Wired Differently

Nic and I are sitting outside on our porch step with cups of coffee in our hands. His: milk. Mine: Ghirardelli white chocolate powder and cream. With whipped cream on top. His: 1000 calories. Mine: negative 100 calories, obviously. It’s quiet and the kids are in bed. The summer evening is starting to cool a bit and the smell of fresh rain is in the air.

My mind is going a million miles a minute amidst all the peace and quiet, thinking of all the deep thoughts and questions I could share with him in this rare moment alone. “What’s your biggest fear?” “What would your dream life look like?” “How did that make you feel?” I want to reach his soul, the core of him. For him to ask these questions in return and to really want to hear my responses.

I look over at him and he’s staring off into the same distance as me. “What are you thinking?” I ask. “Nothing.” Comes his response.

NOTHING?! It’s not possible. How can you literally think about nothing? My mind cannot fathom this concept of thinking nothing. To just sit there. And not think? It doesn’t work. If I say I’m thinking of nothing, it’s because I don’t want to share what’s on my mind. There’s always something percolating in the back of my brain. Always some dots that are connecting and making sense, lighting up and whizzing around.

Our minds work so differently, and sometimes I wish he understood how mine worked a little bit more. That he could follow my train of thought and know where I’m headed before I even do. But if truth be told, I don’t always understand my own brain so how on earth can I expect him to understand it?

I also think that this difference brings a good balance; I get him to dig a little deeper and he pulls me back when I’m sunk too deep. If his mind worked the same as mine we would probably never get anywhere and just end up sitting in a fest for half of our lives.

There’s a reason we are wired differently.