Black Ice

                                                                      Black Ice

                                                            by Marco M. Pardi 

“I like long walks, especially when they’re taken by people who annoy me.” Anon

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Most of us are familiar with the term black ice as used to describe thin and clear ice on a highway.  It is so called because a casual glance does not detect a difference from an un-iced road surface.  And, we know the drill in case we feel a skid begin: Steer into the skid; ease off the gas; and, do NOT touch the brakes.  Problems arise most commonly when people over-correct.  When that happens, and things go beyond return, we end up in a ditch or worse.

As we mature in our driving we become better at anticipating the possible presence of black ice. But  technology is quickly overtaking what our brains should be doing.  A recent automobile of mine had Torsen all-wheel drive with millisecond computer correction should one wheel begin to slip. And, it flashed a dashboard warning in weather where black ice was possible. Still, curious as I was, I pushed the limits on several occasions to see if my skills and my technology were well matched.

But life isn’t like that.  Whether alone or with others we can slip off course and crash, slip and get stuck in a ditch.  Social interactions, much less moments alone, do not usually come with warning signs.  Staying with cars for a moment, I have a few “coffee table” books on international sports cars, exotics, etc., broken out by decade.  Having owned several, had friends who owned them, and/or raced some for friends who could not do so themselves I enjoy going back through the pages.  In doing so I have noticed that almost every car with which I’m personally familiar has a personal story, usually not entirely pleasant.  While enjoying the photos and the write-ups, remembering the sounds, smell and feel of each car I often also get flashes of those “Oh, yeah. Ugh” moments when I remember people and events from those time periods.  Is closing the book and putting it away over correcting?  Or dodging the issue?  Is pausing to immerse in the negative, too often grim memories a risk of running into a ditch and sitting there in a stew?  Some memories are truly enjoyable, many are not so.  But, for better or worse, I do not forget.  I try to remember the rules: Steer into the skid, and so on.  Then resume normal life.

This reminds me of times I dreaded doing some prolonged, tedious work, especially alone.  Some negative memory would arise and, like the proverbial tune, get stuck in my head.  An alcoholic I knew told me that was a common dread among his fellows.  They called it “stinkin’ thinkin'”.  He offered no solutions beyond just walk away, find something else to do.  Right.  Can’t work now, having memories.  Maybe this is why so many people need to have a radio of television on, ear jacks even while going for a walk.  Fear of thoughts.

Ah, I hear it now. Mindfulness. Let the monkeys flit through the branches, but don’t follow them. Easier said than done, especially when spending a day staining a deck.  Brush to the right, brush to the left, dip more stain, brush to the…  You get it.

Some encounters with black ice occur with other people.  In the mid 60’s I was having dinner with a university professor and his wife when he abruptly asked, “What do you think of the NSA?” Fortunately, somewhere in my deep past I had learned to master flat affect. While my mind was on high alert to a question about a super-secret intelligence agency that almost no one ever heard of, and he was asking me about it, I took the risk so seldom taken of just presenting a blank face to him.  Apparently it worked.  “The National Students Association”, he said.  Speaking over the repeated order to Stand Down, Stand Down echoing through my head I simply said I had no time or interest for these things, devoting myself to my studies.  Professors love that.

Flat affect as a means of negotiating black ice also includes selective deafness.  Entering an office building in the 80’s I came abruptly to a receptionist desk staffed by two Greek National women.  As I approached to ask directions to the Director’s office I feigned glancing about and heard one mutter to the other, “CIA”.  I only asked for directions, which she gave me while scanning my clothing.  Echoes of the admonition, Thou dost protest too much lingered in the air as I walked past the desk feeling eyeballs creeping up and down my back.   

Social events are usually non-threatening.  After all, people who are in the game know who’s in the game or can spot them quickly.  I suppose it’s like what some people call “Gaydar”, the supposed ability to spot an otherwise unobtrusive gay person.  So, it’s attention to circumstances, readiness to ease off the gas, and don’t slam the Denial pedal at the first hint of a skid.  Social events also usually offer a mechanism not commonly found elsewhere: the ability to suddenly walk off from a conversation, an option to drive around the ice.  Rarely does someone pursue you to re-engage.  Of course, this is not so easy in sit-down dinner situations.  For the past several years I’ve been in dinner get-togethers with oil company executives and drilling engineers.  A couple of them know my orientation to the planet and their abuse of it.  Invariably, someone will expound on how climate change is a hoax, they will spread the black ice and see if I slip headlong onto it.  But I learned long ago: Never argue with a fool; they will be unable to understand your point even when you clearly make it.  And this is exponentially multiplied in the presence of several fools. 

But there are people you can’t just walk off from.  People you live with.  There are few things more deadly to a relationship than being compared to someone else in the relationship.  Parents often do this with children.  Teachers also.  I was raised on a litany of “Why can’t you be like your (older) brother?” from family and teachers alike.  Failing all attempts to assert and gain acceptance of my individuality, skidding on the black ice into various reactions many times, I finally realized I was not part of that family in the first place.  Biology does not make family; caring and mutually supportive people make family.

The same holds true in marriage and other close relationships.  Anyone who has had previous relationships – and how many haven’t? – can hardly avoid the memories of those other relationships, seeing the contrasts, for better or worse, with their current situation.  But voicing the comparisons is denying that partner their validity as an individual person.  I often say, Making someone else small doesn’t make you tall. Sure, it’s hard sometimes to avoid “going there”.  But once that groove has been cut it will never heal.      

Going down the road of life is a constant process of counter-posing short term actions versus long term results.  So many times it is possible win the battle and lose the war.  Instead of rising to every opportunity to correct someone, or even respond to what seems to be an insulting remark, I like to first ask myself what difference my action would make.

At the same time I do realize some people are not like me.  Some people do not realize the art of letting someone “save face”.  Some people are apparently unable to sense the feelings of others. So, there will be people who take my lack of response as a victory, accumulating one on top of another until they feel they can raise the bar to any level they want and I will be submissive. It then becomes harder to pull one’s punches, to avoid tacking someone up so tight their clothes won’t flap in a hurricane.

Remembering the many times in my youth I reacted to every perceived wrong, I’m learning to re-evaluate what’s right.  And taking every opportunity to venture onto black ice no longer strikes me as right.