Dearest Rachel –
Well, it seems that, in the words of the late Charles Schulz (is he up there, by the way? Have you seen him? I’m thinking he might be hanging out with his childhood beagle friend), I’d wasted a good worry. Pastor Scott hadn’t really been concerned with whatever heavy questions I might have for him in the midst of my circumstances that would have prompted me to get together with him yesterday. The idea to overanalyze my motivation didn’t even occur to him – and considering I didn’t have anything especially heavy to lay on him, that’s just fine.
We also didn’t have time for that sort of thing; neither of us were aware of it at the time we made arrangements, but by two o’clock, the waitress came up to us and informed us that we needed to wrap things up, as they were closing. Scott did mention on our way out that they did specialize in lunch offerings (he’d tried in the past to take his wife to this place for dinner, but they simply don’t do dinner, evidently), but apparently hadn’t considered when they might finish serving lunch before. I had to scarf down the last three sushi rolls (I’d bought the plate for the table, but Scott didn’t seem interested – or maybe he didn’t realize that was the intention – and thus didn’t partake) as we brought our conversation to a close after barely an hour. Not really enough time to go into great depth about much, even if I’d had something along those lines to discuss.
I found myself offering to meet him at some later date – dependent on his schedule, of course – and couldn’t help thinking about Esther, asking the king, her husband(!) to get together with her and Haman at a second banquet in two days. After all, she already had the two of them at the table already, why wait with her request? It’s not like the palace staff were about to knock off for the day. But I guess that how diplomacy worked in those days; getting his majesty into a sufficiently good mood to have him address such a big ask required providing him with a lot of his favorite things beforehand. It’s a wonder he didn’t get suspicious of her motivations – or at least be a little guarded with his generosity. Then again, maybe it’s a matter of trust; certainly, if I ran a kingdom, I’d be more than willing to grant the lion’s share to you if you asked. Heck, you might be able to run it better and more efficiently than I could.
I seem to have gone a little off track here. My point is, I was worried yesterday about whether Scott might have had questions about my motivations for inviting him out – and now that we’ve got a standing arrangement for another time in the near future, those questions should still be there. But as it turns out, he made no effort to read my mind, despite my assumption that he was able to just because of my doing something that might be considered to be out of character.
And I suppose that’s more the way people are; we’re all so wrapped up in our own lives and our own concerns that, while it may be obvious to me as to why I’m doing something – and, more to the point, why I’m involving another person in my plans somehow – it doesn’t actually occur to that other person to consider those motives for themselves, or even notice them. This basically suggests that all my concerns about not being sufficiently subtle may very well be completely overblown; if I read this correctly, I can be as brazen as I want, and I’m not likely to be called out about it.
This probably doesn’t mean that I’m not going to worry about how the other person views my actions, though; it simply indicates that I’m likely to be wasting my time doing so.
***
This may seem unrelated, but I woke up this morning (after a dream of Evangelion in which I was treated to a first-person view – and external self-image – of what I think it must be like to pilot those giant mechs. Your mind’s eye sees not the robot, but yourself as several hundred feet high, stomping through the city in pursuit of the latest attacking Angel, complete with all the tactile sensations of brushing part buildings and stepping barefoot on cars like cigarette butts. It all makes you cautious about your every move) with the most ridiculous case of bedhead.
I’d say you know what that looks like, but you rarely woke up before I did, so you were spared the worst of it – and I’ll be honest, this was pretty near the worst of it. My hair was sticking straight up like a cartoon character that had just been badly shocked (well, surprised, not literally shocked). I’d have taken a picture, but even after working out like I have, I don’t look good topless just yet, and pulling a shirt on would have just ruined the effect. Suffice to say that I was reminded of an old song by Terry Taylor and Daniel Amos, back when having that kind of hairstyle was considered a New Wave fashion statement; they just gave that ‘statement’ a particular spin.
Of course, this is where this morning’s look – and the song I remembered because of it – connects to the topic. Would seeing a guy with a spike of hair pointing straight up like that leave you thinking of heaven? I’ll tell you what, I certainly wouldn’t make that connection. We’re playing an eight-billion-person game of charades down here, honey, but none of us realizes it (at least, not very often). We think everyone knows what we’re thinking, but unless we spell it out, most people we encounter – even the ones who are trying to understand us, which are precious few – haven’t got a clue.
Perhaps that’s something I need to bear in mind, and figure out how to use for my advantage. But for now, all I can ask is that you keep an eye on me, honey, and wish me luck. I’m going to need that, especially since I lack that kind of insight.
Letters to Rachel 