Obviously there are two schools of thought on this one: Yes. And no.
No
When I was at Teacher's College, we had various professors. They were all in their 50s and 60s, and they were all pretty colourful and utterly different from one another. Linda was a sharply-dressed corporate type. One of those women who lives mainly to sit on committees and generally be "involved" with or "chairing" an inhuman number of things. I don't remember exactly what it was, but something "turned" our class against her. Something she said and did.
Now, as a high school teacher, it gives me the willies whenever I've got parents mad at me for anything (usually it's because their kid is wanting to be allowed to skip something they think is hard instead of letting me teach them how to do it, and I'm not letting them do that). Can't imagine what it's like to have a room full of adults, who've all paid a heap of money to be there, with families and mortgages and jobs, and you're standing there with your PhD, but they think you've messed up and aren't being fair and don't understand and aren't listening.
Tensions were uncomfortably high in the classroom. Some of the adult students' "questions" were really just thinly veiled criticisms and complaints, and Linda's testiness and sense of outrage were painfully obvious each class we had. It was very awkward.
And I had to go meet her in her office to ask about something, and of course most people were avoiding talking to her at all, and would certainly have never broached the class climate as a topic, but like people always say, something's wrong with me. I mentioned it in passing, and she tried to dismiss it and say she didn't know what I was referring to, so I had to tell her pretty plainly: "The class seems to really have turned on you, and you for your part are clearly very angry with them. And no workable communication is happening. You're trying to go on without addressing it directly. And they won't let it drop."
First she denied that the class had turned on her, so I just looked her in the eye and said "They have. You know they have. You're reacting to it every class. You're trying to fight it. You're trying to force them to move on without discussing it anymore. You're angry."
She said of course she wasn't angry. I said it was very obvious that she was. She said "I'm a professional. I leave that outside the classroom. If I'm angry, I certainly don't show it." I said it was right there in the classroom every day, because she was in the classroom. And she brought it in with herself.
I told her what I thought she could do about the situation (show at least some token willingness to seem open to discussing the matter, even if only outside class, individually), and that was that. I seem to recall she kinda did what I said, more or less, and I do remember things eventually got a bit better. And there was this weird feeling like she felt I was her one non-enemy in the class. Like I was the one she didn't disrespect. The non-wanker. Wouldn't overtly admit to a thing I said of course, but seemed to feel understood. Seemed to feel me communicating awkwardly instead of sneakily attacking her or resenting her. I put myself in her shoes and advised her. And I think she heard me. No doubt due to the "me putting myself in her shoes and trying to help" bit.
But I was sitting there thinking "You really do think you can just somehow hide everything you're thinking and feeling. When really you're like a large-print book. Everyone can see you being you, thinking and feeling stuff, moment by moment. And so much of what's going on inside you is being broadcast in your dealings with every student you interact in any way with during class. With everything you avoid. With the words you almost say and then reword, mid-sentence. With what you refuse to address. With ever evasion and redirection. With every conversation you excuse yourself from and walk quickly away. And you're terrified of the very idea that maybe you can't hide all that stuff, after all. Your self-image is predicated around the idea that you are a safe place to hide you in. Well you can't hide you inside you. You're right here, interacting with us. We can see you."
Yes
And then there was Mark. Mark kind of pretended to be a mind-reader. Girls were fascinated. They were all like "You can't know that about me! You don't understand me..." and then they giggled and slapped him and talked to him endlessly. About themselves. It's funny how when you pretend to be able to read people, they will believe you can. And they will let you know them. Because they want you to be able to. They hope you're interested, generally. Like Twitter or blogs. You hope some people are interested, even if you don't want to actually hang out with them. A distant kind of one-way connection. You are understood, in part, remotely.
Horoscopes, palm-reading, all that stuff, pretends to understand people. You say something general enough to apply to most human beings, and people will be tempted to accept it, because they want to be understood and accepted. They will hear it applying to them. Works well if it applies to everyone. They like even the attempt to understand them. They like the interest shown.
And then there was Mark. Mark kind of pretended to be a mind-reader. Girls were fascinated. They were all like "You can't know that about me! You don't understand me..." and then they giggled and slapped him and talked to him endlessly. About themselves. It's funny how when you pretend to be able to read people, they will believe you can. And they will let you know them. Because they want you to be able to. They hope you're interested, generally. Like Twitter or blogs. You hope some people are interested, even if you don't want to actually hang out with them. A distant kind of one-way connection. You are understood, in part, remotely.
Horoscopes, palm-reading, all that stuff, pretends to understand people. You say something general enough to apply to most human beings, and people will be tempted to accept it, because they want to be understood and accepted. They will hear it applying to them. Works well if it applies to everyone. They like even the attempt to understand them. They like the interest shown.
They do, right? Want to be understood? As for me, I was delighted to meet Mark because I'd spent a life in my culture being continually asked to justify why I was me, why I couldn't just be more like someone else. Why did I seem intense? Why didn't I enjoy the stuff we were all supposed to? And Mark said he "got" me. And he really seemed to. And to him I wasn't troubling, offensive, weird or odd to him. Not interesting enough. I was just normal, if a bit boring. Mark is the master of backhanded compliments. I was delighted. I was overjoyed to be boring, rather than threatening and "up to stuff." I was delighted to talk to people who weren't continually threatened and offput by me being myself. I prefer it when my companions are wackier than I. I don't like the pressure of having to be the entertaining one. I'm not cut out for it. I'm a better straight man.
But Mark also said, early when I met him "You really seem to want to be understood... weird." He has always maintained that he himself really doesn't want to be understood. Said he would hate for people to understand him. And that rang weird. He's got his problems, and I've always wondered about how the apparent discomfort with being known, the apparent endless need to mystify people, to know everything and be known of no one, might figure in or relate to it all in some way. But there are whole sections of friends of mine that are "dark." That don't surprise me at all anymore, but keep happening and I don't know why.
Is the ability to understand someone else, to "get" them even when they're not trying to help you understand, tied to caring about them?
Whenever I have cared for a girl, perhaps I deluded myself, but I felt like a connection formed and information started spilling back and forth between us. Like, a lot of understanding/information. The connection was based on caring for them, and it really seemed to somehow make everything they did and said seem wholly unsurprising and normal. Familiar. And I felt ends of sentences coming in advance. Ends of everythings.
And in general, whenever I read someone's writing, I feel like I can sort of feel how they're feeling when they write it. I feel like I'm "seeing" more of them than they intend. Far more. I don't try. But that happens when I read. When I read people's books, blogs or Facebook comments. When I mark hundreds and hundreds of assignments. People pour themselves into their writing, even when they think they're not. They're leaking all over the place. They know what they're intending to say, but they clearly have no control over how much, and what sort of stuff, is included in there with what they intend to share.
And in general, whenever I read someone's writing, I feel like I can sort of feel how they're feeling when they write it. I feel like I'm "seeing" more of them than they intend. Far more. I don't try. But that happens when I read. When I read people's books, blogs or Facebook comments. When I mark hundreds and hundreds of assignments. People pour themselves into their writing, even when they think they're not. They're leaking all over the place. They know what they're intending to say, but they clearly have no control over how much, and what sort of stuff, is included in there with what they intend to share.
Are There People Who Don't Want People To Understand Them?
Sometimes I do meet other people besides Mark who say they don't want to be understood. Who get angry and panicked at the very idea that I might be able to have insight into them, unless they flat out tell me things when they're ready.
I'm weird in that, once I decide I know something about someone, I don't wait for them to tell me it to me before I act on it. So, people eventually tell you they've broken up, or have started a relationship, or have quit their job, or are gay, or were lying about something, far after most of us have figured out more or less what happened. And when they tell you, it's not like OMFG! It's much more like "Yeah. Of course. I know." At most clueless, most of us are "So that's what that was all about." We're almost never "I had absolutely no idea and never would have guessed. I didn't even know anything was going on." Takes quite something to make us say that. It's very rare.
Sometimes I do meet other people besides Mark who say they don't want to be understood. Who get angry and panicked at the very idea that I might be able to have insight into them, unless they flat out tell me things when they're ready.
I'm weird in that, once I decide I know something about someone, I don't wait for them to tell me it to me before I act on it. So, people eventually tell you they've broken up, or have started a relationship, or have quit their job, or are gay, or were lying about something, far after most of us have figured out more or less what happened. And when they tell you, it's not like OMFG! It's much more like "Yeah. Of course. I know." At most clueless, most of us are "So that's what that was all about." We're almost never "I had absolutely no idea and never would have guessed. I didn't even know anything was going on." Takes quite something to make us say that. It's very rare.
But sometimes folks act like my interest in people, in who they are, what they're trying to do, in how that's working out for them? Is perverse. Hurts people. Upsets them for my own selfish reasons. "I have to ask, exactly how much pleasure do you derive from making other people uncomfortable?" That me taking an interest in the human beings around me is, at very least, deluded and irresponsible. Like, I can't actually know people. Not really. Not if they don't want me to. Not if they're not purposely trying to help me know them, having invited me to do so. Because, the saying goes, you can't know someone. Even if they actually want you to know them, conventional wisdom is that you never really know anyone.
Now I imagine there's truth to that. Yet, I can't help shake the feeling that when you "get" someone, especially if you care, there is that connection, and you understand to such a degree that if it isn't supernatural, it sure can make you believe it is.
Naked Is Vulnerable. It's Also Great Fun
I guess I don't understand people who don't want to be known. I really don't, on any level. We don't get along. I understand people who are afraid that if you knew more of them, you wouldn't like them. (So you get to know more of them, and you keep liking them.) I understand people wanting to "come off well," best foot forward, making a good impression. I understand that some people want to "give you permission" to see what kind of person they are, before being comfortable with you noticing what kind of person they are.
But ultimately, if you work with people, live with people or even near people, if you travel with people, camp with people, swim with people, play musical instruments with people, play sports or games against people, shop with people, if you discuss anything much at length with people, even on the Internet, connections form. No more "best foot forward." It's "warts and all" or not at all. You start to understand at least a facet of that person. A knowing takes place. Sometimes slowly. Perhaps only that one facet. When someone opens his or her mouth and sings to or with me, I can't help but see into them. There's something incredibly naked in that act.
A Threat?
So I think I believe I can "get" people. Always missing various bits of the picture, whole facets, sides of them. But I still think I can know people. In fact, I think it's mainly what we're down here to do, I think it's what Jesus manifestly did, over and over. I think it's natural and happens unless we disrupt it purposely. And I guess it scares some people to be known. Like it's safer to not be known than to be known and rejected. Our Northern European heritage makes a lot of us North Americans embrace a kind of insulated, "isolation while near others." I live in an apartment. And we "give each other space." We do not hang out. We choose to separate.
I guess I don't understand people who don't want to be known. I really don't, on any level. We don't get along. I understand people who are afraid that if you knew more of them, you wouldn't like them. (So you get to know more of them, and you keep liking them.) I understand people wanting to "come off well," best foot forward, making a good impression. I understand that some people want to "give you permission" to see what kind of person they are, before being comfortable with you noticing what kind of person they are.
But ultimately, if you work with people, live with people or even near people, if you travel with people, camp with people, swim with people, play musical instruments with people, play sports or games against people, shop with people, if you discuss anything much at length with people, even on the Internet, connections form. No more "best foot forward." It's "warts and all" or not at all. You start to understand at least a facet of that person. A knowing takes place. Sometimes slowly. Perhaps only that one facet. When someone opens his or her mouth and sings to or with me, I can't help but see into them. There's something incredibly naked in that act.
A Threat?
So I think I believe I can "get" people. Always missing various bits of the picture, whole facets, sides of them. But I still think I can know people. In fact, I think it's mainly what we're down here to do, I think it's what Jesus manifestly did, over and over. I think it's natural and happens unless we disrupt it purposely. And I guess it scares some people to be known. Like it's safer to not be known than to be known and rejected. Our Northern European heritage makes a lot of us North Americans embrace a kind of insulated, "isolation while near others." I live in an apartment. And we "give each other space." We do not hang out. We choose to separate.
One of the things my father said to me long ago was "Son, you often feel you're understood, when really you aren't." No doubt he has a point. But having lived a few decades, what I find happening with me isn't that people can't understand who I am because I'm deeply secretive, never talk about myself, or don't live a life that tells people what I care about. No. It's that they don't believe I am what I am. Like, they don't want me to be being here, being me, the way I am. They can't believe that a well-intentioned, good-hearted, sane, competent person could make them feel uncomfortable, just by being himself.
So they seem to need me to be the Joker, the Emperor, Charles Manson, Lex Luthor, Darth Vader, Voldemort or Hades. Or Forrest Gump. They are determined to ascribe malice and/or ineptitude to me. To assume I'm joking when I'm quite serious. Or to take me seriously when I'm joking. Or to assume I'm being sarcastic when I'm being nice. And the more they do this, the more they feel like I'm actually terribly hard to figure out. Because the more they try to see the malicious, irresponsible, deluded, inept person they need me to be, the more my actions and dealings confuse them. Something "doesn't add up."
So they seem to need me to be the Joker, the Emperor, Charles Manson, Lex Luthor, Darth Vader, Voldemort or Hades. Or Forrest Gump. They are determined to ascribe malice and/or ineptitude to me. To assume I'm joking when I'm quite serious. Or to take me seriously when I'm joking. Or to assume I'm being sarcastic when I'm being nice. And the more they do this, the more they feel like I'm actually terribly hard to figure out. Because the more they try to see the malicious, irresponsible, deluded, inept person they need me to be, the more my actions and dealings confuse them. Something "doesn't add up."
Because that's how ignorance works: you can't see what your eyes are looking at, because you believe you know better. You believe you see deeper. And actually you're replacing what is right in front of you with Other Stuff. Sometimes what you're seeing is what's real, no matter what pretenses and protestations and other crap is flying about. Sometimes the attempts to hide stuff, or your attempts to hide from someone else's stuff make you incapable of dealing with what's right in front of you.
I want to be understood. I don't want people to attribute malice to me. I don't want my every attempt to understand my own culture be interpreted as nothing other than a muck-raking attack.
I don't blog absolutely anything I want. Just because I have a very different agenda, and very different ethics about these things (for example, I believe there is worth and necessity in shining lights under rocks, in scrubbing underneath the kitchen sink and behind the toilet) isn't proof of my having an evil agenda, or no ethics at all. I come in peace. And I want to know and be known.
I don't blog absolutely anything I want. Just because I have a very different agenda, and very different ethics about these things (for example, I believe there is worth and necessity in shining lights under rocks, in scrubbing underneath the kitchen sink and behind the toilet) isn't proof of my having an evil agenda, or no ethics at all. I come in peace. And I want to know and be known.
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