Read Online The Journal of Best Practices by David Finch - Free Book Online
Authors: David Finch
Ads: Link
kids seeing me high-five a coworker, we both busted up laughing.
“Well, I’m sorry that we foiled your plan.” Kristen chuckled. “Why didn’t you just say that to begin with? We could have been enjoying ourselves this whole time, but instead you just sat there, brooding. That’s why you have to use your words.”
I admitted that I felt reluctant to submit to the process of communication when it mattered. I understood that we had to talk about things, but it seemed like an exercise that would invite a lot of arguments. “I don’t want to fight all the time,” I explained.
“Well, these little meltdowns are way more toxic and dramatic than the occasional argument,” Kristen said. “I can handle an argument, but I don’t do drama.”
As we ate our lunches, I noticed that I felt more relaxed having talked through my issue. My jaw wasn’t clenched, my shoulders weren’t tight. I was having lunch with my family in a crowded restaurant and I felt happy. That’s when I realized we had just experienced our first victory. When the check arrived, I wrote a note to myself on the back of the receipt: Say it, don’t show it. Talking = productive. Showing = drama. Kristen doesn’t do drama. Then I wrote, Use your words.
In that moment, I handed myself over to the process. I became more comfortable using words to express myself, Kristen became comfortable sharing her feelings with me in return, and it wasn’t long before we started seeing the rewards of our efforts. The most notable being that when something was bothering me—anger over a misunderstanding, interruptions to my daily routine, itchy shirt cuffs—I no longer felt as though anger had a physical hold on me. I no longer felt isolated, misunderstood, or hopeless. I could simply talk and know that Kristen would help me through it, no matter how big or small the problem was.
The change didn’t happen overnight, of course, nor did it happen easily. The first obstacle we encountered was that I had no concept of the subtle, procedural aspects of communication—the unwritten rules of engagement—all of which had to be learned and recorded into my Journal of Best Practices. Not only did I have to learn how to express myself, I had to learn when to express myself. “Yes, we need to talk about our feelings,” Kristen whispered to me in the bathroom at my parents’ house on Easter, “but not right now at the dinner table in front of all your relatives.” Ask if it’s a good time to talk, I wrote later that evening, just beneath If you can’t tell whether you’ve offended her, just ask and Apologies do not count when you shout them.
Another challenge lay in all the misdirected rage we had to deal with. Not Kristen’s rage, of course, but mine. She had been right; bottling up my anger for three decades had been a mistake. It was as if a dam had burst. Now that we were attempting to deal with things, all the pain of being misunderstood by and misunderstanding others was breaking free. Because of this, not every conversation went smoothly. I would ask Kristen where my phone was, for instance, and within half an hour we would be examining my innermost feelings about that award I received in second grade for having the messiest desk in the classroom. Nevertheless, Kristen maintained her end of the bargain and hung in there with extraordinary patience. More than once I found myself apologizing for hours of constant swearing, yelling, and dramatic weeping, while Kristen stood by like the cartoon coyote whose face had just been blackened by an exploding bomb and replied, “It’s fine. It’s all in the name of progress.”
Asperger’s made it difficult for me to read Kristen properly—another roadblock. Using my words was one thing; interpreting hers was something else altogether. Harder still was trying to interpret what she wouldn’t say. Though I have yet to master this skill, and perhaps never will, I did commit to reaching at least a functional
“Well, I’m sorry that we foiled your plan.” Kristen chuckled. “Why didn’t you just say that to begin with? We could have been enjoying ourselves this whole time, but instead you just sat there, brooding. That’s why you have to use your words.”
I admitted that I felt reluctant to submit to the process of communication when it mattered. I understood that we had to talk about things, but it seemed like an exercise that would invite a lot of arguments. “I don’t want to fight all the time,” I explained.
“Well, these little meltdowns are way more toxic and dramatic than the occasional argument,” Kristen said. “I can handle an argument, but I don’t do drama.”
As we ate our lunches, I noticed that I felt more relaxed having talked through my issue. My jaw wasn’t clenched, my shoulders weren’t tight. I was having lunch with my family in a crowded restaurant and I felt happy. That’s when I realized we had just experienced our first victory. When the check arrived, I wrote a note to myself on the back of the receipt: Say it, don’t show it. Talking = productive. Showing = drama. Kristen doesn’t do drama. Then I wrote, Use your words.
In that moment, I handed myself over to the process. I became more comfortable using words to express myself, Kristen became comfortable sharing her feelings with me in return, and it wasn’t long before we started seeing the rewards of our efforts. The most notable being that when something was bothering me—anger over a misunderstanding, interruptions to my daily routine, itchy shirt cuffs—I no longer felt as though anger had a physical hold on me. I no longer felt isolated, misunderstood, or hopeless. I could simply talk and know that Kristen would help me through it, no matter how big or small the problem was.
The change didn’t happen overnight, of course, nor did it happen easily. The first obstacle we encountered was that I had no concept of the subtle, procedural aspects of communication—the unwritten rules of engagement—all of which had to be learned and recorded into my Journal of Best Practices. Not only did I have to learn how to express myself, I had to learn when to express myself. “Yes, we need to talk about our feelings,” Kristen whispered to me in the bathroom at my parents’ house on Easter, “but not right now at the dinner table in front of all your relatives.” Ask if it’s a good time to talk, I wrote later that evening, just beneath If you can’t tell whether you’ve offended her, just ask and Apologies do not count when you shout them.
Another challenge lay in all the misdirected rage we had to deal with. Not Kristen’s rage, of course, but mine. She had been right; bottling up my anger for three decades had been a mistake. It was as if a dam had burst. Now that we were attempting to deal with things, all the pain of being misunderstood by and misunderstanding others was breaking free. Because of this, not every conversation went smoothly. I would ask Kristen where my phone was, for instance, and within half an hour we would be examining my innermost feelings about that award I received in second grade for having the messiest desk in the classroom. Nevertheless, Kristen maintained her end of the bargain and hung in there with extraordinary patience. More than once I found myself apologizing for hours of constant swearing, yelling, and dramatic weeping, while Kristen stood by like the cartoon coyote whose face had just been blackened by an exploding bomb and replied, “It’s fine. It’s all in the name of progress.”
Asperger’s made it difficult for me to read Kristen properly—another roadblock. Using my words was one thing; interpreting hers was something else altogether. Harder still was trying to interpret what she wouldn’t say. Though I have yet to master this skill, and perhaps never will, I did commit to reaching at least a functional
Similar Books
