office to the garage to their BMW and turns on the air conditioning.
I neither enjoy suburban office parks, nor do I drive a BMW. In the summer of 2016, I found myself in the unenviable position of commuting to Tyson's Corner, though. And that is why I was pacing the visitor loop in front of the building on the phone.
"I need to know what you think we should do," she asked again, as she had several times over the past two weeks.
"I told you what I thought several times already." I had come to a consensus, whereas she had not. "Now, I think you should go ahead and keep the appointment."
"I don't think it's the right thing to do, and I can't believe you're telling me to do it."
"Kristen, it isn't the right thing to do, but at this point I've exhausted any possible logical outcome." Therein laid the crux. I worked through all logical outcomes and determined how I could handle any situation, whereas she wanted to consider every possible scenario and have buy-in from me for every possible scenario. "You know I think you just want to make your own decision anyway."
"I don't want to make my own decision. I want us to consider all possibilities and come to a mutual agreement where all parties are comfortable." If you look up international consensus building, that sentence is the framework for it - and it works for that, but it results in a coalition of truce, not exactly a loving bond, and usually you can stand behind the process as a ghost for driving a group towards what only you truly desire anyway.
But where do you start? It starts with making plans.
On a similarly sweaty day, we were on the island of Carriacou, one of the smaller islands that makes up the country of Grenada in the Caribbean. Unlike the island of Grenada, Carriacou was not invaded as a political ploy under the leadership of an old west cowboy. Carriacou is small and peaceful with only a few thousand people on it, along with perhaps a dozen restaurants and a handful of hotels and lodges, many of which are sporadically open.
Carriacou is the perfect place for me while on vacation, at least for a day or two, if you picture me running under palm trees and lounging in a hammock with a book or two, along with a rum punch. Perhaps I am back to watching old men play dominos by the beach. It is not perfect for Kristen, especially when pregnant and when the tropical Western Hemisphere is going through a bit of a paranoia scare regarding the zika virus. Kristen spent her time there hiding under mosquito netting. I would like to consider that she willed herself to be pregnant, purely through the act of purchasing a Costco-sized package of pregnancy sticks. Even I tried harder to avoid pregnancy than she did. And even more, three weeks prior, we were officially not a couple, having broken up because I insisted on comingto a very large bluegrass festival that she had invited me to with her son and with her friends.
In Kristen's world, an invitation is a suggestion, and it rarely results in firm plans. In my world, I make plans. Sometimes I make too many plans, but if a plan is in the form of an invitation, it means that is what I want to do.
So, we were in Carriacou, on a vacation I planned a month prior, when I was single. And my main goal was to walk to dinner, eat some fish, and drink some rum. As such, I suggested we go down to the beach shack for dinner, ten minutes' walk from our lodge, literally on the beach.
"Well, let's see what else there is."
"Okay, but there are only two or three places within walking distance." We did not have a car and I really did not intend to call a taxi cab. Were there even phones or taxi cabs to begin with?
"Well, let's see what else there is. Maybe we can get a taxi."
Kristen never really gave any real idea what she wanted to eat when dining out. On this occasion, it seemed that she wanted something that looked and felt like a resort restaurant. There were two likely candidates, but being in the off season, they both appeared as if they might be closed. They were at the other end of the island.
"So, let's look at all of the restaurants and agree on which might be best."
Well, I had already decided. I liked the Beach Bar, Kayak Cafe, and Off De Hook the best.
"But I think you should look at the other places. They might be better."
"Kristen, I did my planning before I came. I ruled them out already. It isn't that they aren't necessarily good, it's just that... Well, this is how I am. I anticipate my vacation and figure out what the main things are that I want to do and see. I enjoy the planning as much as I actually enjoy being here. You only planned to come six days ago and you've been working since then."
"I know, but I don't know what you know and I would like to consider it all. And I'm getting hungry so I'm getting a little grouchy."
I let her look at the list a bit.
"Tell you what," she offered. "Look through this list again and we'll each come up with a few that we like and then see if we can agree on that." This was the progress our relationship had made - an understanding that most people make better decisions when presented with only a few options.
She came up with a list including Slip Way, Lazy Turtle, and Beach Bar. "I'll go to Beach Bar if we have to," she said."
"I still really want to go to Beach Bar, but I think you will like Kayak Cafe better. If we are getting a taxi, then let's go to Off The Hook."
I sensed Beach Bar was a concession though, so she would appear to be reasonable. "I don't think you're really hearing me."
"Okay. Just tell me where you want to go. How do we get a taxi?"
"I don't want to get a taxi. I just want you to consider all the options."
"I have and I just told you what my favorites are. Now you're getting upset, so let's just get a taxi and go."
At that point, she broke down. It was clear she was really upset and the hormones and the heat were not helping. Although she had signed up for vacation my way, she was still upset that I had not changed plans to go to Club Med in Florida instead, but why? It's summer. Stifling South Florida heat in the middle of the summer was a lot more unpleasant than trade winds on the divide between the Atlantic and the Caribbean. Besides, I had made my plans. This was so I would not burn out at work from the job I hated.
Eventually she calmed down and agreed that we would walk down into the village below our lodge. Coming down the hill, the beach bar was on the right. The hotel proprietress had warned us they had a limited menu, and unless you were in the mood for fish and chips or rice and peas, you were pretty much out of luck. This is part of the deal going to out of the way places though. I had not expected to have a dozen options on my vacation.
We stepped onto the sand by the bar and asked for a menu. The bartender pointed at a chalkboard showing the only two options. Kristen looked like she would punch me if had it in her, so we left. We walked into the village and ate at Kayak Cafe which actually proved to be a worthy, and perhaps superior, second option.
Kayak Cafe was good, although awkwardly situated. One side of the cafe was in a prefab room with plastic booths and chairs and bright lighting, whereas the other was open looking towards the Caribbean. There was a treehouse outside which we climbed in while waiting for our food. By the time we finished, we had made peace.
When Kristen and I made plans, this was often the result. I asked her if she wanted to go out at the end of the week and I told her what I wanted to do. She usually said yes. And then the day would come and she would tell me several other things she wanted to do, as a comparison to my one.
I grew frustrated because when I wanted to do something or see something, it was discarded to do two or three other things. Then I could never relax while doing one thing because I knew we would be leaving to be late for something else. And she took it as complacency that I only considered doing one thing.
So, the next month ended up being that dinner negotiation on a grander scale. I spent my last day in Grenada working on spreadsheets for financial planning that showed that my six figure income was enough to put children through college and pay for retirement. And then my homework was fed to the dog when she came to the conclusion that two successful people should not have a child together because one was still not fully divorced and they had only met nine months prior - and broken up once before as well. She showed up at Planned Parenthood once, and we showed up at Planned Parenthood together once more, both times only to leave. We went for an ultrasound with an obstetrician that showed a healthy baby. Then she decided we should have the baby and put it up for adoption. But we should only adopt the baby to two friends of hers. And I should not adopt the baby - although the mantra was, "Consider all options," that was off the books. If we did adopt out the baby, she would want the baby to know her and to be a part of the baby's life.
Then she thought should break up because clearly we did not agree. Or we should move in together. But not yet. Maybe I should move by her. Why would I do that if I am not moving in?
And for a brief moment there was a gap of blue sky between the clouds.
You can walk outside in the summer in DC and feel something akin to hot mud accumulating under your suit coat. The sensation is so intense you will no longer care what the person on the other end of the phone is saying to you. Eventually you will hang up and go back inside, and start working some more, poring over spreadsheets for a despicable government agency that would soon be a tool of a tyrannical administration.
Not much later, she called back again. "There is no heartbeat."
I was born in the heat of summer on the second of August. In cruel irony, it was my birthday.
But I moved on.
In the aftermath of our relationship, I tried to form a friendship which failed, and I tried to bring some of my other friends closer, which also to some degree failed. Eventually I decided to let exes be exes. She and I did not have the stack of books on my shelf; we had only had each other. I realized even then that she did not care for me or my reading list.
I did see her a few times after we finally broke up. Once, I saw her in the neighborhood when she started dating someone new, and we met for a drink. And later she wanted to talk about us, and what happened. We did. I did not concede to what she believed, as I had when we were together.
Then I texted her when something good happened. "Hey, how have you been?"
"I'm fine. What's up?" I had been expecting more. We did still have shared friends. She knew what was up.
I thought about it. "Nothing. Nothing at all." I realize now that it was more about moving on and letting the past be the past than letting exes be exes.
You know, a few years ago I was involved with someone who thought very highly of herself. She had puffed herself up nicely, talking about her career that had taken her all over the world and how she was a lawyer who gave it up to become a consultant. She worked, like many in DC, on international issues, building consensus and having an intangible impact on the world which may or may not be positive. Impressive. So you could talk to her about her work all day long and never realize that she did not pick up a book in her spare time.
On her online dating profile, she wrote about being over educated but over it, implying that life had given her a hard dose of humility since she finished her dual degrees.
She is the exception to my rule, and as a spoiler I add now, it was not true.
-----
I have a belief that if you sit in a cold office building for half a day, you can then put your suit coat on and walk outside in DC summer heat for half an hour before it becomes obvious that you are sweating. Once you realize you are sweating it feels like hot mud clinging to your skin. Nobody goes outside. Even worse, if you find a suburban office park, everyone walks from the office to the garage to their BMW and turns on the air conditioning.
I neither enjoy suburban office parks, nor do I drive a BMW. In the summer of 2016, I found myself in the unenviable position of commuting to Tyson's Corner, though. And that is why I was pacing the visitor loop in front of the building on the phone.
"I need to know what you think we should do," she asked again, as she had several times over the past two weeks.
"I told you what I thought several times already." I had come to a consensus, whereas she had not. "Now, I think you should go ahead and keep the appointment."
"I don't think it's the right thing to do, and I can't believe you're telling me to do it."
"Kristen, it isn't the right thing to do, but at this point I've exhausted any possible logical outcome." Therein laid the crux. I worked through all logical outcomes and determined how I could handle any situation, whereas she wanted to consider every possible scenario and have buy-in from me for every possible scenario. "You know I think you just want to make your own decision anyway."
"I don't want to make my own decision. I want us to consider all possibilities and come to a mutual agreement where all parties are comfortable." If you look up international consensus building, that sentence is the framework for it - and it works for that, but it results in a coalition of truce, not exactly a loving bond, and usually you can stand behind the process as a ghost for driving a group towards what only you truly desire anyway.
But where do you start? It starts with making plans.
On a similarly sweaty day, we were on the island of Carriacou, one of the smaller islands that makes up the country of Grenada in the Caribbean. Unlike the island of Grenada, Carriacou was not invaded as a political ploy under the leadership of an old west cowboy. Carriacou is small and peaceful with only a few thousand people on it, along with perhaps a dozen restaurants and a handful of hotels and lodges, many of which are sporadically open.
Carriacou is the perfect place for me while on vacation, at least for a day or two, if you picture me running under palm trees and lounging in a hammock with a book or two, along with a rum punch. Perhaps I am back to watching old men play dominos by the beach. It is not perfect for Kristen, especially when pregnant and when the tropical Western Hemisphere is going through a bit of a paranoia scare regarding the zika virus. Kristen spent her time there hiding under mosquito netting. I would like to consider that she willed herself to be pregnant, purely through the act of purchasing a Costco-sized package of pregnancy sticks. Even I tried harder to avoid pregnancy than she did. And even more, three weeks prior, we were officially not a couple, having broken up because I insisted on comingto a very large bluegrass festival that she had invited me to with her son and with her friends.
In Kristen's world, an invitation is a suggestion, and it rarely results in firm plans. In my world, I make plans. Sometimes I make too many plans, but if a plan is in the form of an invitation, it means that is what I want to do.
So, we were in Carriacou, on a vacation I planned a month prior, when I was single. And my main goal was to walk to dinner, eat some fish, and drink some rum. As such, I suggested we go down to the beach shack for dinner, ten minutes' walk from our lodge, literally on the beach.
"Well, let's see what else there is."
"Okay, but there are only two or three places within walking distance." We did not have a car and I really did not intend to call a taxi cab. Were there even phones or taxi cabs to begin with?
"Well, let's see what else there is. Maybe we can get a taxi."
Kristen never really gave any real idea what she wanted to eat when dining out. On this occasion, it seemed that she wanted something that looked and felt like a resort restaurant. There were two likely candidates, but being in the off season, they both appeared as if they might be closed. They were at the other end of the island.
"So, let's look at all of the restaurants and agree on which might be best."
Well, I had already decided. I liked the Beach Bar, Kayak Cafe, and Off De Hook the best.
"But I think you should look at the other places. They might be better."
"Kristen, I did my planning before I came. I ruled them out already. It isn't that they aren't necessarily good, it's just that... Well, this is how I am. I anticipate my vacation and figure out what the main things are that I want to do and see. I enjoy the planning as much as I actually enjoy being here. You only planned to come six days ago and you've been working since then."
"I know, but I don't know what you know and I would like to consider it all. And I'm getting hungry so I'm getting a little grouchy."
I let her look at the list a bit.
"Tell you what," she offered. "Look through this list again and we'll each come up with a few that we like and then see if we can agree on that." This was the progress our relationship had made - an understanding that most people make better decisions when presented with only a few options.
She came up with a list including Slip Way, Lazy Turtle, and Beach Bar. "I'll go to Beach Bar if we have to," she said."
"I still really want to go to Beach Bar, but I think you will like Kayak Cafe better. If we are getting a taxi, then let's go to Off The Hook."
I sensed Beach Bar was a concession though, so she would appear to be reasonable. "I don't think you're really hearing me."
"Okay. Just tell me where you want to go. How do we get a taxi?"
"I don't want to get a taxi. I just want you to consider all the options."
"I have and I just told you what my favorites are. Now you're getting upset, so let's just get a taxi and go."
At that point, she broke down. It was clear she was really upset and the hormones and the heat were not helping. Although she had signed up for vacation my way, she was still upset that I had not changed plans to go to Club Med in Florida instead, but why? It's summer. Stifling South Florida heat in the middle of the summer was a lot more unpleasant than trade winds on the divide between the Atlantic and the Caribbean. Besides, I had made my plans. This was so I would not burn out at work from the job I hated.
Eventually she calmed down and agreed that we would walk down into the village below our lodge. Coming down the hill, the beach bar was on the right. The hotel proprietress had warned us they had a limited menu, and unless you were in the mood for fish and chips or rice and peas, you were pretty much out of luck. This is part of the deal going to out of the way places though. I had not expected to have a dozen options on my vacation.
We stepped onto the sand by the bar and asked for a menu. The bartender pointed at a chalkboard showing the only two options. Kristen looked like she would punch me if had it in her, so we left. We walked into the village and ate at Kayak Cafe which actually proved to be a worthy, and perhaps superior, second option.
Kayak Cafe was good, although awkwardly situated. One side of the cafe was in a prefab room with plastic booths and chairs and bright lighting, whereas the other was open looking towards the Caribbean. There was a treehouse outside which we climbed in while waiting for our food. By the time we finished, we had made peace.
When Kristen and I made plans, this was often the result. I asked her if she wanted to go out at the end of the week and I told her what I wanted to do. She usually said yes. And then the day would come and she would tell me several other things she wanted to do, as a comparison to my one.
I grew frustrated because when I wanted to do something or see something, it was discarded to do two or three other things. Then I could never relax while doing one thing because I knew we would be leaving to be late for something else. And she took it as complacency that I only considered doing one thing.
So, the next month ended up being that dinner negotiation on a grander scale. I spent my last day in Grenada working on spreadsheets for financial planning that showed that my six figure income was enough to put children through college and pay for retirement. And then my homework was fed to the dog when she came to the conclusion that two successful people should not have a child together because one was still not fully divorced and they had only met nine months prior - and broken up once before as well. She showed up at Planned Parenthood once, and we showed up at Planned Parenthood together once more, both times only to leave. We went for an ultrasound with an obstetrician that showed a healthy baby. Then she decided we should have the baby and put it up for adoption. But we should only adopt the baby to two friends of hers. And I should not adopt the baby - although the mantra was, "Consider all options," that was off the books. If we did adopt out the baby, she would want the baby to know her and to be a part of the baby's life.
Then she thought should break up because clearly we did not agree. Or we should move in together. But not yet. Maybe I should move by her. Why would I do that if I am not moving in?
And for a brief moment there was a gap of blue sky between the clouds.
You can walk outside in the summer in DC and feel something akin to hot mud accumulating under your suit coat. The sensation is so intense you will no longer care what the person on the other end of the phone is saying to you. Eventually you will hang up and go back inside, and start working some more, poring over spreadsheets for a despicable government agency that would soon be a tool of a tyrannical administration.
Not much later, she called back again. "There is no heartbeat."
I was born in the heat of summer on the second of August. In cruel irony, it was my birthday.
But I moved on.
In the aftermath of our relationship, I tried to form a friendship which failed, and I tried to bring some of my other friends closer, which also to some degree failed. Eventually I decided to let exes be exes. She and I did not have the stack of books on my shelf; we had only had each other. I realized even then that she did not care for me or my reading list.
I did see her a few times after we finally broke up. Once, I saw her in the neighborhood when she started dating someone new, and we met for a drink. And later she wanted to talk about us, and what happened. We did. I did not concede to what she believed, as I had when we were together.
Then I texted her when something good happened. "Hey, how have you been?"
"I'm fine. What's up?" I had been expecting more. We did still have shared friends. She knew what was up.
I thought about it. "Nothing. Nothing at all." I realize now that it was more about moving on and letting the past be the past than letting exes be exes.
