So I have a pet seagull, named Harold. He or she is not a pet in the typical sense. I have not been able to pet him yet, nor have I tried. But still, we do communicate. As soon as I get out of bed in the morning, Harold flies right to my window. He has a favorite spot out on the porch railing because I taught him to go there if he wants me to notice him. (Otherwise, how would I tell Harold apart from the other gulls that frequent the area?)
At a time when I was very ill and could not make it out of the recliner much, and when I couldn’t make it out to any client animals, I figured that maybe some animals might come to me if I made it worth their while. If Harold showed up at the designated place and got my attention (by walking back and forth and not by screaming), then I would bring Harold something to eat. I spent some time testing out my wild bird teaching skills, and things were mildly interesting. Mostly Harold served as a convenient waste disposal system.
But one day in October (I think it was), when it was a little too windy to be out, something new happened. I got up, Harold flew in, and Harold went to the station. But this time, Harold looked weird. His beak looked busted or something. I got closer to assess. Harold was marching back and forth like normal, but more excited like. As I came closer, I could see that Harold wasn’t broken; he had something in his beak. He looked at me and stopped walking.
He dropped the thing on the railing. It fell off the railing. Harold looked at me and then flew off. I went right over to see the thing. It was a tan, yellow, straightened-out twist tie, like the one on a loaf of bread. Why was Harold carrying a twist tie? I didn’t know, but obviously, Harold knew. To him, it was somehow important. So I took the twist tie into the house. I stared at it. I figured that if the bird brought something in, I better follow suit. I left something edible on the bird’s railing place. Harold immediately swooped in, to land and eat. I went about my day.
The next week, I got up. Harold flew in. This time, he was holding a broken purple and white thing in his beak. It was a busted quahog shell. But it was very brightly purple. You’d think I would have started a Harold journal after that, but I haven’t. All I know is that Harold has brought me a twist tie, a huge, dried oak leaf, a purple shell part, a beautifully wet and perfectly intact clamshell, a live spider crab with most of its legs ripped off so that it couldn’t get away, and a whole alive, dug up, beautiful quahog clam, clamped tightly shut and just wishing to go back home.
And for every gift that was flown in special and basically dropped “at my feet” I have repaid this glorious bird for the effort as soon as possible. Because damn… Wouldn’t you? I mean how valuable is that transaction? To be remembered and considered by a seagull.
Not only that, but if you ask me, the value of the offerings has generally increased with the passing of time. I mean this bird has brought me some of his own hard-won foodstuffs. And even though a twist tie or a leaf might mean more to me for whatever reason a bird cannot fathom, he can still imagine it. And as for the purple wampum, the humans around these parts have used that stuff as actual money for millennia.
If nothing else, this is a clear example of what a gift, any gift, is for. It’s for priming the pump of a relationship. It’s for making a friend just to see what happens. It’s a way to say, “thank you.” Not just “please.” A gift is a reaching out; it’s a launching off place. It’s a beginning.
And apparently, anyone can understand what gifts are for. To this day, Harold still comes by daily when I get up. And since a seagull of his species has a lifespan of about 40 years, who knows what gifts are yet to come. For my part, I now give Harold the good stuff... organic livers, big ocean fish, and you name it.
Will-based communication is NOT like a negotiation, because novel unprecedented positions and opinions are being created in each new moment. Will communication is instead more like a series of gifts, or, for the technically minded, gifts in a series. Even individuals who are afraid, disenfranchised, angry at you, hate your guts, or any combination of the above, will still give you gifts.
For the most part, individuals who hate your guts really don’t give a damn about you as much as you think they do, or as much as you hope they do. They can’t afford to; they’re too busy trying to survive. They need to protect their fears and their beliefs; because those are what is holding them together.
But if by some stroke of luck or accident the disenfranchised offer you a gift by revealing ANYTHING at all about who they are, you better damn well appreciate it! Even in a fight, Willee (your “opponent”) is going into the red, overdrawing the account, to reach out to you with their truth.
And now that you know about an Achilles heel of theirs, you can do one of two things. You can take this insider info and use it against them… or you can take this insider info and use it to help you both. It’s entirely your option. They gave you this power to wield when they told you their truth. They gave you some power to hurt them because they want you to have some power to help them.
When the crutch of verbal language is taken away, or better yet when it’s just sent on vacation, we can no longer express what we “could have or should have or would have done.” (If British readers have the “should do’s” or the “would do’s” in your brain, that British lingo gives only a slightly better option.) Without the use of words, we are reduced to nothing but our approvals, our disapprovals, and our “next moves.” We are forced to communicate our intent. Actually, discarding language is so good at helping you uncover your true intent that you can actually use it as a “systems check,” to discover whether you are actually aiming to help or in fact aiming to hurt.