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We all know the old bromides: can't tell a book
by its cover; things are not as they seem; appearances
can be deceiving. Here are a few of stories about
this.
Snakes in the Pillow
I just couldn't make sense of what I saw. I knelt
in my bed, staring at my pillow. Ridges and folds
were crisscrossing the pillow in a regular pattern;
the shadows were emphasized by light coming in through
the window. To a twelve-year-old at two o'clock
in the morning, there was only one logical explanation:
snakes in the pillow.
Logical explanation or not, I wanted more evidence.
I stared and stared, waiting for something to move.
Nothing happened. I was riveted to the spot, barely
daring to breathe. What if I missed something? Several
times I told myself I was being ridiculous. We lived,
after all, on a quiet side street in a suburb of
Detroit - not exactly a natural habitat for snakes.
Several times I reached tentatively toward the pillow
to smooth out the ridges and folds. Several times
I recoiled, for fear that I would disturb or dislodge
the snakes.
I was, by now, whimpering. And embarrassed. I didn't
want to go get my mom; the snakes might move. But
I desperately needed some adult presence. I could
call out, but what if they really weren't snakes?
But then what was I so clearly seeing? Round and
round my thoughts whirled. I had convinced myself,
against all logic and experience, that the best,
most likely explanation for the ridges and folds
was snakes.
The whole episode so far had probably taken no
more than ten minutes, which my preadolescent mind
had expanded into an eternity. Finally, heart beating,
I poked tentatively at one of the ridges. It collapsed
under my touch. Nothing there but air. I poked somewhere
else. Same thing. I smoothed the pillow, tossed
it on the floor where it wouldn't scare me again,
and went to sleep.
Eau de Pourriture
A friend of the family received a package from
her daughter, a continent away. In the top of the
packing material was a bottle of the vilest, most
putrid cologne imaginable. Mother and daughter have
had a mixed relationship - not love/hate exactly
but not always cordial. Mother was aghast. Why would
Daughter send such an obviously obnoxious gift?
How could she thank her daughter with anything resembling
sincerity? She brought the issue to her therapist,
and they strategized and rehearsed for two, maybe
three, sessions. Finally Mother screwed up her courage
and called Daughter. The conversation went something
like this:
Mom: Thank you for the cologne. I was very surprised
to receive the Eau de Pourriture.
Daughter: Eau de Pourriture! That's the vilest most
putrid stuff imaginable! They must have screwed
up my order. Uh, wait a minute. Was the bottle pretty
small?
Mom: Well, yes. . . .
Daughter: They must've stuck it in as a free sample.
Was there anything else in the box?
Mother fished around in the packing material. Near
the bottom was a larger bottle of a different cologne,
which she had always loved.
The Jonses
Many years ago, my dad gave me a subscription to
a financial newsletter called The Kiplinger Letter.
I haven't read it in 30 or 40 years, but it's still
in print. One article especially caught my eye during
the years I subscribed. The author described some
families in a neighborhood, all of them jealous
of each others' good fortune. One family traveled
to exotic places every year. One family entertained
lavishly, with expensive cars spilling out of their
driveway onto the street. There were other families,
lost to memory, but these two will illustrate the
point. The Kiplinger editors interviewed the families
and made some interesting discoveries.
The traveling family really liked to travel, and
it had made summer and winter vacations a priority
in their lives. To accommodate this activity, they
had economized on nearly everything else. When they
were at home, they never ate out. They didn't wear
fashionable clothes. Their home cooking consisted
of lots of beans and cheap cuts of meat.
The husband of the entertainers was in sales for
a large international corporation. Since he was
a vice-president of sales, it was expected that
he would entertain any customers or suppliers that
came through town. This meant that, at least once
a month, and sometimes twice, the family had to
offer its home for corporate entertainment. The
family was reimbursed for the food and catering
staff, but not for the disruptions to its domestic
life.
Knowing and Forgiving - And Unknowing
There's an old French saying, Tout comprendre,
c'est tout pardonner. ("To know all is to forgive
all." - attributed to a MMe. De Stael, 1807).
Forgiveness may not always feel like an option,
but the saying is an invitation to look below the
surface of things. It may be impossible to "know
all"; we're not omniscient. We have to make
assumptions.
But what about me and my snakes, and the Mother
and the Neighbors? Weren't we all making assumptions,
wrong as they were? I had a fear of snakes. What
better explanation for the shadows on the pillow?
Mother had a sometimes tempestuous relationship
with Daughter. Why not assume the worst? The Neighbors
had nothing to go on but what they could observe.
Why not assume that everybody else had a better
deal in life?
We want to know answers; we want things to make
sense. For lack of evidence, we make assumptions,
sometimes right and sometimes wrong. We can get
hurt either way. But sometimes we need to live in
the unknowing, or even make assumptions that do
not harm us.
I was able to come up with only one assumption
about the pillow. Fear blotted out any other reasonable
explanations, even when I was able to think of them.
I created a worst-case scenario, literally out of
whole cloth!
Mother apparently made one very big assumption:
"I am not worthy of my daughter's love."
Mom had some options that she probably considered:
Daughter was acting out on a negative impulse. Daughter
got the order wrong. Daughter really thought Mom
would like the stuff. In any case, acknowledgment
and a thank-you were going to be uncomfortably awkward
But Mom did not think, apparently, that there must
be something else in the box. That would have required
either a suspension in knowing or an assumption
that Daughter would never have sent such a putrid
gift.
The Neighbors had made some assumptions, too: Somehow,
the Travelers and the Entertainers were better or
more worthy than the rest of the Neighbors. Or perhaps
they were just luckier. Or high-falutin'. The Neighbors
apparently didn't or couldn't suspend judgment or
assume that the objects of their jealousy might
have made trade-offs. And they certainly didn't
seem capable of simply being happy that someone
else was apparently prospering.
When our assumptions lead to paralyzing fear or
hard feelings, we're hurting ourselves. When those
assumptions are wrong, we're hurting ourselves twice.
We can't always be sunny optimists, blindly thinking
that everything is for the best. But we can make
our assumptions more positive in the face of unknowing.
Closer to Home
Here are some examples that may come closer to
home.
One:
A driver cuts across two lanes in front of us to
make an illegal turn. We slam on the brakes and
swear. It's easy to assume that the other driver
is incompetent, drunk, or just a dirt bag. Even
when the adrenaline stops flowing, our good mood
has evaporated. But we really don't know what was
up with the other driver. Perhaps there was an emergency,
and the driver was headed to the hospital. Perhaps
the driver was inattentive because he or she was
arguing with a passenger. The driver may have just
found out he or she has cancer. The point is, there's
no way to verify any assumption, and all of them
(or all but one of them) must be wrong. The assumptions
we make are more about us than the other person.
And maybe the healthiest response is to make a benign
assumption, take a breath, and feel compassion for
the other driver's problems.
Two:
Your boss calls a meeting and upbraids the entire
team: You're all lazy, you're all careless, your
productivity stinks. She singles some members out
for special abuse. You know that the team's output
hasn't diminished; in fact, you're all putting in
overtime to get a project done. When the meeting
is over, everyone storms out of the room, determined
to update their resumes and get the heck out. It's
easy to assume that the boss has lost all perspective,
that she hates everyone, that she is a totally incompetent
and mean middle manager. But then you remember a
couple of things: Middle management often involves
all the responsibility and none of the power. Upper
management, isolated from the worries and challenges
of day-to-day operation, can just as blindly lash
out at its middle managers, demanding results that
no team could reasonably expected to produce. Your
boss is caught in a nearly impossible situation;
her job may be on the line. Yes, she could have
handled things better. And yes, there's an opportunity
here to make the better assumption, show some empathy,
offer support, suggest solutions. None of this may
work, but at least you're not taking on her hurt
and making it your own.
Three:
You go out to the driveway to discover a nasty,
creased dent in the side of your car. Your teenage
son was the last one to use the car, but he hasn't
said a word. Assuming the worst, you can imagine
that Sonny was speeding, drag-racing, drinking,
horsing around, or any of several explanations.
And his failure to tell you is a sure sign of his
guilt. You storm into the house to confront him,
waking him out of his mid-morning sleep after a
long night out. A battle royal ensues. But let's
just slow this down a bit. You actually don't know
what happened. The car may have been sideswiped
while parked at the mall. Your son may not have
even noticed the damage; it's on the passenger side.
He may have been in a minor accident but be afraid
to tell you about it, not because he's dishonest
but because for some reason he is afraid of you
in general. The negative assumptions you made may
be a lot more about you than about your son. Of
course you're upset about the car, but there are
facts still undiscovered. So you suspend judgment,
entertain one or two more innocent assumptions to
go along with the bad ones, think that your son
may be even more upset than you are, and wait for
him to wake up. You've accomplished some perspective
and perhaps some inner composure, and you can address
the situation as a joint problem to be solved. In
the meantime, you've done yourself a favor by not
tying up your energies in anger and recrimination
that might, ultimately, be misplaced.
Pollyanna Need Not Apply
Do we always need to assume the best? Is blind,
foolish optimism ever more than just blind and foolish?
I don't think we're talking about putting a happy
or hopeful face on everything we encounter. But
it seems easier for most of us to make unwarranted
(that is, without evidence) negative assumptions
than positive ones. It's a human tendency to try
to explain things to ourselves in the absence of
data. And the explanations are almost always negative
- hence, the rumor mill in many work or academic
settings. There's an alternative. Accept not knowing.
Entertain positive assumptions along with negative
ones. Let the facts come out, if they will. And,
lacking hard data, assume the best. We'll be exercising
kindness and compassion not only for others but
for ourselves.
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