Forging Trails and Solving Conflict

“You need to move faster.”

My partner is about 25 yards ahead of me, glaring at me over the handle of his rake. Exasperated, he repeats the same sentiment for at least the fourth time in the last hour. His tone is becoming increasingly annoyed. “I know you want to be thorough but we need to get the layout done. Come on. Keep going.” I stare back him, unsure how to respond. So this is where my practice will take place today, I think to myself. Just recently I’d been gauging his willingness to do some couples counseling sessions with me. Now I sense that our relationship practice is going to unfold right here on this trail.

In honor of this adventure in landscaping we’re wearing crisp new gardening gloves and holding shiny new tools, purchased specifically for this project. We’re standing in a several acre pasture that sprawls out behind the back of our house. It’s not “ours” exactly — we share it with all the members of our HOA. But we decided the picturesque space would be more easily enjoyed if there was a walking path meandering through the many quirkily shaped, bird-bearing oak trees. As it is, the wild arena is typically so thick with pokey shrubs that our young children must be lifted up and over what to them is head-high growth lest they seem gobbled up and spit back out by the terrain itself. Our walks through this beautifully wild place tend to result in a collection of deep scratches across our limbs as well as infinite — I don’t know what else to call them — “pokies” that stick in our clothes and eventually everything else that we own as if “pokies” are actually living, breeding, migrating things. A path would mean we could walk through the pasture without needing to be armored in a denim and hoisting children above our heads.

This Saturday morning we’re spread out across the prickly, muddy field, me with my hoe and my partner with his rake. Now we are staring each other down, at odds about how we should proceed. Earlier that morning he had more gently mentioned that while he appreciated my “thoroughness” the weekend before, he didn’t think I should “spend so much time” on such a small area. I considered his request and figured I’d try some hybrid version of our conflicting styles — his being a once-rake-over approach which admittedly moved him along much faster. But by the fourth time he hollered back at me from so far out ahead, his intensity clearly indicated an impasse between our styles and priorities. While I had earnestly tried to compromise between our two speeds, it was beginning to appear that our differences were perhaps incompatible.

At that point I didn’t know what to do. I was partially amused that this voluntary task of clearing away wild grass, brittle shrubs and stubborn roots was somehow turning into a fight with my husband. Not yet. But conflict was definitely brewing. I thought about obliging him by matching his approach. But the cost, I realized, would be my own resentment. Resentment about prioritizing his needs over mine would fester and stew until I either gave him the grumpy silent treatment or said something offhanded and shitty. On the other hand, I noticed an impulse to heatedly “defend” myself and “my way,” as if to convince him that I’m right, and maybe he should do it my way. But I didn’t want that either. I was in a bind because I didn’t want to do it his way and I also didn’t want to fight with him. I just wanted to clear my damn trail in peace.

From a place of indecision, the default neither-here-nor-there response was to simply ignore him and keep on keeping on. This was a temporary fix, as ignoring problems usually is. But it bought me some time to calmly reflect on “what the fuck is happening right now?” I considered deeply and empathically the roots of his urgency while equally considering my evident resistance to his agenda. Meanwhile, my hoe suddenly came down on the most beautiful, shiny, fun-sized blue bellied lizard. It was so bright and tiny. Was it a baby? Now because of me and my wayward hoe he would never grow any larger, his head having been unceremoniously separated from his gorgeous little torso. The previous weekend I had accidentally gotten a couple potato bugs and one bigger lizard that same way. But the potato bugs didn’t pull on my heart strings and I wasn’t confident that the grayish lizard wasn’t already dead. Anyways, I had paused to bury them off to the side and wish them a peaceful transition and joyful next existence, whatever that may be. After Blue Belly went the way of the hoe, however, I felt I needed to do something different to discontinue these unfortunate casualties. I was forging a path through this field so that I could appreciate the nature here, not destroy it.

This is how I found myself in a squat position pulling clumps of grass and other living plant material from the earth with my hands. In addition to not mutilating any hidden bugs or reptiles with this technique, it was also easier to get underneath the roots. I became more precise and efficient using my hands. Once crouched down in what I’m certain is a variation of a yoga pose, I realized that this hand-pulling business also felt so much better on my body which was already sore and blistered from unskillfully swinging the large tools. Almost in a trance I felt like I could spend hours doing this, plugging away, carefully and thoroughly, just a little bit at a time, honoring my body, this land, and my mission all at once.

As I was just beginning to enjoy the flow of this meditative sequence, however, Hubby was back, coming to remind me that “we really need to go faster.” In that moment I realized two things: One, we had very different priorities, his being a timely completion of the trail in its entirety, mine being an enjoyable process and hopefully a lasting path, even if it takes a while to establish. Two, I was beginning to feel quite upset with him. I knew I was mad because I was fighting a rising urge to yell at him to leave me alone. I didn’t want to yell at him, I didn’t want to fight at all. I had wanted to do something both physically challenging and outdoors because I’m so emotionally depleted these days, this activity is supposed to be filling me up, not taking more away. But alas, in the wise words of my beloved Virginia Satir, “Life is not what it’s supposed to be. It is what it is. The way you cope with it is what makes the difference.”

Here in the midst of my trail-carving adventure I’d unearthed an unexpected opportunity to practice healthy coping. Before deciding what to do, I needed to understand why I was so pissed off, and maybe why was he in such a goddamned hurry. Why I was pissed, I realized, was related to a sense or belief that he was prioritizing his needs over mine, and that he believed ‘his way’ was better than ‘my way’. Neither of those were sentiments he had actually said, mind you, but I was reacting in my mind as if he had said those things exactly. Sometimes I get these hits of rage that feel partially related to things that have happened to me either in the moment or previously in my lifetime, like misogynistic condescension or exploitation. Even deeper down, sometimes I feel rage that seems related to the inherited trauma of humanity. In other words, sometimes I am angry on behalf of human suffering that occurred long before I was even born. Especially when it comes to the plight of women, my fury at injustice feels like a mixture of my own grievances along with those of every woman who ever lived. And my partner, as you gathered, is a man, so this complicated and ancient stuff comes up between us. There were times in our past together where little hitches like these had devolved into bitter, ugly fights. The fighting and disconnect would lend to anxiety, and sometimes days were spent in loops of anger and fear. Those days were painful, and I have no interest in going back there.

What I remembered in this moment on the path-in-progress, however, is that this man, at this point in time, is actually my doting and supportive partner. We may not be seeing eye to eye right this second, but in general, this man has my back as well as my whole heart. He’s out here because I want this trail. Which reminded me to be curious, “Honey, why are you in such a hurry?” He shared what I already suspected — he simply wanted the satisfaction of completing the outline. But he added something I didn’t know, which was his worry about being harassed by the neighbors. He pointed out our proximity to the backyards of the estates on the opposite side of the pasture from our townhouse and reminded me that just last weekend a couple had expressed their concern in response to our project. He anticipated that our presence here might ruffle more feathers and suggested we move along in order to avoid the possibility of conflict.

This was an interesting development because I had no idea the neighbors were a factor for him. It certainly didn’t fit into my barely conscious “he’s disrespecting my process because I’m a woman” theory. But still, I wasn’t concerned about the neighbors, and I preferred my slow and steady pace to my husband’s quick one. I said something to that effect, calmly and respectfully now that I had a better handle on what my anger was about and where his urgency was coming from. I encouraged him to move along as he saw fit and I promised to do the best I could. What else can I do?

He continued to work out ahead of me, a little dot I could barely make out in the distance. I wasn’t mad that he wasn’t doing it my way, and I wasn’t begrudgingly doing it his way, either. He stopped bothering me about moving faster, clearly understanding that I wasn’t going to. In the end I could appreciate the balance between our different ideas. Someone has to care what the neighbors think and about getting the job done. Now I can appreciate that my husband can hold these pieces in which I have less interest. This gives me more time to ponder the passing lives of little lizards. Our approaches and values, while not always in alignment, are not, as it turns out, mutually exclusive. I can enjoy the places where our ideas are so very different but, on some level, begin to seem complimentary. He opted for gardening over couples counseling. It turned out to be both.