Sunday 9 February 2014

The space between

Trevor* and I didn't know our fates would be intertwined that day. But when I walked past him and realised he'd been abandoned, and then further discovered his home was in my direction, it seemed a little bit selfish just to leave him there.

And so on we walked, me padding along in my trainers, him rattling away. We got a few looks I'm sure, but I didn't mind - once we got into a rhythm it was quite nice to have the company. At one point I nearly left him at a petrol station, but luckily for him they didn't have what I was looking for so on we went.

In the end, I was almost sad to say goodbye. And I must say, it felt a bit odd to dock a trolley before going into a supermarket, but really when I only needed one thing it was a bit ridiculous to parade him up and down a single aisle just to prolong our farewell. So I gave him a friendly cheerio tap as I parked him with his friends and that was that.

You know me well enough, dear reader, to expect a point to come round about now. And it's this: I nearly didn't stop for Trevor. I did, I'm ashamed to say, walk right past him at first, and double-backed only a good eight paces or so later. Eight paces before I checked myself: I was brought up to be helpful, not selfish, so what on earth was I doing?

I've explored moments of hesitation on this blog before - it seems something of a recurring theme. What interests me this time is the vivid awareness we have whilst processing our decision in this space in time, the space between the call and the answer, to steal a phrase from a beautiful song. Sure, today's example might be somewhat trivial, but on too many occasions a similar opportunity has subtly suggested itself - and I've chosen poorly. Complacency is a new theme I'm starting to dwell upon: I'm slowly realising that it's no longer acceptable to only respond to situations that put themselves directly in our paths. We have to look for those which nestle in the sidelines - often it will cost us nothing to bring them along on our journey, and who knows: we might even enjoy it. XTC talked about making plans for Nigel. It's time I started looking out for Trevors.


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*The names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Monday 3 February 2014

Hi honey, I'm not home

To text, or not to text: that is the question:
Whether 'tis better for the relationship to refrain from immediately imparting
The slings and arrows of the day's fortune, 
Or to take thumbs to type the sea of troubles, 
And by composing send them?*

"Shoop, shoop-ba-doop, shoop-ba-..." goes the ringtone. "It's the [wife/husband/girlfriend/boyfriend]," you think, recognising the dedicated melody. What's happened now? What's the emergency that's merited today's daily distress call? Pret** out of chicken avocado sandwiches again? 

Now of course there are always times that we will call our nearest and dearest during the working day. I'd wager these are usually aligned with two measures: 
a) extremely important (I'm being made redundant) or 
b) highly time-sensitive (The plumber can squeeze us in this afternoon: can you leave work early?). 

But every day? I know some people for whom this is reality, so it makes me wonder not only what on earth do they talk about in the evening, but more importantly: what do they (we) lose by choosing to communicate what must surely be semi-important news in a manner other than face-to-face? Facial expressions, body language (and even tone of voice if texting or email is the chosen channel) - all lost in transmission. As the speaker, we deny the listener the opportunity to truly sense the full impact of what we are saying. And in return, we make it impossible for ourselves to witness the immediate reaction of the listener. I've been quite dismayed in the past that a telephone message to my ear-worn beloved hasn't met with the excitement I felt it should, or empathy it deserved - but how can I blame anyone but myself as I was the one who insisted on emotionally handicapping the communication from the start? 

And even if the actual message isn't even semi-important, while the counter-argument could be that touching base with a partner during the day (and also perhaps precisely because it happens via an alternative medium) adds a level of connection, I instead believe the absence of contact, and therefore anticipation, is more valuable for the relationship. (I refer to the context of the working day only; when one person is away for an extended period of time I do believe that adopting alternative channels of communication, however limiting they may be, is important.)

You may of course entirely disagree with me, dear reader. Or you may already be immune to this behaviour. This post is merely to suggest to all those daily sharers that sometimes, just sometimes, it might be fun to come home and say, "Hi honey, I'm home. You'll never guess what happened to me today..."


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* A somewhat uncouth play on Shakespeare's original elegant text:
"To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?"
-- Hamlet, Act III, Scene I

** As in Pret A Manger, a British lunch shop popular with city folk.

Sunday 2 February 2014

Pushy people

Twice. Twice now this year already I've said "No" and the salesperson heard a different version of "Yes." "Yes, but not now." "Yes, if only circumstances were different." As a result, I've come away with freebies both times, and both times I've written glowing reviews which the companies' PR people will have read with glee. Is "No" secretly the answer a canny organisation wants to hear?

(To further strengthen this I should say they didn't just get one-off praise: the law of reciprocity kicked in and I very swiftly spent more money with both brands, be it directly or by recommending to others. So perhaps it is all very clever sales strategy - move over Jordan Belfort; the new sales geniuses are in town.)

Both times I've meant what I said. I didn't need the expensive make-up. I truly didn't have enough room for the dessert. But both times I genuinely appreciated the gesture - and that's really what I 'got' out of the exchange, not the object freely placed in front of me. Even after a "No", the salespeople did me a good turn. They actively wanted to make me happy - it wasn't all an act! They like me! Hurrah!

Is it all about vindication by acceptance? We all like to impress other people, typically by appearance, talent or intellect - but by sheer personality? That's something much harder to shape, or contrive, and therefore only worth doing on significant occasions (in which I wouldn't include browsing a beauty store or midweek dining with friends). So on any normal day, when our unfiltered nature results in the physical manifestation of a hitherto stranger pushing the "Like" button - well, what a compliment.

I've taken this inspiration from sales encounters, but it can just as well apply to any interaction. And so I leave both myself and yourself, dear reader, with this challenge: as I go about my day and cross paths with several strangers, could I be attentive and selfless enough to warm to someone, hear the negative in their voice but continue to do them a good turn anyway? Could I do in real life what's so easy to do in the digital world (with the impact to the receiver being equally, and therefore dramatically, proportional): could I push someone's metaphorical "Like" button?