E12 EZ EE THE WASHINGTON POST.SUNDAY, MAY 8 , 2022
MIKE DU JOUR B Y MIKE LESTERDear Carolyn: Not
a question, but an
observation: At
work, I spend
about an hour
with tour groups
giving interactive
lessons on historic
activities. The
groups are
typically parent-chaperoned kids
in fourth or fifth grade. I often
overhear the kids’ conversations
as they chat and the subject comes
up often of parents who aren’t
present in their lives to the degree
they would like. Here’s a recent
conversation:
Girl 1: (says something I didn’t
hear).
Girl 2: “Yeah, my Dad is always
off somewhere on the phone
working.”
Sure enough, I scanned our
lesson area, and a man with our
group was off to the side having a
focused conversation on his
phone. While I don’t know for
sure, it seems likely that the man
was the subject of the girls’ chat.
So, all that is to say, kids notice
everything. Be present as much
as possible.
— Casual Observer
Casual Observer: Not an answer,
but an anecdote: One school
vacation week, we took the boys
on multiple day trips. City walks,
trampoline park, mall with an
Imax theater, children’s museum.
The last day, exhausted, we had a
movies-and-pajamas day.
For his writing assignment on
how he spent his vacation, one of
them wrote, “We watched TV.”
Your conclusions are
unimpeachable — attention is
paramount, phones can be a
massive attention-suck, kids
notice everything. Yes, yes. But
your evidence gives me the yips.
Please be careful whom you
judge and why. Pre-phones, that
dad may not have been able to
leave the office at all to serve as
chaperone, and the call you
witnessed may have been what
freed him up for the rest of the
field trip.
Kids, like the adults they’re
watching so closely, sometimes
tell the truth, and sometimes tell
only part of it to create a certain
effect.Dear Carolyn: I’m in a
wonderful, solid relationship
with my boyfriend and we’re
planning to get married. I have
an inner conflict that rears its
ugly head when I’m socializing
with my boyfriend’s workmates,
who are extroverts like my
boyfriend. They’re high-energy,
feed off each other’s energy and
talk endlessly. I’m quieter and
not “entertaining.”
In the earlier days of our
dating, he talked about his “workwife” (his words). She is the polar
opposite of me. They're still
besties now.
I feel insecure that 1) he
connects in a special way with his
workmates that I don’t with him,
2) I fear I’m boring compared
with them.
I’m reluctant to share this withhim because it’s not my place to
control his social life, and why
should he change when he’s done
nothing wrong?
How do I shift to a healthier
mind-set? Lean on my own
friends and hobbies to take my
mind off this?
— Conflicted and SadConflicted and Sad: Never
marry an unsolved problem.
That's Rule No. 1 for
preventing relationship misery.
Don’t proceed even one more
step toward marriage until
you've addressed your doubts.
Rule No. 2: Don’t rely solely on
your own explanations for other
people’s behavior when they are
available to explain it themselves.
For all you know, the “work
wife’s” extroversion is the reason
he doesn’t love her romantically.
Why not just point out to him the
obvious differences you’ve
noticed in your temperament
and the temperaments of his
friends? And ask him if he’s
noticed, too? And whether he’s
thought about why he chose an
introvert as a partner? And
whether that was deliberate in
some way or purely coincidental?
And whether it ever bothers him
that you’re more reserved, even if
he prefers it?
Not as an interrogation, just a
conversation. It’s not about
control or change, it’s just about
your getting to know each other
(much) better. And
understanding your relationship.
You chose him, after all, despite
his “other”-ness; he could just as
easily feel insecure because you
connect with other introverts in a
way he never can with you, and
feels shallow compared withthem. Which brings us to:
Rule No. 3: Don’t assign
negative values to things that are
merely different.
This applies even to ourselves.
Have you thought about why
you’ve applied the worst
interpretations to your own
nature? “Not ‘entertaining’ ”?
“Boring”? Expressing concern is
“control”?
Rule No. 4: Hold out for true
intimacy — which means saying
the things that scare you, not
hiding out in your like-minded
friends and your hobbies.
If you don’t feel safe enough to
be vulnerable, then either you’re
not ready for an intimate
relationship or you’re not with
the right partner. Or both. All of
which are fine, as long as you’re
honest with yourself about that
and adjust your relationships
accordingly.
You and your boyfriend have a
lot of important things to talk
about, and marriage isn’t one of
them — yet. Own up, then see
what you get.Write to Carolyn Hax at
[email protected]. Get her
column delivered to your inbox each
morning at wapo.st/gethax. Join the discussion live at noon
Fridays at washingtonpost.com/live-
chats.Sure, see parents through kids’ eyes, but know that their view might be skewed
Carolyn
Hax
NICK GALIFIANAKIS/ILLUSTRATION FOR THE WASHINGTON POSTBY LIZZ HUERTAThe white tiger had just
emerged from the tree of life
when a voice shouted at me.
“No music in headphones on
the job site! Peligro!”
I looked down at the blond
foreman from my perch on the
ladder, my paintbrush still. He
was pointing at his ears and
shaking his head back and forth:
a physical no, in case I didn’t
understand English. I hit pause.
“I’m listening to an a udiobook.
Are stories allowed?” I enjoyed
the familiar clutch of confusion
on his face. I was a brown w oman
in paint-splattered overalls on a
construction site. I was used to
confusing people.
“Just be careful,” the foreman
muttered, walking away. I re-
turned to the tiger.
There was a time I was
ashamed of working with my
body, not following my friends
into higher education and ca-
reers that included sitting. My
writing friends were learning
how to tell stories in classrooms,
sitting in discussion circles, de-
constructing. They talked about
craft, theory, who was dating
whom in their cohort. I spent my
days with those who construct-
ed: plumbers, electricians, paint-
ers and the ironworkers of my
father’s business. I learned to tell
a story through listening. Audio-
books were the heart of my
education.
I spent over 15 years devour-
ing audiobooks across subject
and genre. I painted the wrought
iron surrounding gated commu-
nities while my mind and heart
pulsed a t the b uildup i n romance
novels. I navigated my ladder
around beautiful but thorny
bougainvillea while Brené
Brown’s kind voice spoke to me
of resilience. I wept with Achil-
les’ beloved companion Patro-
clus behind an artificial water-
fall, pulling the bandanna from
my hair to wipe my tears. I was
anticipating terror, shadowing
Angela To ussaint in “The Good
House,” when a client tapped me
on the shoulder. I screamed. The
client screamed. Paint spilled.
When the mess and explanations
were over, the client asked me
which book had me so rapt, and I
joyfully introduced them to Ta -
nanarive Due’s w ork. I p ainted to
battles. I contemplated my pre-
frontal cortex as I applied cold
galvanizing spray to rusted iron.
I ate my lunch in my truck with
Eduardo Galeano. Story was my
constant companion. After w ork,
I would go home and write.
I was learning what good writ-
ing sounded like — the cadence,
flow and rhythm. I found myself
drawn to certain audiobook nar-
rators and the books they read to
me. (Oh, Robin Miles, your voice
is a miracle.) When writing sto-
ries, I spoke my words aloud,
listening for the yes in my chest
when I hit the right resonance. I
became more confident in my
writing. I became more confi-
dent in my life, appreciating the
shape of it, how I could be in the
sun daily, audiobooks always
playing.Summers I’d take time off
from painting to attend writing
workshops. I enjoyed the atmos-phere of most workshops and
delighted in meeting other writ-
ers. And I began to noticediscontent among a lot of the
folks I met. Academia sounded
like a farcical hellscape to me. I
didn’t have to worry about
course loads and tenure com-
mittees, office hours and the
other complications of a life I
thought I once missed out on.
My brain was never fried after
work. It was fresh with ideas,
hungry to create. My creative
time wasn’t in competition with
the work that fed me. My paint-
ing never followed me home. I
began to see my work as a gift.
Who else was able to listen to
books all day, in solitude? My
work could be physically tiring,
but there was a deep satisfac-
tion to it. By late afternoon, a
rusted, faded iron door was
reborn by my hand. There is
beauty in completion.
I carried a notebook with me
while I painted. Throughout the
day lines would come to me,
scenes of tension, moments of
love between characters. I’d jot
down the ideas and weave them
into the book I was writing
when I came home. A fantasy. A
book about girls who can enter
Sacred Dreaming, a different
dimension. I listened to books
about writing, ignored what
didn’t fit and trusted myself. A
chance (divined?) encounter at a
painting job led to my signing
with a literary agent. The book
sold. For the first time in 20
years, I was off ladders and
writing full time.
And I missed audiobooks. I
missed sunshine on my skin. My
body rebelled against the still-ness of my days, unused to
sitting, to s ilence. I listened. I put
my headphones in and pushed
play while learning the ways I
needed to move so story could
come through. A few months
ago, my publisher asked me to
choose the narrators for the
audiobook of my debut novel,
“The Lost Dreamer.” I knew what
I was listening for and selected
narrators whose voices’ reso-
nance gave me the yes in my
chest I knew to be right. I loved
hearing my words interpreted by
Inés del Castillo and Elisa Me-
lendez.
I listened to my audiobook for
the first time while in the back
seat of my sister’s car, sand-
wiched between two children’s
car seats. When the narrator’s
voice filled the car, speaking the
words of my story, I burst into
tears and was only able to listen
for a f ew m inutes before I had m y
sister turn it off. I was over-
whelmed by the beautiful ca-
dence of the voice, and by the
shape of my story, not just the
one on the page. I thought of the
countless hours I’d spent on
ladders with audiobooks. I imag-
ined strangers in traffic, on
walks, on construction sites, my
words in their ears. When I got
home, I put on my headphones
and sat on my balcony, watching
the birds play in the bamboo,
grateful to my core, listening and
in awe at what had emerged
through me.Lizz Huerta is the author of “The
Lost Dreamer.”In audiobooks, a work-study program on how t o tell storyCOURTESY OF THE AUTHOR
Author Lizz Huerta says she spent more than 15 years “devouring
audiobooks across subject and genre” while working as a painter.BOOK WORLDS0136-4x2.5
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