turning towards the smart ass

In couples therapy, I often present John Gottman's concept of "turning towards," a phenomenon he coined while researching thousands of couples over time. They found that "happy" couples engage in this behavior much, much more often than unhappy couples. Turning towards happens in microinteractions, the tiniest of behaviors between two people. Say you are reading the Times online and you say, "Huh." Turning towards, your partner might say, "Hmm?" Or you say, "Supposed to snow again today." And your partner says, "Yikes. Again?" or "What time is it supposed to start?""The milk has gone bad." "Bummer." That kind of thing.

Turning away looks like no response, no acknowledgment of the bid for connection. Turning against is like "So what are you telling me for?" or just "So?" or "I told you to get more milk!"


Laura is a master at turning towards, and as I go through all this folderol with my health, I am amazed at her staying power with these microinteractions, especially since so many of my "bids" are whiny.
"My eyes are so dry I can't open them sometimes." "Oh, lovie, that must be such a drag." "My neck hurts." "Want me to rub it?" "I miss my breasts." "I know, sweetie." "I feel sick." "I'm so sorry." "This takes so bad." "Yep. Eat it anyway." Okay, maybe that last one isn't the perfect turning towards moment, but it still feels like she's heard me and that what I've said matters. She hears me over and over and over again, and she never turns against, and only turns away when she's lost in something else, which is not really turning away. It's being not-quite-in-the-room, which is fair.


I've had a long history of being the one in a Relationship that has something like the upper hand, the one who is needed a bit more. I don't know how or why I've constructed things in this way, but I am aware of it and not particularly proud of it. It's meant a few broken hearts, and tremendous guilt on my part -- but I have with this unconscious strategy managed to avoid having my heart truly broken by someone else. It is frightening to me, yet wonderful also, to feel the "balance of power" shifting in my marriage. I am leaning on Laura in ways that I have not done before, and not just in terms of caregiving during treating the cancer. I am giving up some of my self-righteousness. I am standing in a place where my heart could be broken.

Up in our bathroom we have a framed Gary Larson cartoon with two characters sitting in their living room. One is a rabbit, watching TV in a cushy chair, holding a remote, and drinking a beer. The other is a donkey on the couch under a lamp, reading "Animal Farm." The thought bubble over the donkey's head is "Dumb Bunny," and the bubble over the rabbit's head is "Smart Ass." Too often I am the smart ass, the one who can talk my way to being (or seeming to be) right, who can hover above a conversation, an encounter, and stay in my head if I feel the need. Again, I am not proud of being the smart ass, but I am attached to it. In a marriage, it is not particular useful. I am working hard on outgrowing the non-relational parts of the smart ass.


I was a dumb bunny yesterday, which was kind of fun. I drove to the doctor, having been hauled in for more hydration. And I forgot to wear my glasses. For someone who has been wearing glasses since second grade (I inherited my beloved brother Kevie's boy's horned-rimmed glasses, to my deep chagrin -- wanting instead the blue cat-eyed ones like Betsy Bruno had), this was a highly unusual move. It was fine -- I just focused extra deliberately as I drove. But I felt like it was a weird oversight. Undersight. I recognized my nurse by her tiny voice and by feeling her face. I haven't told Laura yet. She didn't even like the idea of my driving myself there. I'm not sure if this "success" will score me points or take them away.


It actually reminds me (she said, always seeking homeostasis) of the time Laura set off for her first day of work as Dean of Students at the Ethel Walker School, having forgotten to put on her skirt. Yep, walked straight across busy Route 167 in her slip. That, and the moment she went to the opening faculty cocktail party at St. Paul's School, her first social occasion at that very prestigious institution. She was standing on a white carpet, and when the Rector waved at her, she waved back, letting go of the glass of red wine she was holding in the waving hand.


That's my wife. She wants me to call her a dumb bunny right here, but I ain't gonna do it.


Because she's an incredible rock for me, a cannot-be-surpassed administrator and educator, a visionary, a fabulous co-parent -- and a teacher to me, as I said in the post above, of how to turn towards, always turn towards.


Chemo update in closing: Thursday was the last adriamycin/cytoxan treatment. I'm standing in a two-day window of okayness, enjoying a gentle breeze, but anticipating that it will close soon, firmly. Worst symptoms right now are absurdly dry eyes, which makes me continually have to tell people that I am not winking at them, I just can't open my right eye for the time being. Also, there's the constant headache and malaise, and drinking and eating are still annoyingly difficult. But it still feels like there's a window open, and a breeze.


I'll say more at some point about the next regimen, taxol, which looks to be a different experience altogether. There's lots more pain, neuropathy, the loss of eyebrows and eyelashes (that is a really good look -- a loooong wink with no lashes). I looked online for false eyebrows, at my beloved sister Ellen's suggestion, since I don't trust my artwork, and I don't want the hassle of making bad brows every morning. These things stay on for "2-4 months," which is both impressive and iffy. I don't know, El. It looks like you're buying a pair of small animals, like two caterpillars or something like that. I'm not saying no, because I want to turn towards the idea -- but I am saying weird.