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Jeff's Life
Archive
Jeff Stimpson, 39, has been a working journalist for 15 years. He lives in New York with his wife Jill and sons Alex, 3, and Edwin, four months. He maintains a site of essays, Jeff's Life, at:
JEFF'S LIFE
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Monthly Column... |
Serenity Now
by
Jeff Stimpson
"Serenity now, insanity later." - Lloyd Brawn, "Seinfield"
"I understand your concerns." - Capt. Jean-Luc Picard, "Star Trek: The Next Generation"
Jill was talking about her job when I let her in on my latest secret of life. "Haven't you noticed how I've been reacting differently to things you say?" I asked her as she sat beside me on the couch.
I told her I'd been concentrating more on thinking before I speak, and treating nothing all that seriously. I went this route of reason as 2003 continued to become a lumpy year. Jill got a job but it's abusive. I sold essays to a big British parenting slick, but they haven't paid yet. We sailed Alex through the IEP school district paperwork, but we're stalled on finding him a kindergarten. We got him an ADD drug, but he won't take it.
As the problems pile up, it's either go the route of reason or give in to violence, I explain. "And rather than take that enjoyable though brief and destructive path, I have elected to give measured responses to find solutions to problems as they arise. In short, I've chosen to think before I speak to you."
"What did you used to do before speaking to me?" Jill asked.
I added that my role model is Capt. Jean-Luc Picard on "Star Trek: The Next Generation."
"You should really be writing down all of this!" Jill replied, moving to the recliner.
It's a matter of isolating the problem and speaking quietly. About the job: Do you have a copy of your job contact? I asked Jill. What is most important to you on this job? What were the three toughest encounters you had today at the office? I sprinkle my serenity with a lot of questions and pithy, Picard-like comments such as, "Oh," "Interesting," and "I understand your concerns."
Jill and I were on the way to a play the other day when she was complaining, again, about a business associate and using sharp, well-spoken barbs that to me, show shrewdness and a keen eye. I smiled. "You know," I told her, "when you talk like this I somehow think it's an enormous compliment to me."
"It is, isn't it?" she replied, and smiled.
At the play, we of course sat in front of a talker, a whooping big mouth whose chattering would've been well-checked with a rifle butt. I urged Jill to speak to the usher at intermission. (The usher was useless.) I told Jill I would moved seats, but was unsure how to proceed with such a maneuver in a crowded theatre. Fortune visited me, however, the way it often visits TV characters: while I was in line for the men's room I heard other members of the audience complaining about talkers behind them. When we returned to our seats, Jill, the talker, and me (still serene), I told Jill about my men's room line experience in a conversationally loud voice -- just the kind of subtle, effective action Picard might employ. I intended the talker to hear and take the hint.
As the second act opened, Jill finally had to turn around and ask the woman, twice, to be quiet please. Quiet second act, good script, no talking, me serene. After the curtain while we were on our way out, Jill caught the talker telling her mom that Jill told her to "shut up," and the mom glaring. Jill stopped to explain - serenity now - to the mom what she really said. Jill reported that the mom told her to "get on her way."
Being from Maine, my natural inclination has always been to put up with whatever misery the world hands me, and to, at my most indulgent, surrender to the anger.
But, about the talker, "You were perfectly in the right," I told Jill. "But what did you want to get out of that last encounter? What do you think you've learned?"
It works with everybody. Just now, I got off the phone with the doctor who prescribed Alex's ADD meds. We can't get Alex to take the pills, which are bright blue and bitter, and I fear we need a behavior specialist to help us work with Alex at home. This doctor has been a week calling me back.
About my son on drugs: "You have a behaviorist?" I say. "Oh, there is such a person! What is that person's name? How do you spell that? Yes, yes, yes. Like I've said, doctor, we've had a devil of a time with administration ..."
Beat beat goes my heart. Maybe I'm due for insanity later, but I don't think so. That never happens on TV.
Copyright 2003 Jeff Stimpson, all rights reserved
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