Reading between the lines
I am fundamentally different from most people in that I try not to 'read between the lines'. I take what is said to me at face value: I don't let my mind wander down side-streets, making assumptions as to what people really mean. Additionally, I have this (unreasonable?) expectation that people who know me well will do the same with me. If I say "Rob and I are thinking of going to the beach some weekend soon," I mean just that. I don't mean, "Rob and I are going to the beach this weekend to have sex." If I did mean that, I would say it directly, or unambiguously imply it using the modifier "romantic", as in "Rob and I are going to the beach for a romantic weekend."
I speak boldly. I do not hedge. I sometimes grope around for a way to say something, this is true, but for the most part I am articulate and I chose my words so that I say what I mean. So, why is it that my friends feel the need to listen for meanings that aren't there? And why is it that I am expected to pick up on what they are hiding behind their words? I pick it up, often enough, but I put it down. "No," I tell myself, "If he meant that, he would have said as much, and it is wrong of me to assume that."
In particular, I am a bit tweaked at M.R. for dropping a trail of hints this past week, which, in hindsight, obviously led not only to where he is, but what he is doing and what he intended to do. His choice not to be up-front with me is baffling to me. Obviously, my choice not to read between the lines made it difficult for him to talk to me about it when he called last night. I can't believe that we talked for an hour, during which I asked several questions that provided him ample opportunity to tell me what was bothering him, and he did not, not until I asked something as an aside, and he, with his answer, opened that door. When he later said, "Do you know how difficult it was for me to tell you that I was going to LA this weekend?" I realized that he assumed that I would know why he was going, and that he thought I would disapprove. He was incorrect on both points.
As we talked, I tried to be gentle, and calm, and understanding, but some part of me was feeling resentment. Why was I feeling resentment? I resented that I felt stupid for choosing to ignore what he had been hinting at. I felt stupid because of course such thoughts had occured to me, but I had chosen to believe exactly what he told me, and thus dismissed them. And I resented that something about me and our friendship made him feel like he was being dishonest with me. Yes, that is it... Is it something about me that made him reluctant to be honest with me in the first place, and if so, why the compulsion to tell me later? And if he was reluctant, why tell me anyway? What harm in me not knowing that he was down in LA sleeping with someone (or two), when I had believed him when he said he was visiting friends before he started the new job?
Today I am without guile. I do not play games because I am too good at them. There is no challenge, and too great a risk of hurt feelings. It is too easy to be clever -- being honest and genuine are two of the most challenging, difficult things I have ever done. But I know he is a player, I know that something in him thrives on intrigue, on engaging a partner on the field of the intellect. The fencer in me recognizes the dance, and sometimes I participate: He thrusts in tierce, I counterparry in quarte, he feints and then lunges in quarte, I engage in quinte and attack in seconde, he counterparries in tierce, and when he presents his foil horizontally, I resist the urge to beat his blade and thus disarm him, raising my foil to his throat. He is so very intelligent, but younger and thus less experienced than I, and I have no desire to teach him things he will only want to unlearn later in life.
I speak boldly. I do not hedge. I sometimes grope around for a way to say something, this is true, but for the most part I am articulate and I chose my words so that I say what I mean. So, why is it that my friends feel the need to listen for meanings that aren't there? And why is it that I am expected to pick up on what they are hiding behind their words? I pick it up, often enough, but I put it down. "No," I tell myself, "If he meant that, he would have said as much, and it is wrong of me to assume that."
In particular, I am a bit tweaked at M.R. for dropping a trail of hints this past week, which, in hindsight, obviously led not only to where he is, but what he is doing and what he intended to do. His choice not to be up-front with me is baffling to me. Obviously, my choice not to read between the lines made it difficult for him to talk to me about it when he called last night. I can't believe that we talked for an hour, during which I asked several questions that provided him ample opportunity to tell me what was bothering him, and he did not, not until I asked something as an aside, and he, with his answer, opened that door. When he later said, "Do you know how difficult it was for me to tell you that I was going to LA this weekend?" I realized that he assumed that I would know why he was going, and that he thought I would disapprove. He was incorrect on both points.
As we talked, I tried to be gentle, and calm, and understanding, but some part of me was feeling resentment. Why was I feeling resentment? I resented that I felt stupid for choosing to ignore what he had been hinting at. I felt stupid because of course such thoughts had occured to me, but I had chosen to believe exactly what he told me, and thus dismissed them. And I resented that something about me and our friendship made him feel like he was being dishonest with me. Yes, that is it... Is it something about me that made him reluctant to be honest with me in the first place, and if so, why the compulsion to tell me later? And if he was reluctant, why tell me anyway? What harm in me not knowing that he was down in LA sleeping with someone (or two), when I had believed him when he said he was visiting friends before he started the new job?
Today I am without guile. I do not play games because I am too good at them. There is no challenge, and too great a risk of hurt feelings. It is too easy to be clever -- being honest and genuine are two of the most challenging, difficult things I have ever done. But I know he is a player, I know that something in him thrives on intrigue, on engaging a partner on the field of the intellect. The fencer in me recognizes the dance, and sometimes I participate: He thrusts in tierce, I counterparry in quarte, he feints and then lunges in quarte, I engage in quinte and attack in seconde, he counterparries in tierce, and when he presents his foil horizontally, I resist the urge to beat his blade and thus disarm him, raising my foil to his throat. He is so very intelligent, but younger and thus less experienced than I, and I have no desire to teach him things he will only want to unlearn later in life.
posted by KR | 1/29/2005 04:00:00 PM
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