A person who holds strong convictions might appear inflexible, impolite, or exceptionally obtuse, when they are merely direct. ~ Kilroy J. Oldster, Dead Toad Scrolls
Remember the Capulets and Montagues? In brief, these families were the 16th century’s Hatfields and McCoys. Romeo and Juliet were star-crossed lovers who died unnecessary deaths by their own hands, all because of a poorly communicated plan with tight timelines.
What if Romeo had come clean with Mercutio about his marriage to a Capulet? Maybe his friend wouldn’t have felt compelled to insert himself into a dual that ended with his death. Then Romeo wouldn’t have killed Tybalt and rendered himself a persona non grata in Verona.
What if Friar John, who was meant to relay the fake-death plan to Romeo, had managed to forward the message in spite of landing in quarantine? Maybe it all could have ended well. Or at least better.
Communication. Something everyone wants more of—from others. Keeping myself to myself can have consequences. Staying tightly wrapped works for mummies, but not so much for me when my happiness is dependent on someone else’s knowledge.
To illustrate, I will use a more current example than 13th century. Decades ago, when I was first married, I was timid about requesting exactly what I wanted. My childhood culture taught young girls the skirt-around-the-issue method. That is, avoid bluntness. Tease the truth with euphemisms, but never be so crass as to say what you mean. You know, directly.
I acknowledged the inherent risk of this method when, on a long road trip, I attempted to delicately suggest that we stop. I needed a restroom desperately, but what did I say?
“When were you thinking we might stop to eat?” “Are you hungry yet?” And so on.
I could have died from uremic poisoning (ok, not really) by the time we stopped if my exceptionally intelligent husband hadn’t finally caught on. And when he did, he was understandably annoyed. He accedes to just about any request I make, but he can’t read my mind, and thank God for it. Anyway, telepathy being a non-starter, it is unreasonable for me to expect to get exactly what I want without being specific. And vocal.
Another example is even more recent, and with no long-term relationship impact. Some years ago my brother-in-law was visiting and attempting to make coffee with my Keurig. Of course, every version of those high-convenience appliances has a different process to extrude a fragrant cup of Joe out of the pods. He asked me for direction on the number of ounces to select and I advised him that for the cup he was holding, he could either go with one 10 oz. serving or two 6 oz. servings. So he ran it through twice, at 6 oz. each without drinking the first 6 oz. Yes, the coffee ran over the sides and onto the counter. Sigh. And all my fault. What I should have said was that for a warm up, he could use the pod again, if he only produced the smaller serving for each. And that it would be a good idea to consume at least part of the first round before proceeding to the second. On second thought, I hope there was no long-term relationship impact.
As an aside, if you really want to delve into ways to be understood and to understand others, you might want to take a look at a book that addresses these issues. One that does it well is That’s Not What I Meant. Click the title to see a summary. Deborah Tannen provides clarity and data and excellent examples. But back to me.
Even now, decades past achieving adulthood (chronologically), I am still learning that clarity must occasionally take precedence over the gentle cocoon-like conversation Miss Manners would prescribe.
You?
