Today, a friend posted a meme that said something about us loving an honest person until the honest person strikes a chord with a truth we’re not ready to receive.
It reminded me of a Leadership Summit I attended since we’ve been in Kansas City. I don’t remember who the speaker was, but what he said has always stuck with me: “Everyone has an average of 3.4 blind spots.” The challenge was precisely to be ready and open for feedback on things about ourselves that we don’t see but others do.
Talk about blind spots. Wow. Although pride would probably like to think it was my openness to self-reflection, it was probably really the sheer weight and force of the grief that persisted, insisted, and required me to review and reflect over literally everything.
Seemingly trivial things we decided together over a number of years like:
At Culver’s who is the one to take the kids to a suitable table and get everyone settled while the other gets drinks, lids, straws, napkins, and ketchup?
Which way does the toilet paper go on the holder? (By the way, it clearly goes over as indicated by the flowers being right-side up on one brand).
What about the toilet seat? (Everyone puts both the lid and the seat down. Not only is it fair and doesn’t make it a male vs female issue because then everyone has to do a little work every time, it also just looks better).
Yet also things like recognizing where I was a constraint in our relationship, and not helping but feel like I was THE constraint. I look back and wonder even more than I used to how you “put up” with me. If I could only talk to you again about the things I see now. If only I knew then what I know now. I’m deeply saddened to think about how much further we could have gone.
Yet I didn’t know what I didn’t know. But now I know and it makes me responsible for knowing. And now I know that there’s plenty I don’t know. Did you get lost in what I just said like I did? Like in the movie “The Burbs”: “Now they know that we know that they know that we know.” Or something along those lines…
