Communication

I've been remodeling my house.  Most of it is skeletal.  The things a house needs to remain upright and insurable.  Right now, I'm refinishing the old floors.  Even that touches a part of my brain that tags it as necessary.  If the floors are left to weather from their already weathered state, in another ten or twenty years, I may not be considering whether or not they are pretty, but rather whether they are structurally sound.  I have been living in the house during the work and I have discovered the depths of my patience.  Meanwhile, my cat Peabody hates it.

At the moment, one side of the house is cut off from the other side of the house while the floor finish dries.  Peabody, who I rescued from the neighborhood almost never has any interest in going outside, but is seriously bothered by his current lack of mobility.  I wish I could just whisper in his ear and he would understand.

"It's ok Sweet "P".  It's only for another few days.  You'll get your mobility back."

This morning I realized I was wishing for an event with an animal that rarely even happens between humans.  To communicate and be understood.  To listen and understand.  We think we do.  Probably we even come close most of the time, but then we have those moments.  Those stark uncomfortable moments where we suddenly become aware we are talking to a friend who has become a stranger.  Viewing each other across a chasm of uncertainty and strangeness, we can't help but eventually wonder if we ever had a real dialogue at all.   

Consider this.  I have been talking with an old friend from school on Facebook.  We are finding more similarities than differences between us.  We both believe in growing and changing and improving.  We both believe choosing happiness is the answer.  We've flirted a little.  The other day, after a few weeks of this, his daughter friended me on Facebook. 

Let me stop for a moment and ask you.  Why did his daughter friend me on Facebook?  What do you think?  Figure it out and remember your answer.  

When I told him, he sounded surprised.  I told him that he had probably mentioned my name a few too many times and his daughter was protecting him.  Checking out what trouble he might be getting himself into.  He made a "hmmm" noise and said, "She is friends with a lot of my friends."  I took it as confirmation for a moment or two and then I realized I was doing it again.  If my goal was a dialogue.  If my goal was communication.  This wasn't it.  This was simply playing the B-roll of the amalgamation of my life's viewpoint.   Wherever it is that I am now having intentionally drifted from where my parents raised me to be.  The viewpoint-colored glasses that observed their close relationship and chose to see a loving daughter protecting her dad.  (I have reached the point where my glasses are colored in benign loving world tints.)  

What did you think?  I know you can't tell me, but I challenge you to consider this.  Your answer tells you nothing about me, nothing about her, and everything about you.  Ask yourself this.

What are the glasses I use to view the world tinted with?  Do you view the world in a happy benevolent way?  Or is the world more sinister and inscrutable?  Because what you see is not necessarily all that is there, but it is what you will get.