Anthropomorphism

It’s a cold Sunday afternoon and I’m glued to the television watching “March of the Penguins”; a documentary film recounting a year in the life of the Emperor species, endemic to Antarctica.  To me the fascinating part of this story is the degree to which the male penguin participates in caring for the chick, acting as an incubator and present when it hatches, as the emaciated female must embark on a slow journey in search of food not long after she lays the egg. Before taking off she transfers this precious cargo to the feet of the male, a process so delicate they must practice many times before actually doing it; if not done properly, the embryo dies.

 

This is probably 8 years in the past, but I remember it as if it were yesterday.  As I’m watching, all I can think is that if my mate and I are Emperor Penguins, our chick will surely perish; we are incapable of the level of cooperation required to keep the embryo alive. And even more sadly, when the female returns home devastated to discover the baby she has never met has died, I know in my heart we are incapable of forgiveness, too; I would be no less fierce with my admonishment of the male.

What is it that allows some couples to work so well together and others not so much? 

Fast forward to today, and maybe I’ve discovered the answer in a heated debate I find myself in at dinner.  I call myself a feminist, to which he retorts we don’t need them anymore.  We’ve made tons of progress since the days of Mad Men, he says this is enough.  Life’s pretty much unfair all the way around, even to the white male; this he believes strongly; pounding his hand on the table as punctuation, launching into a diatribe on affirmative action.

I’m stunned by the fire in his belly fueling a diametric response so intense I can’t believe I’d missed his position on this before.  I want desperately for my point of view to be heard, and my attempt to express it calmly causes his head to turn the other way. Frustrated and a little disillusioned, I’m on the brink of tears and walk out of the restaurant.  Not my proudest moment.

We’re all entitled to our opinions; this I believe.  So when I think about what really bothers me in this situation, it’s not that we disagree (although this is a hard one for me to swallow). While his position is unfathomable to me, and I can hardly see how we should stop talking about equality for women now that we’ve tackled the low hanging fruit of feminism and are no longer groped in the office, I do know this:  He believes in his viewpoint as strongly as I believe in mine.

What bothers me is that in this moment he refuses to let me be heard.

 

No two people ever agree on absolutely everything.  Solid, fulfilling, unbreakable relationships are built on collaboration and compromise. But to get to those, you need to listen.   Listening is a form of respect.  We listen to learn.  It’s not about shifting someone to your opinion; it’s about understanding why they believe in their own.  When you take the time to understand where the beliefs of another are rooted, you can get to common ground, that space where we all live, that space where collaboration and compromise can move in and make themselves at home. Equanimity in this world comes only from a relentless desire to understand.

  

The documentary still fresh in my mind, I find a set of four vintage penguin ornaments, in beautiful red and mercury colored glass. I hang them on the tree.  And when it’s time to put the decorations in storage, one penguin lands on my mantle, instead;  a symbol of hope for better days ahead. The truth is, that chick that belonged to my Emperor Penguin mate and I did perish in our inanition.   He was too busy pushing his own agenda to hear me, and I got tired of fighting to be heard.

   

Although it’s been many years and I’ve healed and moved on, I think it’s time to put the penguin back on the mantle after the holidays, this time to remind myself not only that I deserve to be heard, but there’s always room to be a better listener, too.