Beneath the Surface

Dr. Fiancé and I had our third visit to the couple's counselor yesterday. Our homework for the next few weeks while she’s on vacation (damn her!) is to listen to “the heart” of what each other is saying, not the particulars. She pointed out that the doctor and I get caught up parsing each others’ speech, exhausting ourselves and each other in the process. ("But you said you hate coconut!" "No, I said, I don't usually like coconut. There's a difference. Plus, we're in Hawaii, so..." "So what, exactly?")

The counselor is not wrong, but for a child of a lawyer and an editor (Dr. Fiancé) and of an English professor and a librarian (me), the assignment is... challenging. I. Am. A. Writer. One wrong word ruins a poem! And twice (twice!) professors praised my “ear for dialogue.” I've worked as a, editor, a proofreader, and a fact-checker. To me, the entire world can fit in the space between “You never take out the trash” and “I wish you’d take out the trash more often.” Not that the doctor and I have fought about taking out the trash (yet!), but you get the idea.

Nobody told me that listening closely could be a liability. Well, nobody until my deported boyfriend (a.k.a. “Canada Boy” until a weekend excursion to Whistler from which the U.S. border patrol would not let him return) suggested it. He’d say something like, “No, I don’t have any drugs hidden in my belongings that you’re packing up and bringing across the border to me,” and I’d say, “What about this baggie of weed in my hand?” and he’d say, “Well, yeah,” and I’d say, “You said there weren’t any drugs,” and he’d say, “Why are you being so picky?” and I’d say, “I’m a close listener,” and he’d say, “Well, listen more loosely.”

In the shower this morning, Dr. Fiancé tried to emotionally prepare me for having a bad last day at the magazine factory. “You have to go into it with a good attitude,” he said—a phrase he uses with annoying frequency. I’ve always thought he means I should be chipper and cheerful like June Cleaver or Carol Brady.

But this time, instead of getting mad, I took a deep breath and recited the alphabet in my head. “I know you’re an eternal optimist,” Dr. Fiancé said just as I reached “T-U-V” and he began to rinse the shampoo from my hair, “and you think they’ll give you the accolades you deserve—or at least buy you a drink—but it’s not going to happen, so you should just accept that now." Hardly something Ward or Mike would have told June or Carol.

Yes, it's true. By listening to the heart of what my future mate was saying I learned that by “have a good attitude" he meant—at least in this case—“be realistic, bordering on cynical.” And that is part of why I love him.