.SOMETIMES RAW.

So, yesterday evening I attended a lecture on AI, and I have to say that many things I heard are a bit scary. For example, AI can write an entire novel within 20 seconds. All I need to do is type, for example, Stephen King-style, 90,000 words, keywords: woods, scary, friendship, death, and monster. I will receive a full manuscript of a novel that, 20 pages in, sounds amazing. Makes me wonder, will we need authors in the future? Will we need humans in stores, or can robots do the job? They are sort of doing it already anyway. Some strange future we are heading to, don’t you think? It obviously has many good sides as well. Maybe it can assist in finding a cure for AIDS or cancer. However, for now, there are still things artificial intelligence cannot which puts humans still in charge. For now.

Experience a heart attack while working in the herb garden.

Get a divorce.

Put too many kernels in the pan to make popcorn because I wanted MORE popcorn, and then I got LESS because half of them fell out! #irony #metaphor

Wonder what its middle school bully is doing now.

Show up to court in a white linen suit.

Drape myself face down on an ottoman in a fit of ennui.

Adjourn to the reading room for tea and cookies.

Yawn, flick the middle finger, or kiss.

Suspect that something evil has happened in this very room.

Fall for a red-flag person.

Lose its sense of time in The New York Times and miss one’s flight.

Have a least-favorite roommate.

Admire the voluptuous nature of a cloud.

Climax in unison with its lover.

Obtain a meditative state and lose it.

Extend a too-firm handshake to someone you don’t like.

Swiftly transition from self-loathing to acceptance at the sight of its dead and wrongly planted fig plant.

Rid itself of the feeling that a yoga retreat is a scam.

Chug a Tequila Sunrise Cocktail in front of everyone.

Become shy about seeing two people sexually, tongue kissing.

Give it all up for someone.

Continue feeling shame for something it did in fourth grade.

Weep over sins that are not its own.

Tokyo Drift a shopping cart around the grocery store.

Clean effectively.

Fight back movie-induced tears.

Surrender to the currents of the great unknown through the steady brown eyes of someone special.

Ride a desert horse atop the high isolated hills, leaving behind a red cloud of dust and a dark past.

Avoid eye contact with the one person who you know who knows the answer.

Pace.

Flail.

Sashay.

Understand and respect pure charisma.

Reassess its sexuality after watching a video of a rug being steam cleaned.

Learn more about itself through the years with a partner.

Appreciate a well-tailored suit.

Lean against an office window sill that overlooks the city skyline and wonder what it’s all for.

Wake up in a driveway.

Multitask.

Make moral judgements.

Feel.

Forget the names of everyone who works with you.

Worry that the friend group they are meant to have is somewhere else.

Employ a diet that is maintained through persistent self-hate.

Suffer from seasonal unease.

Succumb to an ice-cream bar.

My first language is German, but I am more comfortable writing in English. That might actually be because I lived in NYC for many years, finished a Bachelor’s in Forensic Psychology and a Master’s in Applied Linguistics in English. Yay, me! Some terms or phrases were so weird to me in the beginning. For example, you don’t just ask someone, “Hey, how are you?” without expecting an answer. Or when people say literally, actually and oh my gooooosh a million times in conversations. Let’s break these phrases down and start actually with actually:

The Victory Actually
Translation: Did you misspell obnoxious?

“Actually it’s a trilby, not a fedora.”

“Actually, you don’t, because the Upper West Side ends at 96th, so what you mean is, you live in Manhattan Valley.”

“Well, actually, you don’t mean ‘literally,’ you mean ‘figuratively,’ no?”

“Well, actually, you’re not nauseous, you’re nauseated, unless of course you really mean…”

“Uh, hang on, no, it’s not an umlaut, it’s a diæresis. They’re actually different, phonologically.”

“That’s actually not an acronym, it’s an initialism. To be an acronym…”

The Pleasant Surprise Actually
Translation: My low expectation has been exceeded.

“Actually, you’re right… mostly.”

“You’re funny. You actually just made me laugh out loud.”

“That’s actually a very good question.”

“I mean it was a wedding but actually I kind of had a good time.”

“Actually, yeah, that might… that could actually work. Good job.”

“Wow, yeah no, I did, I do love it. It is my favorite. You actually remembered.”

The Low Self-Esteem Actually
Translation: Yay, stupid me.

“Huh, I actually like the way this looks on me.”

“Yeah, mean, median and mode. I’ve actually heard of that.”

“It went great. I actually contributed a few ideas.”

“I actually think this came out not too bad.”

“Things are good. Great, even? I don’t know, I’m actually in a good place these days. Happy, even.”

“I’d never played before and I was actually pretty good!”

The Damage-Control Actually
Translation: Join me in deciding this isn’t a big deal.

“I actually can’t help you tonight, I have plans.”

“I actually don’t have a copy of my résumé on me, but you can just Google me.”

“I would love to, and happy birthday to your cousin, but I’m, actually, I can’t.”

“Yes, I remember saying I could but actually stuff’s kind of crazy so I can do it, but tomorrow.”

“No, actually, I didn’t read the whole article but that’s not the point. What I’m commenting on, and really, what I’d appreciate your response to, is the tone and the general attitude.”

The Diplomatic Correction Actually
Translation: Sir, no.

“I know. Craig. Yep. Hi, Craig. We’ve actually met before. Couple times.”

“I did actually turn it off and then turn it back on, so no, that’s not it. So can you help?”

“She, actually. My doctor’s a woman. Anyway, what she said was…”

“It was my first language, so actually, I’m pretty sure I pronounced it right: broo-sketta.”

The Self-Soother Actually
Translation: Control the narrative, control the narrative.

“So fuck it, you know? And, actually, maybe it’s a good thing I got fired. Fuck that job. Best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Embarrassed? Why would I be embarrassed? No. actually, I thought it was funny.”

“In fact, nah, you know what? I’m relieved. I don’t have time for that shit, so actually, it’s better that I haven’t heard back from him. Fuck him.”

“I didn’t mean to reply-all but you know, it had to be said. So, in the long run, actually, I’m glad it happened.”

“Thank you. It was scary there but actually, it was a wake-up call, and now I’m exercising, eating better. I wouldn’t have made a change if it hadn’t happened.”

“Thanks. It’s okay. Really. I’ll just take the time to work on it some more. I kind of felt rushed so actually, I’m relieved. No, really, I was actually glad I didn’t get it.”

Under normal circumstances, I fully encourage and support any attempt one makes to improve interpersonal communication. Especially when things are clearly communicated on time. Some know how to do this, but unfortunately, many do not.

A partner using “I” statements and engaging in concerted efforts to be clear, open and honest warms my heart. A boss or coworker who communicates clear guidelines and expectations is a cherished gem that I would regularly enjoy. Children who are able to clearly state what is or isn’t working in regards to my half-ass attempts at helping with homework make it easier for me to justify hiring a tutor. I love boundaries. I relish opportunities to really, deeply understand what someone needs or how they feel. It is a wonderful feeling to know that I am surrounded—for the most part—by people who are not assholes and know how to communicate.

Unfortunately, there are people in this world who believe—deep down in their sad souls—that they are effective communicators. What these people don’t realize is that they are just crazy.

Take wannabe Nonviolent Communicators, for instance. And also, people who are sociopaths or egoistic maniacs.

The premise seems harmless enough: Nonviolent Communication is a self-righteous cult-like language style that supposedly facilitates the flow of communication needed to exchange information and resolve differences peacefully. It also claims to help focus attention on compassion as a motivating factor, instead of guilt, blame, fear or shame. In some cases, it helps people to own their feelings. This, I appreciate. I always own the shit out of my feelings, and sometimes everyone else’s feelings, too.

The framework of Nonviolent Communication adds a lot of unnecessary words to sentences, though, and can chew up anywhere from four to thirty-five minutes of any given day. For example, if someone doesn’t feel like going on a date with the drunk woman who accosted them in their therapist’s parking lot, they can just give a calm and brief “no, thanks” as a reply to the solicitation. Or utilize the pepper spray tucked away in their bag. In Nonviolent Communication Fantasy Land, the response would be more like this: “I feel uncomfortable with the level of your alcohol intake, and I need to stay home and watch Sex and the City this weekend.” The latter statement sets a revolving door of interaction into motion and invites questions. And questions always lead to conversation. It seems to complicate things. And it wastes a lot of precious time. Thirty-five minutes a day means about eight days out of an entire year used to engage in conversations with people we’d rather avoid when we could be doing something fun, like sleeping. Or planting five acres of corn. Or having oral surgery.

In almost every instance, if the feelings bubbling up from our instinctive cores incite feelings of aversion, it is quite alright to say, “No.” Take this woman I knew who, loyal to her Nonviolent Communication teachings, decided it was appropriate to “honour” her two-year-old’s needs to repeatedly not get dressed in the morning. In typical terrible-twos fashion, he screamed and cried while he ran amok, tearing their apartment to shreds; his need for control running the game. The mother listened calmly and replied, “I hear that you don’t want to get dressed right now, Lil Johnny. I honour your feelings, and we can try again later.”

This is crazy talk.

A two-year-old doesn’t even know it has needs, nor does the child recognize what those needs are beyond hunger or the deep desire to covet a Playmobil pirate ship. An appropriate response would have been to lasso that little bastard and shove him into a heavily starched straightjacket and get on with the goddamn day. Next, this woman is completely oblivious to the fact that she is raising one of many in a generation of monsters.

This little asshole will grow up to be a large, adult-sized asshole who will eventually enter the workforce and begin relationships. Without a serious emotional smackdown and some mild shaming once in a while, kids like this become men and women with no sense of personal boundaries, frequently displaying asshole behaviour because they “feel like it.” Also, the world is a cruel, gruesome place full of unanticipated pain, and we should all be prepared for the hands of life shoving us down dark stairwells of disappointment every chance it gets.

In the worst-case scenario of overly permissive parenting gone horribly, horribly awry, Lil Johnny will grow up to ruin the lives of women everywhere. He will pose as an asshole and stalk his ex-girlfriends on social media because doing so meets his need to feel in control.

The rationalization for some of his displays of other wildly inappropriate behaviour will surely include passive-aggressive word play: “I am sorry your anxiety causes you to choose to perceive me as a bad person because I just did what I needed to do to survive this stressfull situation, called you a overly dramatic and left in the middle of the night to make plans to screw another woman. Maybe you should think long and hard about what you did to make me need to do that.”

It’s enough to make even the most sane person want to rip their veins out through their eye sockets in fits of unbearable confusion.

It doesn’t end with a few cases of Lil Johnny Lacks Boundaries. I believe that Nonviolent Communicator wannabes are the foulest creatures to walk among us. Most blend in and appear to be everyday, normal people who frequent parks, bookstores, cafes, independent movie theaters and live music venues. Upon close inspection, they can be spotted by an air of narcissism swirling around them and eyes that are open just wide enough to see the white orb curving back above their irises. They never blink. Often, while pretending to listen with an open heart chakra, their heads tilt just slightly to the right, as if positioning the left ear a few centimeters toward an open mouth will help them hear more fully. If they are in agreement with what they hear, their eyes squint and their heads will begin to bob like they are grooving to an inner rhythm of a slow-jam-mix.

But it isn’t merely the aesthetics of unfortunate fashion choices or the superiority complex that shines through their eyes to the condescending tone residing deep in their solar plexuses that makes these people some of the most irritating humans to be surrounded by. Some of them may have heartfelt intentions of making the world a better place. To them I say, Kumbaya, My Lord. Still, there is a fine line between Nonviolent Communication and verbal manipulation. Speaking in a calm, clear tone makes no difference if what you are saying is abusive, just plain stupid, in order for you to get what you want.

Nonviolent Communication tactics may be perfectly appropriate in circles of self-righteous, passive-aggressive cultish circles or among people who are independently wealthy, leaving them with endless hours to devote to self-improvement gimmicks. It leaves the rest of us exposed to the bitter wind of impatience and unanswered questions. And quite frankly, it transforms otherwise normal and understanding people into a pack of angry, mangy wolves. I wish people could just be decent and normal. Without being fullblown assholes.

But these are just my feelings.

I still have a preference for a “yes” or “no” over some long-winded, inconclusive response from some creeps whose prolonged eye contact makes me want to dissolve them in acid.

Obviously, I need to look at my inner “needs list” in Chapter 5 of my Nonviolent Communication book and reflect on what is missing in my life. Oh, nothing, my life is perfectly fine and content.

I think I just feel hurt when people act like assholes, and I need them to go away and never talk to me ever again.

Maybe I just need some empathy. Or maybe people should just try harder to stop being assholes.