Last night I spoke with my family in Mexico. They told me how Naranjo, the dog, came to pass away. It's a sad story and I think it largely reflects how we, as family, deal (or avoid dealing) with problems and the way we mend it afterwards.
We put off difficult decisions (they knew they had to put the dog to sleep, he was old and sick), so an old and sick dog wandered off during a walk, went into a creek and got stuck in the mud overnight. The next day the family found him, still alive, and a dramatic rescue ensued. They took him to the vet and the vet recommended putting him down, which they did. Everybody was sad and grieving and they gave the dog a proper burial, and planted an orange tree at his grave.
I observe this pattern in myself. I sometimes let problems grow until they are unavoidable, at which point it requires a heroic effort to solve or mend, often because "there's more important things to do". Our mending actions are often admirable, but they come out of the guilt it causes us to have caused the problem in the first place.
I'll try to remember this lesson. From the Tao Te Ching:
In the universe the difficult things are done as if they are easy. In the universe great acts are made up of small deeds. The sage does not attempt anything very big, And thus achieves greatness.
Easy promises make for little trust. Taking things lightly results in great difficulty. Because the sage always confronts difficulties, He never experiences them.
(this walk was recorded on the day he went missing).
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Today my beautiful couchsurfing guest left. She was a pleasant person and I'm glad to have hosted her. I feel more confident speaking to beautiful women now, but I must put it into practice with some caveats.
This morning we spoke a little bit, I asked her how many people had offered to host her: dozens of guys. She chose me because of a combination of timing, location, vibe. I was the first male host she's had. Throughout her stay she's made references to unwanted male attention and I inquired more into that, how does she feel when a stranger comes to speak to her ("I'm always annoyed, I don't want to be rude but if they don't get the memo I must be firm").
From our conversation I was relieved that I don't cold approach women, at the same time understanding I'm no longer a "stranger" at the yoga studio, and it's simply a matter of being friendly and seeing who responds positively to friendliness. I'm slowly realizing the only vibe check I don't pass is my own, I can be casually friendly with people whom I like without seeming needy or nervous, and when you see mutual interest, take it a step forward with an invitation to coffee or whatever. This is common sense but somehow it eludes me.
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Related to what I wrote before, I will often make commitments with myself to be more social the next time I'm in a context where it's adequate to chit-chat or speak, but I rarely feel like it in the moment. I remember "I'm supposed to be social" but I see long serious faces of classmates and it seems to me nobody is open to talk. Then I imagine the impression I cause on other people and can see I don't seem open to talk. What is a person open to talk supposed to look like? They're not signalling anything. A person who wants to talk will seek your eyes, a person who is open to talk is discovered by talking to them.
And even then, sometimes people talk to me and I answer in a monosylable, or I don't ask a question back, I seem to fail at conversation. Years ago I remember going out with some awkward younger devs that worked with a friend. It was difficult to have a conversation with them, not because they were unwilling but because it felt like a tennis match where the other player never sends the ball back. I seem to have fallen under the same pattern, I don't send balls back because I don't realize people are playing a game with me.