Considering Considerations

Writing these blogs is hard for me because I am not a creative writer. I am not a creative writer if only for the fact that I do not consider myself to be a creative writer. I write. Obviously, I write. But I do not deem myself a creative writer and therefore no one else should suppose that I am one. If a man refers to himself as stupid it is the job of the listener to recognize that the man knows better than anyone else the level of his own intelligence. If he says he is stupid then it should be agreed upon that he is stupid, indeed, and we shouldn’t expect anything intelligent to come from him. There is the possibility that he is actually smart and just calls himself stupid. He might call himself stupid so that little will be expected of him, or in an effort to be more relatable to his stupid audience. He might call himself stupid because he is modest and simply uncomfortable with the idea of calling himself smart. Modesty is the best policy, at least that’s what some people believe. I am not comparing myself to the man who says he’s stupid. I don’t think I am stupid and I am not being sneaky or modest in saying that I am not a creative writer. I am just being honest, which is supposed to be a good policy as well. My point is that when a person considers themselves to be something (or to not be something) then that is what they are (or aren’t). This may be illogical; in fact I’m sure that it is. According to me, then, whenever a girl tells you she is not a creative writer you should assume she is not and when a man tells you he is stupid you should believe that he is. That seems an unreasonable way to go through life. What if a man, probably a different man but possibly the same one, tells you he is honest? Would you let him hold your money while you tie your shoe? Probably not. It is more likely you would get to know him and determine for yourself whether or not he is honest. What if the man is a priest, though? What if the priest tells you he’s a thief? Well, that would just be confusing. But my point is how much do we let others do the considering for us and to what extent should we trust our own ways of considering things over the considerations of others? Just because I didn’t consider myself a criminal doesn’t mean I didn’t deserve to be in jail. Just because I don’t consider myself a creative writer doesn’t mean I can’t or don’t write creatively. Hmm. Now I’m unsure of what to consider myself.

He's Got a Point

I have a friend.

I call him a friend less because I enjoy his company and more because I have known him longer than most anyone else and somehow I find myself in the same place, same time as him more often than possibly either of us would prefer.

See, he has a tendency to talk. And talk and talk and talk. While I consider myself to be a fantastic listener, even I have limits. The truth is I have very little interest in hearing, and even less capability to understand, whatever it is he always wants to say. And with him, it’s always something profound. Why is this like this, why is that like that? As though there is a supreme explanation for everything, and it is our task in that very moment to realize whatever it is. He can’t accept that some things just are. Try telling him so, you won’t get very far. I never have the answers he’s looking for.

Listening to him takes me back to high school honors English classes; trying to make sense of ways of thinking and ways of putting things into words that I just couldn’t make sense of. Being forced to read long, confusing novels. I never liked reading long, confusing novels and I don’t often do what I don’t like doing. In the same way that I pretended to have read the novel, I pretend to listen to him.

As soon as I notice that even he doesn’t know what he’s saying anymore, that’s when I officially stop paying attention. That is when the automatic responses kick in. Whatever I can throw out there to make him feel as though his thoughts are actually worth listening to.

“yeah … that’s true … good point … I think you’re right”

I always started the novel, by the way. And I always began reading with the intention of finishing. Each time a new novel was presented, I tried. I tried to make sense of it. I tried to enjoy it. Sometime before the second chapter, though, my mind would wander. In a very similar way, my mind wanders when I listen to him.

“I could be doing something else right now,” I think. “I could be doing something other than pretending to care what he’s talking about. I could be washing dishes; I could be getting something done. Heck, I could be watching Law and Order. I could be on the couch with a tub of ice cream in one hand, a spoon in the other, wondering who bludgeoned yet another prostitute with an ashtray.” Like I said, my mind wanders. My mind can’t help it. He’s just too exhausting.

Today our paths crossed again. As soon as he thought he had my attention he began. He talked and talked and then he said something. This something stood out from the other somethings. It sounded important. Important enough to grab a hold of my wandering mind and keep it still for a moment. I can’t say for sure what caught my attention. His tone of voice may have changed, maybe he was a little louder. Either way I could tell that if he had written out his monologue this particular something would have been underlined. Or at least italicized. Or possibly on its very own line.

“It’s not fair.”

At last, something I understood! Something I could relate to. Keep in mind I’ve no idea what he was referring to as unfair, but who couldn’t relate to the sentiment. Especially the way he said it. He didn’t toss it out like it so often is. He said it like he absolutely knew it to be true.

I looked at him and I truthfully, solemnly told him, “It may never be fair.” He frowned, but I could see he was pleased with the connection.

I have to remind myself how much it means to him that I at least try to listen. I have to remind myself that he needs someone to talk to - to express his questions, his concerns. He doesn’t necessarily need to know all the answers, he just enjoys the asking. I have to remind myself that even though he makes no sense to me sometimes, what he is saying is significant to him. I have to remind myself that he needs me to listen. I have to remind myself that next year when he turns five and starts kindergarten, surely his ability to express himself will improve.

Right?