I’m working on not correcting everything Rob says.
We walked the length of Seward four times. In the rain. We saw wildlife in the Alaska SeaLife Center that we didn’t have the luck to see in the bay, popped in and out of touristy gift shops searching for stocking stuffers, shared a mocha, and admired the salmon fighting their way up the river running through town.
Fifteen minutes before boarding the train back to Anchorage, we sat in Terry’s Fish & Chips, ordering our dinner to go.
“I think we saw what there is to see in Seward,” Rob said.
“Well, we didn’t get out to that waterfall, or take the hike the ranger mentioned,” I said. “So there is more. But I’m content.”
With an inward sigh, I amended, “Sorry. I could have simply said, ‘I’m content.'”
Rob smiled and said nothing.
It’s healthy to feel free to voice my disagreement. But here’s my current hypothesis:
- Rob spoke in a generality.
- I spoke in specifics.
- Both can be right.
- And it may get just a little tiresome for Rob when I, by default, correct his generalizations.
Ten minutes later, we walked to the train. Wood-slat planters filled with flowers marked the entrance to the depot.
“They color-coordinated,” Rob said, motioning from the flowers to the train.
The train was blue and yellow (generally speaking). The flowers were a cheery yellow—and decidedly purple. Purple lupin lobelia. The kind that is nearly iridescent purple in its glowing intensity.
“Oh, um-hm,” I said.
Because generally-speaking, Rob was right. Purple and blue are side-by-side in the color spectrum. Specifically, the colors did not match the train, and I would not have said it was color-coordinated. But did that matter enough for me to “correct” him? I held my tongue and eased my toes into the pool of generalities.
Note: When I ran this hypothesis by Rob, he gave a “hmpf”…disagreeing with my rather sweeping generality of our communication styles (he is specific sometimes, after all…) and proceeded to correct me on the specific flower type…which is noted in the text above.