Coincidence

I admit it. Sometimes I take completely separate incidents and assume they are related due merely to their coincidence. The results are mixed.

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A number of years ago, I worked at a company where the owner regularly brought her dog in to work. He was an adorable dachshund that was introduced to all new employees (and all visiting clients) with a warning -- "Keep your food out of reach!"

Like a little security guard, Cutter would make daily rounds. However, instead of patrolling the outside of the building, he scoured the inside perimeter along the walls and under desks. You could tell if someone had had yogurt that day if you saw Cutter walking around with a creamy ring around his yogurt-container-sized muzzle.

One morning, I brought in a homemade cinnamon roll wrapped in tin-foil. As I prepared to head out at noon I quickly glanced over my desk -- next to my keyboard was my much-anticipated after-lunch snack. Next to that was a document my manager had mentioned he wanted to borrow while I was at lunch.

When I returned to my office, I noticed two things. As expected, the document was gone. But strangely, the tin-foiled package had been unwrapped -- my cinnamon roll was gone as well. My first thought? "Why would my manager also take my cinnamon roll?"

It took me only a few more seconds to unwrap my faulty logic. But I was surprised by how my mind seemed to automatically look for a connection between those two incidents.

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According to Josh Tenenbaum, an MIT cognitive scientist, our minds are wired to notice coincidence and for good reason. Quoted in a July/August issue of Psychology Today, he explains:

"Coincidences drive so many of the inferences our minds make. Our neural circuitry is set up to notice these anomalies and use them to drive new learning."

Co-authors Tom Griffith and Josh Tenenbaum begin the paper "From mere coincidence to meaningful discoveries" with two examples of individuals noticing a coincidence and assuming causality. In the first example, the assumption led to an important scientific discovery (cholera is spread via contaminated water). The assumption made in the second example was just plain incorrect.

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This makes me feel better. At least a tiny, little bit.

Let's take a lifetime to say

For some reason, one line of "For all we know" by the Carpenters has been bubbling around in my head an awful lot lately:

"Let's take a lifetime to say 'I knew you well'..."

Out of the blue, I find myself humming this to myself. I have no idea why. In fact, I don't even know how I know this song. Regardless, it's had me thinking about how there is always something more to learn about someone you may have been positive you know completely.

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Growing up, my mother always reminded me to leave the curtains drawn. I always thought it had to do with the intense Texas sun being in direct conflict with efficient air conditioning. It wasn't until a few years ago that I learned the real reason -- my mom dislikes natural light. What?! I don't remember how it came up, but when it did I couldn't understand how it had never come up before then. I have missed out on years and years of teasing her about being a vampire just because I assumed everyone else must naturally love the same things I do.

....

I've known my friend Anna for years now. Again, I don't know how it came up in conversation but I remember her asking "Did I tell you about the time I had to walk on people to get to work?" What?! How could this have not come up before? Could it be because a few others of the thousands and thousands of stories that accumulate during a lifetime were queued up in line ahead of this one detail?

....

Today I asked Ruth if her husband of many years (Brother Blue) ever still managed to surprise her. Her answer was an immediate yes. Recently, they were watching the Olympics together and Blue was commenting on the divers' style, form, and general performance. When she asked how he learned to critique diving, he explained that he used to be a diver himself. That was a surprise to her.

Someone listening in on the conversation asked Ruth how long she and Blue have been married. Ruth's answer was "long enough that I should have known that." :)

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I am beginning to believe there is an asymptotic curve toward knowing someone thoroughly. Somewhere along that curve, around the place where you've learned enough to decide whether you want to continue on the curve or just hop off, is the space where you might be able to say "I know you well".

I hope you remember to add, "but I can know you better."

Something I love

I guess you'd say I have an ethnically ambiguous look. For as long as I can remember, people have made a point of guessing at, asking about, or telling me my ethnic origins. When I was three, these words made their way to my mother:

How kind of you to have adopted a Vietnamese refugee.

This is actually one of my favorite stories. However, it highlights the dilemma I had growing up. My mother is Hispanic. So is my father, both sets of grandparents, and a huge percentage of the population in my hometown. As a kid, all I wanted to do was fit in. As you can probably guess by the above sweet stranger's compliment to my mother, my look didn't allow for it. On a daily basis, every feature that distinguished me from those around me was pointed out and pointed at.

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I find it interesting that something that used to bother me enough to bring me to tears as a kid is now something I cherish and enjoy as an adult.

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Last weekend I was at the National Storytelling Conference in Tennessee. Sure as ever, folks approached me throughout the weekend to guess, ask, or tell.

Hawaiian, right?

Where are you really from?

What's your specific tribal affiliation?

People will linger after a workshop to walk with me on my way out. They wait for a lull in an on-going conversation to introduce themselves. They approach me out of the blue with a smile. Even people who look like they normally wouldn't approach a total stranger can't seem to help themselves.

I love this.

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Yes, I stand out a little. And, as long as you do so kindly, you are welcome to come over and tell me all about it.

 

http://www.whoelsa.com

Reading what I want into it

For quite some time now, I've been ready to try something different. (Back in June I wrote about feeling that I was holding myself back.) Yesterday, after months of prepping, I made my move.

The moment of transition and the subsequent flurry of activity brought on an adrenaline rush I was not exactly expecting. Running around with a grin on my face, I tied up loose ends. But, just as I was heading toward my car to make my way back home at the end of a long day, the tiredness of an adrenaline crash began to seep in.

I sat in my car for a few minutes, dreading the hour long drive.

Willing myself into action, I started the car and began my commute. The clouds must have shifted a bit as I made my way. I made it onto the highway via its curved on-ramp -- and noticed that directly ahead of me was a clear, vibrant rainbow. And, guess what? I was driving straight toward it.

Leaving Room for Magic

Anyone who knows me knows this -- I'm really bad when it comes to the kinds of gifts you're supposed to give. Birthdays, weddings, housewarmings, you name it... To me, the best kind of gift is an inspired one. Picking something that "will do" merely because it's time to pick something drives me nuts! On top of that, I prefer gifts that are personal in nature. A gesture is often more meaningful to me than something I could purchase in a store.

Which means that I often fall way behind on the gifts I am obligated to give. Take Christmas for example. I have been as much as three years behind on gifts to my immediate family.

One holiday season, I must have spent the entire plane flight home racking my brain for gift ideas for my mom. In the middle of this painful exercise, a thought occurred to me -- "How about going to church for a year?" Despite the fact that I knew my mom would really like that, I immediately -- and I mean immediately -- dismissed it.

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My parents did their best to raise me Catholic -- they took me to church every weekend and sent me to Sunday school every Sunday. I have nothing bad to say about the behavior they modeled. But, I was an inquisitive kid growing up and it seemed to me that every question I asked during class was ignored or met with a curt "be quiet".

"If Adam and Eve could talk, how come cavemen couldn't?" I'm not saying the questions I asked would have spurred me toward Nobel Peace prize winning research. But being dismissed over and over really put me off.

Week after week I would ask for permission to not participate. Week after week my mother would say that I could do as I pleased once I was an adult. Until then, I had to continue going to church and Sunday school.

Guess what the first act of freedom I relished as an "adult" in college was?

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Happy to be home and even happier to see my family waiting for me at the airport, I swept the gift idea dilemma -- the one that just moments before had been causing me such stress -- out of my mind.

Temporarily, at least.

At some point during my visit, two of my sisters pulled me aside. When they asked if I had thought of a gift for Mom, my heart sunk. I hadn't, and now I had even less time to come up with something. They looked at each other and seemed unsure about how to proceed.

I hadn't been the only one struggling for gift ideas. After thinking about this on their own for some time, they decided to put their heads together. To their surprise, it turned out that the same thought had independently occurred to each of them. "How about going to church for a year?"

It was a surprise to me, too.

They originally intended to convince me this would be a nice gift for Mom, but upon seeing the look on my face they realized they didn't have to. Understandably, given my background, they had expected more resistance from me. After I explained that I had had the same idea, they decided to get in touch with our oldest sister.

When it turned out that the thought had occurred to her as well, the decision was made.

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When I see a magic show, there is a part of me that wants to understand the trick behind the illusion. But there is also a part of me that wants to be in awe of the illusion. If only I could both know and not know.

I am aware that if I dissect the story and think about it hard enough, I can come up with an explanation regarding how and why all four of us came up with the same idea within approximately the same time frame. But in this case, what would I gain by knowing?

And what is the harm in leaving a little room for magic?


As an aside -- this was probably one of the best gifts I have ever given my mom. I used the hour per week to reflect and come to terms with my mother's illness so it turned out to be a gift for myself as well. No, I didn't pick up religion by way of this exercise -- but I did pick up more tolerance for religion, which is something I hadn't managed to do when the act of going to church was involuntary.

You never run out of the number seven

My guess is that it was October 24th of my sophomore year in college, some time after trying to call a friend for her birthday and discovering the number I dialed was incorrect. I called her mother in search of updated contact information.

Somehow this quick check-in with my friend's mom morphed into the kind of exchange that requires temporarily suspending your personal beliefs. Although I love these types of conversations and take most opportunities to engage in them, I was surprised by this conversation's development. But, even more surprising than its development was the profound impact it ended up having on me.

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I have no idea how the topic came up, but my friend's mother spoke to me of her religion. She started off by stating that she believes most people interpret the whole bit about man being made in god's likeness backwards. Her point was followed up with some very human characteristics commonly attributed to him, such as jealousy and rage. In her opinion, god is omniscient and omnipresent, not bound by mass. He is infinite goodness, such as infinite peace, infinite kindness, infinite joy, and infinite love. I liked her definition of infinite:

"You can use it, but you can't use it up. Like the number 7."

She wrapped her logic all together in one neat bundle. "If man is made in god's likeness, wouldn't it stand to reason then, that man has an infinite capacity for peace, for kindness, for joy, and for love?"

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I have a thing for thought experiments. When you take an idea or belief that's different from your own and try it on for size, you shift some of your framework around and shake things up a bit. Whatever is worth believing will settle in comfortably while whatever is tenuous or unnecessary will be dislodged and eventually flushed out.

I tried this thought on. To be honest, I didn't try on the whole thought as I was still a little too agnostic to be open to it all. Instead, I tried on the part about man having infinite capacity for all these positive things. As I turned the thought over and inspected it, I found myself taken with the idea. It made complete sense to me. Where in my body is the switch that says "Ooops! Too much love here! Gotta stop now."?

This little thought experiment led to self made mantras that helped me make it through college.

I have an infinite capacity for knowledge...an infinite capacity for patience...an infinite capacity for humility...

I'm almost embarrassed to admit how long that list of mantras got. Whatever virtue I needed, I imagined I had an infinite capacity for it and reminded myself that there was no physical limitation keeping me from achieving it. I endured countless all-nighters, ego-crushing problem sets, and assignments that seemed to require more than I had to offer with more grace than I could have mustered without this insight. Even now, on occasion, I find a mantra bubbling up inside of me when I need it. I guess you could say that, among other things, I have an infinite capacity for mantra creation.

Sometimes We Are the Entertainment

I once dated a guy who, in my opinion, was overly concerned with how other people perceived him. This concern wasn't limited to people in a position to offer him a job or people he may have had a crush on at some point. In fact, it didn't seem limited at all.

This was hard for me to relate to. Not that I don't ever care what people think of me. It's just that more often than not I don't think to think about it.

When it comes to complete strangers, the kind who will likely never ever see me again, I am typically fine looking the anonymous fool -- especially in those cases where being seen in an unflattering way has little or nothing to do with my actual character.

Don't get me wrong -- I do feel embarrassment. But I also realize I am not the center of the universe. Most folks who are around when I'm making a mistake in public won't even see me! Think about it -- how many people do you pass by every day? How many do you notice? And of those that you do notice, how many are you critically judging? (Now that I think of it, the ex was very critical of even strangers. Perhaps it makes sense that he assumed the whole world was judging him just as harshly?)

OK. Sometimes we flub up BIG TIME. And sometimes people can't help but laugh or think we're total idiots. But, in my opinion, they're not responding to me as a person; they are responding to my role as some extra in the background of their personal movie. I'm just the comedic relief whose name (if they bothered to scroll the credits) they would never manage to match up to the dunce I am playing.

What's wrong with being the entertainment in those cases? What's wrong with providing the stranger that happened to witness your belly flop, or skirt flipping up, or spinach sticking in your teeth, or toilet paper trailing down your pant leg a great punch line to use at dinner some evening?

I've been in these situations. Sometimes, in the middle of it all, I begin to imagine the story that someone might end up telling as a result of my misstep. Often the story tickles me so much that I begin to laugh. Then, I imagine that story ".... and then, get this, she just starts laughing..." which makes me laugh more "... like she's nuts or something..." and more "... and then tears are streaming down her face..." until all I am is a gift of laughter ready to be unwrapped.

Self constraint

One year, the company I worked for sent every employee (two departments at a time) off into the woods. Facilitated by "Leadership is Everyone's Business" team leaders, my co-workers and I participated in leadership-building exercises. One in particular made a huge impression.

The exercise itself was relatively inconsequential. Every one put on a blindfold and was handed a piece of rope that had been twisted and looped through into a kind of loose knot. The objective was to untangle everything.

I couldn't see what was happening, but I could hear some individuals calling out suggestions and I could feel the rope being tugged this way and that as folks experimented with different approaches. At some point, a facilitator tapped me on my shoulder and quietly whispered that I could take off my blindfold.

With my newly available sight, I could help the rest of my co-workers! I tried to find ways to make my suggestions sound as credible as they were without disclosing my special privilege. After some time, a facilitator tapped me on the shoulder and quietly whispered that it was time to put my blindfold back on.

A few moments later, I heard my friend Anna announce "Hey everyone, my blindfold is off!" She then proceeded to call out instructions.

Where had I gotten the idea that it would be against the rules to explain that my blindfold was off? My mind was reeling. What other assumptions had I been making in my life? How many of the constraints I felt bound by were actually self imposed? How could I avoid this sort of thing in the future?

One of my life goals formulated as a result of this exercise. I want to be limited only by constraints that are real. And, if a constraint is self-imposed, it better be purposely self-imposed!

At a loss

A number of years ago, I shared a three bedroom apartment with two friends I had met in college. Though both of my roommates were heavy sleepers, one really took the cake. On mornings that he had an appointment that could not be missed, I often found myself leaping out of bed in a panic. Only after shaking off the confusion of sleep could I decipher why -- an ear-splitting noise was drilling through my head and into my bones.

No, I was not about to get run over by a truck backing up -- my roommate's alarm was going off (from the other side of the apartment).

But that wasn't it. The alarm would continue to sound with no interruption for the next hour, unless someone intervened. I admit that perhaps I am just sensitive, but according to what I can find on the internet, the noise could have been between 120 - 130 decibels since I could feel pain as a result of it. And it got worse as I walked from my room toward his.

What I would see upon opening his door never ceased to amaze me: my roommate, fast asleep, with his head right next to the offending eardrum enemy from hell. I was at a loss.

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Somewhere in our neighborhood, there lived a heroin addict that made his way through life by breaking into apartments, making off with loot, then selling it to folks ("who would never steal" but would happily pay far below what an actual receipt-holding owner's asking price would be).

His MO wasn't elegant, but it got the job done. First, he would ring the front doorbell. If there was no answer, he would knock like crazy, to the point of capturing the attention of neighbors. Still no answer? Then on to step two -- walking around the house to the backdoor, out of neighbors' sight. Step three involved somehow getting the door open. Steps four, five, and six (sweeping through the house collecting loot, exiting the neighborhood with a big bag of booty, and cashing it all in) were the easy parts.

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Neighbors reported that this guy yelled and knocked and rang our doorbell like he really needed to reach one of us. What a bluff, huh? To his delight, no one came to the door.

Step two found him climbing the stairs to our back porch. To accomplish step three, the addict had to break the glass on the back door then reach in and turn the knob. Step four started off in my bedroom as it was the first on the left. A laptop, video camera, cash, and several personal items later it was time to root through the next bedroom. Same story here (if you discount the fact that this roommate had much nicer things). One more bedroom to go!

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I sometimes try to imagine what thoughts must have gone through the thief's mind when he saw what was behind the door of bedroom number three: my roommate, sprawled on the bed, unmoving. This is the bedroom nearest the front of the house, with three windows facing the street. In fact, one of the windows faced the porch where this thug had raised a ruckus yelling, knocking, and ringing the doorbell.

The police assume the thief took off to avoid waking up my roommate. My theory is that he high tailed it in fear that he might get nailed for more than just theft.

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Once again, I was at a loss.

Ethnography 101

Overheard (many years ago) in a ladies restroom

Woman 1:   What's Thai food like?
Woman 2:   It's kind of like Chinese food, but more authentic.