why does “communication” always assume the positive?
“they just need to learn to communicate [well, better]”
“my parents don’t really communicate [well]”
“wow [good] communication really is key!”
we’ve been omitting the qualifier adjectives in these sentences too long, too long. why is it assumed that talking about communication means talking about communicating well? it shouldn’t be.
cause, like all good things (like all good tools of life-doing), there inevitably exists an other-side edge of the sword. the scary, swordy one.
the edge that slices through thick, awkward conversation clouds; cuts through the elephant in the room; pokes and twists a little bit in the heart when used precisely — swish and flick. and all of a sudden there’s a thundercloud broken in half over your living room, pouring a deluge over your dead elephant, sliced and gruesome on your hardwood floor, and all the party-goers fall silent, frowning to turn to the dead interruption they’d all secretly been waiting for.
terrible communication can really hurt. and confuse. sometimes I fight with people whose minds I wish I could peer into, 3D and transparent. I want to see the workings of their brain, little neurons firing not-so-little signals over those synapseys, so cute, so powerful. –> makes me think of powerpuff girls, but that’s neither here nor there. the point is that sometimes, it’s just so tempting to hold a person between the temples, two handed, firm, and yell “WHAT IS GOING ON IN THERE; HELP ME UNDERSTAAAAND AND WE’LL FIGHT MUCH BETTER”
cause the most terrible fightings with people are because of terrible communication — where neither party is peering into the other’s brainsynapsees, not even trying. or maybe you’re trying, but they won’t let you. or maybe you say you’re trying, but are looking with your eyes wide SHUT. refusing to empatheyes 😦
terrible communication wreaks real havoc. causes human shut-downs and elephant murders. brings out past hurts and unravels dialogue, actively not resolving anything. we just can’t take [Positive] as the assumed default; the stakes are too high for that kind of carelessness.
good lovers need to be good fighters. and probably, there’s something to say about good fighters making good lovers, too — why else would Shakespeare have made so many of his couples such sparrers of words?
I dunno how to fix this yet — speak slowly? look earnestly? listen carefully?
actually, here, let’s try again — lay down pride. admit faults and un-smartness (especially when it smarts the most). pray.
disclaimer: I am not in a fight with my boyfriend, just…sayin’