There's no "I" in Communicate

A late night post after hours of drinking...coffee with one of my best friends from high school. (Amazing/funny/wonderful how you fall into old patterns with old friends; we're both well past 21 these days, and yet to go anywhere but Perkins, our old stomping ground, feels a bit, well, sacrilegious.) As a result, it's 2am and my mind is running a million miles a minute. I'd like to keep the thoughts straight and type them in a fairly linear fashion, but I fear tonight I might only achieve general incoherency. We'll see.

(Why I apparently feel the need to preface my blog posts with semi-self conscious comments about what they may or may not be like is a whole other topic.)

I'm thinking about communication tonight. Actually, I think about communication a lot. I like to think I'm even pretty good at it, being a "communications professional" and all. I suppose when it comes to communicating with the general public I'm alright, but lately I'm starting to wonder if I am capable of communicating properly with real, individual people at all.

As it turns out, it doesn't really matter if you are good at expressing your thoughts coherently and engagingly in an email or conversation. Wit, charm, and sincere honesty (all of which I'm sure I posses in abundance...) don't really go far if the person on the other end of the conversation isn't actually catching your true meaning through all the witty, well-worded statements.

Communication is about the exchange of meanings. It's about you understanding what it is I am trying to tell you - exactly what I am trying to tell you -- and I understanding exactly what it is you are trying to tell me. So it's an individualist thing; you're trying to communicate with an individual person, not an anonymous stranger. You may well be "great" at communicating your thoughts and feelings, but if you don't communicate them in such a way that the person on the other end actually gets the meaning you are hoping they get, then it's worthless. And, similarly, you can be the best listener in the world, but if you misread what they are trying to tell you, then what's the point?

I recently uncovered a whole series of misunderstands with a friend based on this simple fact. I misread his meaning, and reacted accordingly. And then he misread my actions, because he didn't know they came from me misreading his meaning. And so on and so forth. We ended up having this drawn out fight -- a bit of a Cold War, really -- just because we kept misreading what the other meant, or felt, or was trying to say.

And while I might think that I was communicating my thoughts and feelings well, or that I was entirely justified in (mis)reading his words a certain way, none of that really matters, because in the end, for all our words, we didn't actually communicate.

What tragedies are built upon simple miscommunication. What hurts created, what wrongs unrighted, what wars started and peace offerings lost. What a tangled mess we weave, without even practicing to deceive. We just deceive ourselves.

So my new resolution - close enough to the New Year to possibly fall into that category, but one I'm trying to practice beginning immediately - is to learn to communicate with a person, rather than an anonymous entity that behaves by certain rules and can be interpreted in easily boxed ways. Individuals, after all, are weird, and quirky, and they don't always behave logically or predictably. And to remember that just because I react a certain way or communicate in a certain fashion, does not mean others will react similarly or have the same communication style as I. To stop worrying about being so damn clever, and start worrying about how I can get my point across, cleverly or not.

I want to exchange real meanings, and not just your typical pretty, witty, banter. I want to learn the real meanings behind the words of others, and not fall into the over-interpretation trap. A little more taking-things-at-face-value (and, while we're at it, a litte more loving-people-for-who-they-are) and a little more giving people the benefit of the doubt. At least until I know for sure what it was they really meant.

It's Not Such a Bad Life

It's cliched, but true...whenever you start to feel sorry for yourself, life comes along to give you a handful of reasons why you really need to get over it.

"You think you've got it bad?" Life says. "You haven't seen anything."

I recently found out a dear friend from high school is about to lose her father to lung cancer. One day he's healthy, and the next - BOOM - he's got stage three, inoperable lung cancer...and a life expectancy that can be measured in months. Nothing to be done, and almost no time to prepare.

("And you thought you deserved pity because your mother had early - I repeat, early - stage breast cancer and now you've got yourself all in a hubbub about genetic testing and the possibility that you'll likely get it to, blah blah blah" snarls Life. "Get over yourself.")

To make matters worse, she's going through a break-up with her boyfriend...of five years. The guy she thought she was going to marry. The guy, by the way, that her father loved and also hoped she would marry.

("Oh, and you threw yourself a big ol' pity party over your little breakup," says Life with saccharine sweetness. "You poor thing.")

Just heard today about a friend of friend of a friend who was in a car accident over the weekend. Turns out he broke his arm. Wouldn't be such a big deal, but he's a professional musician, and there may be nerve damage. It's possible he'll never play again.

("Still going through that existential crisis about your job and its relationship to your master life plan?" says Life. "How about being thankful for your two healthy typing hands and a brain that's fully functional, at least most of the time?")

My cold shower of reality, taken after that long hot bath of self-pity, is coming at a good time. It's the holidays, after all. There's no better time for a little reflection on all the good things you have...and a little realization of all the good things many other people do not have.

("Man, you think you've got it bad? At least you weren't born in a manger full of smelly animals with no medical attention because some lousy innkeeper wouldn't let your parents have a room.")

The good things I have? A family that loves me and misses me; a sister who apparently, kind of sort of, maybe even looks up to me (who knew?); friends who are always, always there when they're needed, and almost always there when they're just wanted; a job that pays the bills, gives me health care, and allows me to learn and grow, for the most part; a happy household of fabulous roommates who indulged my need for a (bigger!) Christmas tree, listen to me talk about how my day was, care about me when I'm sick, and make yummy baked goods for me to eat; healthy typing hands (even if the rest of me isn't quite so healthy at the moment); a kitchen to cook in and people to cook for; holiday parties to go to; a Pandora radio station full of jazzy christmas songs; free shipping on Amazon.com till the 15th; a flight home to look forward to; a beautiful baby niece to spoil; and every now and then, unexpected love and grace.

(And this is just a partial list.)

It's not such a bad life after all, is it?

You Can Write, But You Can't...Edit

(The title, by the way, is a lyric from a song on the new Regina Spektor album that I can't stop listening to...and I think it's got to be one of the best snarky comments ever. Well, at least to a nerd like me.)

I know I'm a little more psychotic about grammar than most people. I understand that not everyone is as obsessive about comma placement as I am (comma placement being my absolute biggest pet peeve of all the frequently broken rules of writing in the English language). I try hard (though frequently fail) not to be too terribly judgement of people just because they haven't studied Strunk&White quite as carefully as I have. And I certainly know I'm not perfect. (I'm sure if someone wanted to be terribly obstinate and prickly, he or she could go through this posting and point out all the instances in which I've messed up a rule.)

But I figure if you're going to pay someone to write for you, they ought to at the very least get the basics down.

For example, compound sentences. I think if you're going to pay someone for their writing, they ought to be able to master compound sentences and all the associated rules.

On the T last night, I saw a print MBTA ad that said something along the lines of this:

"Please limit your cell phone usage, loud conversations can be disturbing to others" [sic].

I mean, c'mon. You don't join together two complete sentences with a comma. Use a semi-colon! Or, if that's a little to eccentric for a print ad, break it up into two sentences. Or toss in a "because" and take out the comma altogether. Who did they hire to draft their ad copy?

So, because I am indeed an anal-retentive grump when it comes to punctuation, I figured I would offer the MBTA a gentle suggestion: hire a goddamn proofreader. In fact, I even suggested they consider hiring me.

Dear MBTA,

I wanted to suggest that the MBTA consider hiring a proofreader to double-check your advertisements before you post them. (Or, if you contract with an outside agency, you should really consider finding a new one.)

Last night on the Orange Line I saw an ad that said something along the lines of "Please limit your cell phone usage, loud conversations can be disturbing to others" [sic]. It's grammatically incorrect to join together two complete sentences with a comma. In that case, one would either use a semi-colon or simply break it into two separate sentences.

I hate to sound like an anal-retentive grump here, but I imagine the MBTA pays good tax money to put these ads together, and it seems at the very least they could be proofread. Schoolchildren and people learning English as a second language ride the T every day. Why put ads with poor grammar in front of them?

Thanks for your attention to this matter. If the T is looking for a proofreader, I am happy to offer my services at a reasonable rate.

Best,
Melissa

I'll let you know if they respond.