How to Fight (Well)
Our neighbor called the cops on Grey
what we’re biting:
grey: I've had a few fights lately. For that reason, I brushed up on my fighting notes, and I thought it might be interesting to share. I'm a fan of How to Fight and When Things Fall Apart — I read both in an interpersonal philosophy class I took a few semesters ago. According to the experts, conflict occurs on the level of strategy, rather than the level of need. We're supposed to be firm on our needs, while flexible on the strategies.
Both books advise you to either write a letter to yourself or go to another person to ask about your blindspots. The key seems to be telling the story from the other person's perspective.
Before a real fight, I'm the kind of person who needs to pause and take some space (genuinely, it takes at least 24 hours). And now that I'm writing this I'm realizing that I should be better about clarifying that to other people. Anyway, at the point of communication we're supposed to:
name all our apprehensions ahead of having the fight
water each other’s flowers (come up with a compliment for each other)
ask, “is there more?”
It’s so hard to listen to any of this when you're actually angry. But I thought I would share what the academics said, especially since both of them agreed.
After rereading a few journal entries, it's clear that I used to associate conflict with danger and tried to avoid it, but lately I've started to view fighting as a developmental event in a relationship. It's just a part of navigating change and difference. How do we refine our relationship from what it used to be? My friend Andrea always says that fighting is a display of care, and I believe her.
bella: Right now, my dear cousin is visiting from Monterrey, Mexico with her 4 best friends. In true tourist fashion, we had to hit a Broadway show as one of their first big outings. I will never refuse an opportunity to see Hamilton again, even if I can recite the entire show by memory and could probably play Alexander Hamilton’s role myself if called upon (fingers crossed). But, watching it live again totally reinvigorated me, and gave me a tiny little reminder as to why the theater is so special.
It’s no secret that I love theater. Well, it was a bit of a secret until I came out this winter as the co-producer of Yale’s Spring Experimental production, Gloria. I was raised on the soundtracks of Mama Mia and Funny Girl and as a child I was known to dabble in an ensemble role or two. I’m lucky that in my life I’ve now found best friends who love theater SO much. It makes me feel a little prouder of being Pirate #17 in the Camp Ruach production of Peter Pan.
I am biting on the magic of theater this week. On Thursday, I was on a call about a show that I will be co-producing in the fall (!) alongside my two best friends and theater maniacs Emiliano and Isa. Their devotion to the process and art of storytelling is admirable, and I cannot wait to witness their creativity and watch the whole thing come together.
what bit us:
grey: I was almost arrested this week. On Tuesday morning at 7:00am, I took our dogs on their first walk of the day (their morning routine is walk, breakfast, walk). They poop (sorry to be explicit here) on the first walk, but when they did, I realized I was out of doggy bags. So, I decided to go back to the house, feed them, and pick it up on the second walk of the day. All of this takes about 15 to 20 minutes – they are little dogs so they can’t walk further than the block without laying down and refusing to walk any further.
When I came back outside with the dogs and the bags, and I bent down to clean it up, a woman started yelling at me, “Come here! Come here!” And I said, “Give me one moment, ma’am.” I assumed she was just a crazy neighbor (which looking back, I was right about), but I didn’t expect what happened next. “What’s your name? I’m on the phone with the police.” And I, of course, said “Hi! My name is Grey, what’s yours?” To which she responded, “Molly. I have your dog pooping on film, and I’m going to have you arrested.” “The poop I just cleaned up?” I asked. “Yes, but these dogs are always pooping,” she retorted. This is when I realized that I was running late, and I told her I had to go to work.
When I started to leave, she asked, “Why didn’t you answer when I knocked on your door? I followed you.” That’s when the dots started to connect – our downstairs neighbor had called Bella because a stranger was banging on the door, and it not only woke up her family but scared them. Personally, I was listening to Dolly Parton and packing my lunch (see below), so I heard nothing.
Once I finally made it to the subway station, I found out the R train was delayed. To make matters even worse, a mariachi band got onto my car. Since the train kept stalling between stops (because of “congestion” on the track?), they had to repeat the 2 songs they only knew over and over again. Once the train finally arrived at the next platform, my safari search went through — I found out that I could be fined for more than $800 over the dog poop. I texted my lawyer Dad:
One of my coworkers asked how my morning was, and I said, “It was crazy.” But there was no follow up question. Good thing I have all of you.
bella: I’m really jealous of people who have a “calling.” I’m not sure whether I really feel “called to” any particular thing. One day I’ll decide I’m going to run for public office in my purple district and the next I want to be a comedy writer bumping elbows with these guys. This issue of having no calling is not novel, in fact, it is something I hear from friends of mine often, but my manifestation has not resulted in landing a cushy corporate job— no — rather, it results in me combining advice from the adults around me into a “path” for myself.
A recurring theme in BITE is that people LOVE to tell me what kind of person I am. I don’t know what exactly about me screams “unsolicited advice” (perhaps it's my capricorn moon, although, I don’t really believe in astrology to begin with). It’s like somehow everyone knows I like to spend money at the psychic, and they want to do me the favor for free. I’m supremely bad at not taking all of the advice my bosses/professors/parents/mentors give. I figure they all have 10+ years of experience on me, so why should I try to fight the fates?
But, this week, I realized that many of the fears I had about postgrad (and trust me, there are a lot) are a product of the path that the adults around me envision. I don’t really know what I want, but I don’t think it’s working in sales, broadcast journalism, advocacy, or for the Trump administration (all separate pieces of advice I’ve received in the past month). It’s going to take some work, work that I dread doing, but I need to think about what makes me fulfilled and happy. Hell, I might be the first SJW turned substack micro influencer turned AI Slop shitposter, but if that’s the path that I’m meant to take, I also need to be the one to figure it out.
what you should bite into:
grey:
Get into meditation.
I love my handheld steamer.
@plantbased.baby’s TikTok is the perfect equilibrium between ecofeminist yogi and meal prepping clean freak.
I've been eating this chickpea salad sandwich. It's mashed chickpeas, lemon, a little bit of dijon mustard and vg mayo, pepper, and then arugula and pickles on whole wheat. Great lunch.
bella:
I finally started watching Mr. Robot. So far, 5 stars.
Mao II by Don DeLillo. A professor recommended it to me last semester, and all I can say is that “The future belongs to crowds.”
A post about our favorite food in Queens is to come, but I actually will never STFU about these beef momos I ate today. Or this BLT from bench flour bakers.
big sandwich week for BITE
