Sunday, November 30, 2003
On Ethics and Listening
I have this friend. And I won't name him. Because that's about the only thing I have to be careful about when doing this.
There is a beauty to something like this, in which I can say what I want, when I want, and -- when asked about it -- deny any involvement. "Web log? What web log? I wonder why someone would create something with MY name on it?" This is a nice pat response for those who ask about, "Why did you put THAT on there?" I even had one person ask once, "Would you like feedback on your website?" Feedback? On a web log? Yeah, then you could offer feedback on my cellular makeup as well. Why would the traffic officer of a one-way street make his life more difficult by petitioning the city to make it a two-way?
Nevertheless, there is an ethical responsibility when I post anything beyond published quotations or my own amateur poetry. So I won't name this friend that I'm going to write about. But, see, that bothers me -- not naming this person. Because what I'm writing about happens. It's real. It's an example of what I'm sure happens to others. Well, most of the time what I write is real. Eh, partially. I guess there is a certain level of fiction that comes into play at many levels. But the gist of what I want to write is what is key here, not the power of naming anyone. But, damnit, I need a name to write about. So, OK, I'll give him a fake name. How about "Raleigh"? Now you're wondering, why name anyone, why not make it all fiction? Am I trying to send someone a message? Nah. It's because you, reader, may take this a little more seriously than if it was just another of Will's ramblings or poems.
So this Raleigh. I don't see him too often. I see him. It's one of those friendships in which you'll probably always be friends, based on what you've gone through before, but it'll probably never be the same. Yeah, I got about a dozen of those friendships. You know what we do when we see each other -- everyone does it -- we catch up. "How are things going?"
I've discussed the hollow nature of this question before (see Archives), so I won't repeat myself here (not too much anyway). When I try to answer this question-- see, it really depends on my mood. If I think the person is really interested, and I do have something to say, I'll give 'em the whole non-weather, lite-on-the-job-BS spiel. I'll try and give 'em a good barometer of me. If I'm impatient, or sense they are, I give 'em the quick version. I still dodge the weather, I stick more with the job and the house, as these are easy talking points.
But this Raleigh. No matter what mood I'm in, no matter what we're talking about, there's just no flow to the conversation. See, he'll ask me a question. Great. Good. We all like questions, even if they're boring. So I answer. And while I'm talking -- maybe I'm explaining a situation with our neighbor or the status of a poem I've submitted somewhere -- every time, every fucking time, he cuts me off. I've gotten so used to this happening that I watch for it now. I watch his eyes. Here I am, talking, talking, blah, blah, blah, and there go his eyes -- like something over my shoulder is suddenly really, really interesting.
And now I should note -- no, I don't take everything I say very seriously or important. Hey! You! Yeah, you, reader -- read that last sentence again, so I don't have to hear about how I think I'm such a self-assured dick. Got that? I realize I'm not a stand-up comedian, nor am I that interesting prof everyone stayed after class to talk to. Hell, I don't even know why all three of my readers keep coming here. But with this guy -- Raleigh -- I make an effort to move things along. Keep it fast, interesting. I recognize it's a two-way street, and I try to keep my side moving. It still never works. Still -- every time -- he ends up interrupting me every single time we speak.
It wouldn't be so annoying, if I didn't have other friends who did listen. Other friends who offered a conversational flow so easy that you could talk until . . . oh, 3:30 in the morning and not realize it.
So every time he does this to me, I get to thinking, "Why do I even bother speaking?" He doesn't give a damn. He's just waiting for me to say something that he can recognize, and then respond to. He's like a computer program. I say X, so he responds with Y. If I offer V, that means he says W. But if I get creative and try to say XK, he cuts me off at X with his Y response. He's already recognized what I was going to say, and even if I was going to add to it or surprise him with something else-- that doesn't matter: I said X, he recognized, he said Y. Please standby while the computer shuts down.
It might just be me, but I'm interested in what my friends are doing. Yeah, I wish they'd shut up with the weather-talk and the old stories we all know. But I generally wonder about what's going on with a lot of people -- even those people I never really keep in touch with. I guess Raleigh's drawn this neat line for how far a post-peak friendship can go. What he doesn't realize is: that line, especially after distance and marriage, is already there.
None of this is to say I'm much better. But every time I catch myself ready to jump in the middle of conversation and say something, I think of Raleigh. And because of him, I try to hold back a bit, and to listen.
I can imagine Raleigh finding out about this site. And maybe in his spare time, he would make it over here. Funny thing is, I probably could have used his real name because he never would have made it this far through the post.
There is a beauty to something like this, in which I can say what I want, when I want, and -- when asked about it -- deny any involvement. "Web log? What web log? I wonder why someone would create something with MY name on it?" This is a nice pat response for those who ask about, "Why did you put THAT on there?" I even had one person ask once, "Would you like feedback on your website?" Feedback? On a web log? Yeah, then you could offer feedback on my cellular makeup as well. Why would the traffic officer of a one-way street make his life more difficult by petitioning the city to make it a two-way?
Nevertheless, there is an ethical responsibility when I post anything beyond published quotations or my own amateur poetry. So I won't name this friend that I'm going to write about. But, see, that bothers me -- not naming this person. Because what I'm writing about happens. It's real. It's an example of what I'm sure happens to others. Well, most of the time what I write is real. Eh, partially. I guess there is a certain level of fiction that comes into play at many levels. But the gist of what I want to write is what is key here, not the power of naming anyone. But, damnit, I need a name to write about. So, OK, I'll give him a fake name. How about "Raleigh"? Now you're wondering, why name anyone, why not make it all fiction? Am I trying to send someone a message? Nah. It's because you, reader, may take this a little more seriously than if it was just another of Will's ramblings or poems.
So this Raleigh. I don't see him too often. I see him. It's one of those friendships in which you'll probably always be friends, based on what you've gone through before, but it'll probably never be the same. Yeah, I got about a dozen of those friendships. You know what we do when we see each other -- everyone does it -- we catch up. "How are things going?"
I've discussed the hollow nature of this question before (see Archives), so I won't repeat myself here (not too much anyway). When I try to answer this question-- see, it really depends on my mood. If I think the person is really interested, and I do have something to say, I'll give 'em the whole non-weather, lite-on-the-job-BS spiel. I'll try and give 'em a good barometer of me. If I'm impatient, or sense they are, I give 'em the quick version. I still dodge the weather, I stick more with the job and the house, as these are easy talking points.
But this Raleigh. No matter what mood I'm in, no matter what we're talking about, there's just no flow to the conversation. See, he'll ask me a question. Great. Good. We all like questions, even if they're boring. So I answer. And while I'm talking -- maybe I'm explaining a situation with our neighbor or the status of a poem I've submitted somewhere -- every time, every fucking time, he cuts me off. I've gotten so used to this happening that I watch for it now. I watch his eyes. Here I am, talking, talking, blah, blah, blah, and there go his eyes -- like something over my shoulder is suddenly really, really interesting.
And now I should note -- no, I don't take everything I say very seriously or important. Hey! You! Yeah, you, reader -- read that last sentence again, so I don't have to hear about how I think I'm such a self-assured dick. Got that? I realize I'm not a stand-up comedian, nor am I that interesting prof everyone stayed after class to talk to. Hell, I don't even know why all three of my readers keep coming here. But with this guy -- Raleigh -- I make an effort to move things along. Keep it fast, interesting. I recognize it's a two-way street, and I try to keep my side moving. It still never works. Still -- every time -- he ends up interrupting me every single time we speak.
It wouldn't be so annoying, if I didn't have other friends who did listen. Other friends who offered a conversational flow so easy that you could talk until . . . oh, 3:30 in the morning and not realize it.
So every time he does this to me, I get to thinking, "Why do I even bother speaking?" He doesn't give a damn. He's just waiting for me to say something that he can recognize, and then respond to. He's like a computer program. I say X, so he responds with Y. If I offer V, that means he says W. But if I get creative and try to say XK, he cuts me off at X with his Y response. He's already recognized what I was going to say, and even if I was going to add to it or surprise him with something else-- that doesn't matter: I said X, he recognized, he said Y. Please standby while the computer shuts down.
It might just be me, but I'm interested in what my friends are doing. Yeah, I wish they'd shut up with the weather-talk and the old stories we all know. But I generally wonder about what's going on with a lot of people -- even those people I never really keep in touch with. I guess Raleigh's drawn this neat line for how far a post-peak friendship can go. What he doesn't realize is: that line, especially after distance and marriage, is already there.
None of this is to say I'm much better. But every time I catch myself ready to jump in the middle of conversation and say something, I think of Raleigh. And because of him, I try to hold back a bit, and to listen.
I can imagine Raleigh finding out about this site. And maybe in his spare time, he would make it over here. Funny thing is, I probably could have used his real name because he never would have made it this far through the post.
