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Years ago, I spent a day with my friend Warren and his five year old son Kevin. Unfortunately, late in the afternoon Kevin was accidentally hit in the chest by a baseball bat.  He was bruised, bleeding, and cried loudly as Warren drove him to the hospital emergency room.

“Stop crying,” Warren kept saying.  “You aren’t hurt.  Tell me you aren’t hurt.”

I understand that Warren was scared and upset.  So was I.  And so was Kevin, who cried even harder, almost losing his breath at times, throughout our five-minute ride to the hospital. Clearly Warren’s assertion that Kevin wasn’t hurt had no effect on Kevin’s feeling of being hurt.

Most of us have experienced the vocal dissatisfaction of a partner.  I still remember long ago when I called my wife Susan and promised to be home for dinner at six pm. But I lost track of time and, without letting her know I would be late, I arrived closer to seven thirty.

I did not receive Susan’s usual warm embrace when I walked through the door.

“I expected you at six.  Now dinner is in the oven, drying out.  You should have called to tell me you’d be late.  I made a special dinner for you that is now ruined.  I’m really upset.”

Daniel Patrick Moynihan famously remarked, “Everyone is entitled to his own opinion, but not to his own facts.”  When someone I love is angry with me I want their ire to disappear. In the past, my first reaction was often to dispute their facts.

“I don’t remember telling you six.”  Or, “You might have called to remind me.”  Or, “I didn’t think dinner would actually be ready on time.”

Disputing the facts only leads to a longer and louder argument.  What I really should have done, and have learned to do, is aim for a quick apology – mine.  There is one fact I should not, and cannot, ever disagree with.  And that fact is your report of how you feel.

Susan said, “I’m upset.”  I didn’t like to hear that, especially because I felt (and was) responsible for disappointing her.  What should I have said?  “Susan, you’re not upset.  You’re just tired.”  Or, “Susan, why are you lying to me?  You’re not really upset at all.”

Been there.  Done that. I have found that denying another person’s report of how they feel is a fool’s errand.  It has never worked any better for me than Warren’s “Tell me you aren’t hurt” did with his crying son.

Let’s agree to agree that if I tell you I feel tired that, in fact, I feel tired.  Like it or not, it’s a fact you have to accept.  Let’s also agree to agree that if you tell me you are thrilled to have received my invitation that, in fact, you are thrilled.

You and I are the world’s biggest experts on our how we feel at any given time.  In fact, you and I are the world’s only experts on the subject of how we are feeling.

When you respect and honor my feelings, and I respect and honor yours, we will enjoy a more harmonious relationship.  I feel happy about that.

Alan

Last Saturday evening I was sitting at The Village Grind, a wine bar and restaurant located in Wrightwood, California, almost 6,000 feet above sea level in the San Gabriel Mountains, about eighty miles northeast of Los Angles.  Why?  I seldom drink wine, and I wasn’t there to order their chili or other house specialty.

The short answer is that, on impulse, I’d decided to enter a poetry slam held as part of the Fourth Annual Wrightwood Literary Festival. I was at The Village Grind waiting for my turn.

A more comprehensive answer is that Tim Green, editor of Rattle, the literary magazine I founded, moved with his family to Wrightwood to escape the traffic and hassle of Los Angeles.  Even though I appreciate that my own commute is less than ten minutes, there are days when I’m jealous of Tim.

Wrightwood is a tight-knit, community of about four thousand residents in a beautiful mountain setting. You don’t have to drive any scary roads to get there.  Four years ago Tim, with help from his friends and neighbors, founded the Wrightwood Literary Festival in this pleasant but off-the-beaten-path community.

Saturday was the third time I’ve participated and I thoroughly enjoyed each previous festival.  A month ago I decided that this time I would enter the poetry slam.  The problem was that when I arrived in Wrightwood I hadn’t written any poems.  But Saturday morning I was struck by inspiration and wrote three poems I thought were pretty good. I would need three if I advanced to the semifinal and final rounds.  My first round poem was I Don’t Date Poets, or How I Met My Wife.  I thought it was pretty funny.

I was the sixth competitor out of eighteen.  Tim recruited three audience members as judges – no particular credentials or experience required. He told me that the scores always tend to go up for the later competitors.  So my placement was not ideal.

Neither was my score – 21 out of a possible 30.  I had hoped for 25 or more.

Did I make the semifinals?  No.  I wasn’t even close.  So I appeased my disappointment with a baked potato and sour cream, and discovered the upside was that I could just sit back and enjoy the rest of the show. I freely admit that the two poets who tied for first place were both outstanding.

The man sitting next to me was a local. “I was at the poetry slam last year, and loved it,” he said.  “When I heard that it was tonight I had to come.  It’s really fun.”

My biggest motivation for founding Rattle was to bring enjoyable poetry to everyone, so I was delighted to hear this enthusiastic endorsement.

Even if you don’t think you like (or understand) poetry I encourage you to take a look at the Rattle.com website. Better yet, you should sign up for the free daily poem – many are excellent. Even better, come join us in Wrightwood next year. I’ll be there.

Will I enter the poetry slam contest again?  That depends on whether inspiration strikes – but it will have to be sooner than Saturday morning.  As I said, the competition is high quality, and I will have to be better prepared.

Alan