The Things We Never Think To Ask
The other night I was at someone’s house for dinner. Gathered around the table, sharing salad and spaghetti, the topic turned to movies or music. I mentioned that although I haven’t seen Barbie yet, I love the soundtrack and have been blasting it in my car on repeat. Someone at the table said they were surprised by that, because it didn’t seem like the kind of music I’d like.
A hush fell around the table. For a few seconds no one spoke. We were all a bit unsure of what to say, but I stumbled forward. Shrugging the comment off, I simply said that I really enjoy the soundtrack. The person at the table doubled down on their stance, saying that they didn’t think it was my style of music. Especially because they couldn’t see me enjoying the songs with rap.
The hush returned. And this time, I was speechless. After what felt like a minute of silence that was probably only a few seconds, I still couldn’t think of anything to say that would make the moment less awkward. Because anyone that knows me even decently well knows that rap and pop music are the most likely culprits to be heard blasting through my car speakers. They are not the only kinds of music I enjoy. But they are one thousand percent my style of music.
It took me a while to regain my balance that night. While everyone else had also been surprised and voiced their disbelief at the comment, I was rattled. This wasn’t gathering around the table with new acquaintances. This was dinner with people where the newest friendship would be a third grader, if we counted time the same as we do age.
This other day was ten days ago, and I’m still thinking about it. Not because I was supremely offended or anything like that. Shocked, yes. But I’m still thinking about it because there is one singular thing I’m struggling to make sense of. It’s that I’ve known this person with their strong convictions for fifteen years. And their stance on my music preferences has me wondering what else they think they know, but don’t actually know about me.
If I had to guess, it’s probably a lot. We’d spent several hours together earlier that day, and I don’t recall answering a single question about myself or anything going on in my life. I asked questions, gave some opinions, and spent a lot of time listening. It was a fairly typical day for when we spend time together, and I try not to make a habit of sharing things if I’m not asked. So at least for now, there will always remain a lot about me that they don’t actually know.
There’s a part of me that wonders whether I should share this story. If the person who inspired it with their comment around that dinner table reads it, I know hurt feelings will follow. But my sharing this isn’t meant to hurt feelings. While their questions now rarely come, I believe that one day they’ll ask me questions just because. But until then, getting to know more than who they assume I am will remain buried, as part of the things they never thought to ask.
We make assumptions about the people in our lives. With strangers, we are quick to judge so that we can determine if they are safe. For better or worse, we trust our cognitive dissonance to fill in the gaps. With acquaintances and coworkers, we let our common areas lead our interactions. We feel safer dipping only our toes in, or paddling around at the surface. We’re content knowing that we share this common space at this common time, and that’s enough.
But with our friends and family? The people we’ve known for as long as we can remember? Once we move beyond the getting to know you phase, I think it’s just that we forget to ask.
When we’ve known someone long enough, we assume that we already know everything there is to know about them. That we spent the early years peeling back the layers of the onion and now we know someone at their core. But we don’t. Especially as time passes. Each day is a chance for someone’s world to shift in big and small ways. We don’t do someone any justice to assume we know who they are today because they didn’t like kale when they were ten.
Each day shapes us. Our instincts are to survive, so it’s in our very bones to adapt to the world around us. When we experience something we’ve never felt before, we change. We grow, we evolve. With tiny shifts and seismic ones, we become a new version of ourselves constantly. We are not the same person we were at five, sixteen, twenty-two or thirty. And that’s a good thing. But people don’t get a chance to learn who we’ve become unless they think to ask.
These last ten days, I’ve spent a lot of time wondering how many people I think I know, but don’t. How many people who I would leave stunned at the dinner table with my opinions or assumptions about them. How many questions I’ve never asked because I assume I already know the answer. While I’d like to think otherwise, I know it’s probably quite a few.
I hope this disbelief stays with me a while longer. This stunned feeling I have about all the assumptions we make because we think we already have the answers. This doubt I have that I’m asking enough questions about the people and the world around me. I hope this awareness helps me be more curious. That I’ll spend more time exploring the things we never think to ask.
